Why We Taste the Same Wine Differently

A lively reminder that wine tasting is personal, shaped by memory, mood, food and the wonderfully strange language people bring to the glass.

Body word count: 794

There is a moment at almost every wine tasting when things unravel. Someone announces strawberries. Another counters with grapefruit. A third, holding the glass like a judge, quietly offers, “wet stone.” Then someone says the wine reminds them of their grandmother’s curtains, and suddenly nobody knows the rules anymore.

The good news is that there are no rules. Some of the best tasting notes sound ridiculous. “This wine tastes blue.” “This reminds me of a library during a thunderstorm.” Wine tasting can sound more like group therapy than a sensory exercise.

One common fear among people getting into wine is that they are doing it incorrectly. They worry that they cannot identify enough aromas, or that everyone else has a secret tasting superpower. The truth is more comforting. Wine tasting is not a test. It is a conversation.

DIFFERENT PALATES

The great taste debate exists because people experience wine differently. Not because some are gifted and others are not, but because every palate carries different memories and references. The person next to you is not necessarily tasting better than you. They are tasting through a different lens.

We often talk about wine as though it is fixed. Open a bottle, pour a glass, and surely everyone should taste the same thing. Except they do not, and that makes wine fascinating.

Taste is shaped by far more than the wine itself. It is influenced by memory, upbringing, culture, genetics, mood and what you ate earlier. When a winemaker describes tropical fruit, your brain searches your own life. If you grew up eating guavas from the garden, you may recognise those notes immediately. Someone else may reach for grapefruit, peaches or mangoes. Neither person is wrong. They are drawing from different libraries of memory.

MINT CHOCOLATE

A few years ago, I visited Post House, a producer whose wines I admire. During that visit, I was handed a red wine and almost immediately said, “mint chocolate.” I did not mean mint, herbs, or vague freshness. I meant mint chocolate, and I was certain about it.

The response was expected. A pause. Raised eyebrows. Polite scepticism. The sort of silence that suggests people are trying not to ask whether you have lost your mind.

Then the conversation began. Eventually, it became clear that the note was present. Nobody in the room arrived there immediately. The discussion became part of the experience. Wine is one of the few hobbies where intelligent adults can debate whether a beverage tastes like mint chocolate and nobody finds that strange.

NO CONSENSUS

At a recent Gaborone Wine Club gathering, a room full of people tasted the same wines at the same time. Consensus did not emerge. One person found citrus. Another found stone fruit. Someone else picked up herbs. A gentleman near the back seemed determined to discover the meaning of life between the first and second swirl.

That is part of the pleasure. A room full of wine lovers can taste the same wine and still arrive at different conclusions. Rather than proving somebody is wrong, it proves how personal tasting really is.

SECOND GLASS

I tend to discount the first glass. Not completely, but I rarely make a final judgement from the first sip because it is calibration. Your palate is waking up, your senses are adjusting and your brain is figuring out where to file the experience. You are gathering information, not reaching a verdict.

By the second glass, or at least the second proper taste, the wine has had a chance to settle and so have you. The flavours begin to organise themselves. What seemed sharp may now feel balanced. What seemed simple may reveal another layer. Judging wine on the first sip is like judging a person by their first email. Possible, but not always wise.

FOOD AND MOOD

Wine also never exists in isolation. What you have eaten matters enormously. A Sauvignon Blanc before spicy food can feel bright and refreshing, while the same wine after spicy food may appear softer or sweeter. A structured red that feels firm on its own can become harmonious alongside a well cooked steak.

Food changes wine, but so do mood and context. A bottle enjoyed on holiday overlooking vineyards develops charm. The same bottle consumed while answering emails and paying bills may struggle to create magic. The wine has not changed nearly as much as the circumstances around it.

That is why tasting notes should never be treated as absolute truths. They are snapshots of a moment, experienced by a particular person. The simplest lesson is also the most liberating. You do not need to taste what someone else tastes or identify every aroma correctly. Pay attention, trust your own experience and allow your palate to develop naturally. After all, wine is not an exam. Disagreeing can be half the fun.