
An interesting discussion broke out on Twitter a week or so ago among a band of wine bloggers. The topic was wine jargon--which terms did you use, which did you hate, which didn't make any sense to you. It was an interesting exchange, all the more so to me because I realized all over again that words--the currency of the wine writer--often get in the way of the wine we are trying to write about when we pick up a pen or hit the keyboard. (photo "Seduction," used with the kind
permission of mofo)
It became even more interesting when people started to question the use of the term "brambly" in describing wine and labeled it "jargon." This didn't seem to me to be jargon, but something else entirely--I just didn't know what to call it. So I talked to some folks that know linguistics. It turns out that wine writers use three kinds of confusing words:
jargon (technical terms about wine),
dialects (terminology common to a group of wine writers), and
idiolects (terms that a single wine writer comes up with; if sufficiently popular, idiolects can get shared and become dialects). So, we can confuse readers three different ways. No wonder people think wine geeks are, well, geeks--and that wine writing is often impenetrable.
Take wine jargon.
Wine jargon can run from wine-making terms like malolactic fermentation to the technical words associated with tasting (such as attack, mid-palate, and finish) and with taste (extracted). QPR, incidentally--a term I use on this site all the time--is jargon, too, since it is the technical term for "quality to price ratio" in winespeak.
Wine dialects include terms like those on the tasting menu in the picture: lush, fruity, soft tannins, juicy. These are short-hand terms that wine writers use that they think have a consistent meaning, but which are sufficiently subjective that no one knows for sure. We use them anyway because they are the shared language wine writers use to talk about wine. After sufficient time reading and writing about wine, we feel comfortable invoking litchi fruit and passionflowers to describe a wine even if we wouldn't know either if we fell on top of them. A term like "brambly," is an example of wine dialect that may have the most meaning among wine writers of British descent who have tried to pick blackberries in hedgerows and found that the only ones the birds hadn't eaten already were under-ripe and a little woody in flavor. Still, wine writers all over the world (even those who haven't picked blackberries in a bramble patch on a July afternoon in Chipping Norton) use the term if they look it up and find that it matches the flavors that they are tasting.
As for
idiolect (please note: no "t" after idio), one of the great recent examples can be found in the tasting notes of Gary Vaynerchuk on WLTV. His unique tasting vocabulary started off as an idiolect, but the popularity of the site is now turning his terms into a shared dialect among hundreds of loyal WLTV viewers.
You might be wondering why I am going on about this. The answer is that getting to know wine includes learning some new vocabulary, including jargon and dialects. This is true of lots of activities from sailing to running to swimming. Imagine being on a boat where a sailor tells you to lash the sheet to the mizzenmast and responding "speak English, you geek." No, you would expect to learn and perhaps even come to use proper sailing terms when you learned to sail. Learning the language of wine can be as important as learning the taste characteristics of Cabernet. And if you are a fan of a particular wine writer, you might need to develop an understanding of their unique wine descriptors, too. If you don't, you could find yourself stumped about a wine with a "metallic attack and lean mid-palate" or a "great QPR red with a brambly finish."
I try to use as little jargon as possible, but I use a lot of wine dialect and I'm sure some idiolect, too. But there are resources on the web to help you learn this wine vocabulary, so if you meet a term you aren't familiar with, Google it or look it up in a dictionary. Words may get in the way of enjoying your wine, but unless you go to
Chateau Petrogasm I'm not sure there is an easy fix. Besides, it may be better to learn about the terms that you don't understand. What do you think? Do you think I use too much jargon/dialect/idiolect? How about wine writers in general? And, are there any particular terms that either stump you or annoy you?