You Feel Me?

Some of the chief pleasures wine affords derive from the effects it produces on the special, hyper-sensitive tissue that lines our mouths — the way it grasps the lips, tongue, gums and palate in a palpable, sensuous embrace. The food science term for this is mouthfeel, a term I find unbearably clinical for such an intimate experience. A better choice is the good, old-fashioned term texture, a well-understood word with established connections to the world of familiar, ordinary things and everyday language.

Exactly the same in English and French, texture derives from the Latin word for something woven.  Woven goods — textiles — are categorized and judged in part on the quality of their materials and the fineness or coarseness of the weave. Texture refers to both something inherent in a fabric’s structure and to the tactile sensation it produces when it comes into contact with the body.

I’d argue that texture is almost always the very first impression we have when tasting wine. Even before we’re aware of its flavors we have a generalized sense of how a wine feels. Unlike flavors, texture in wine isn’t something that has to be teased out, doesn’t seem to have a trajectory, doesn’t morph from one state to another, being generally stable from one mouthful to the next. It’s been suggested that the texture of a wine is a platform upon which its other sensations play out – I like the idea.

To help a Wine Corner guest think about texture, I may use a fabric analogy.  Some wines have a texture that’s like a silk tie or pocket square: sleek and unresisting.  Others have the feel of a close-knit sweater or scarf (think lambswool here or maybe cashmere). There’s nap, but it’s fine; caressing.  Still others have a texture reminiscent of Harris Tweed — a bit coarse, nubby, fibrous, even scratchy.

The tactile joys of quality fabrics are habit-forming, and we seem to be able to enjoy all sorts of permutations. We can take equal pleasure in the adhesive grip in a pair of leather gloves, and the cozy pile in a sheepskin-lined coat.  It’s the same with wine, or ought to be. But what makes the texture of one different from another?

Texture in wine depends initially on the presence of tannin in grapeskins.  Some wine grape varieties have richer concentrations of these (Cabernet Sauvignon; Syrah) while others (Gamay, Pinot Noir) tend to have less. But the character these tannins assume in finished wine is heavily dependent on how they’re managed.

At what ripeness grapes are picked, how aggressively they are pressed, whether stems are included in the fermentation, how long skins and pips (seeds have tannin, too) are allowed to macerate, and how frequently the cap is punched down are all matters for human intervention and judgment. (Maturation in wood does something to soften fruit tannins, but newer barrels have tannin of their own to add to the mix.)

Wine wine has an almost unlimited ability to please our senses, but that doesn’t mean that we always get all we could out of it. Wine has at least as many textures to explore as a bespoke tailor shop or couturier. They’re worth paying attention to.

Now, may we show you something in wool gabardine, or would you prefer pre-washed denim?