Pamela VANDYKE PRICE
Senior Common Rooms of the older univer- sities are associated with informed apprecia- tion of fine wines. (Though alas, what most of them buy in bulk today tends to be that ordered by the customer of a merchant well known to me—'That delicious wine we had so often abroad—it was called carafe.') But the JCRS are also alert to the grape and many a wine trade executive today did his first sipping and spitting at a university dining or wining club. The Oxford/Cambridge tasting match took place for the twenty-third time this March, and for the first time in London.
Cheered by the Oxford win, which put them one ahead on Cambridge from the previous tie, and by the pleasant circum- stance that the first and only woman taking part got the second highest score (next to that of the Oxford captain), I must also record my admiration for the way in which the teams tackled ten wines (five red, five white), thirty-five minutes allowed for each. They had to do this with cameras clicking and flashing, people like me edging round to have a go at the wines as well, with alternat- ing light and dark blues around the table so that, as somebody said, 'You simply couldn't miss seeing what other people wrote,' and, worst of all from my point of view, they had to taste sitting down, not always in proximity to the spittoon.
Although I do write and type sitting down (Victor Hugo stood up) there is no other situation in which, if I wish to remain in command, I don't want to be on my feet. In Germany it is usual to taste seated at a table (and sometimes you're lucky to get a spittoon at all), but in France and elsewhere one generally can move about in a fair space. in a quiet room, with at least one adequate place in which to spit and with either a strong north light or daylight lighting (candles are romantic but as flattering to wines as to women) plus a matt white sur- face. The circumstances of being able to move around at will prevent tenseness or
strain, for tasting is virtually impossible if one is preoccupied or ill at ease.
John Harvey, in whose cellars the tasting match was held, selected wines from their list which might be a guide to those considering planning tastings for themselves: Sancerre (P. Prieur) 1969, £1.13; Maximin Grtin- hauser Herrenberg 1969, C. von Schubert, £1.50 (this estate-bottled Ruwer is so deli- cious, by itself or with rather plain food, that it's my tip for pick of the whites); cha- teau Guiraud 1961, Sauternes, £1.76; Chev- alier Montrachet, Domaine Leflaive, 1966, £2.45; Riesling Rdserve Exceptionelle 1966, estate-bottled, F. E. Hugel. £1.26. The reds were Château Palmer 1964, c.b. (charm, firmness and unity unlike many wines of this vintage); Vieux Château Certan, Pomerol, 1952, c.b. £2.45; Crozes Hermitage 1966, £0.85; Fleurie 1969, £0.90; Les Grands Eche- zeaux 1964, £1.87.
if you set this range up for enjoyable appraisal, though, I'd put the Sauternes last of the whites, as it is very hard to taste critically after a great sweet wine, and I'd place the Alsace before the Mosel and the Sancerre after it, directly before the white Burgundy or even the Sancerre and Bur- gundies first. The two clarets are so fine that they do rather squash the Rhone and the Beaujolais, and the Burgundy is so sweet and scented that it tends to stand apart. (But how often have I doubted the advisability of mix- ing claret and Burgundy unless you simply must?) If you taste 'blind' then Harvey's order is fair.
The members of both teams intimidated me by their decisiveness and concentration, but they—and we—enjoyed it all, as wine should always and primarily be enjoyed. There were two clear styles of tasting just as, in fact, there are two styles of approach to wine in the wine trade itself, and it helps, as with any sort of exam stir place, to re- member to which school the examiners belong. Cambridge were relaxed and roman- tic (I didn't count, but I think some of their team spat fewer times—for what that may be thought to prove) and, as their captain admitted, had done most of their training over dinner. Oxford have had coaching ses- sions from a don who well deserves a good bottle from his pupils, with their classically correct techniques.
For how do you teach wine? Often I read and listen to those who try to inculcate sensations and expressions about it just as some of those who taught me Eng.Lit. tried to teach me to 'appreciate' Wordsworth or Spenser; they didn't succeed and I don't appreciate same, though I could cram essen- tial hypocritical 'appreciation' into my exam papers. Kipling describes a teacher of art who never says anything to his pupils except 'Continuez; mes enfants, continuez toujours: And nobody who has taught me wine has ever put words and ideas at me as facts— they made me find out for myself. 'What
do you find in that wine—why—what do you mean by that description—how do you de- fine that term—what else do you find?' This is the way the late Allan Sichel, who taught so many of the present-day 'greats', used to teach us to learn. 'Listen,' he would say, `to what the wine has to tell you.' And he was the first to roar with laughter when an irreverent student on one occasion held the glass up to his ear.
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