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Against the bias

[2001 star child; copyright MGM]On two of the major wine fora (here, here, and here, if you’re unduly burdened with free time and a strong stomach), strident arguments about how best to identify and eliminate bias have spiraled – as they always do – out of control.

Here’s a thought: how about we admit that this asks the impossible, and go back to the much more sensible practice of asking critics to be good?

I’ve already said far more than I ever should on the subject here, so I’ll let that stand as the pro-bias manifesto. But I’m curious about another facet of this endless debate: why do we care so much? Why is the potential for pure philosophical objectivity so beloved among consumers, especially when it’s impossible to achieve?

I believe that we recognize our own flaws as objective observers. We know that we can only make a attempt to be unbiased, but recognize that no matter how hard we try, we’re unlikely to succeed.

However, we exalt the critic (in my opinion unduly so), which follows from the subordination of our own opinion to that of the purported expert in whichever field of criticism we’re concerned with. The critic, in other words, is supposed to be more right than we are. In the act of subordinating our judgment to that of another, we justify our decision on the basis that the critic has superior knowledge that we have neither the time nor the inclination to acquire. This is often true, but it’s also irrelevant.

Knowledge, which begets accuracy, is a fundamental skill for any critic, to be sure. But it’s not what makes them a critic, it’s what makes them a writer or a journalist. A critic may do one or both of those things, but he or she also – and primarily – deals in opinions. It’s the utility of these opinions that determines a critic’s success or failure. By this I do not mean that the critic with the largest number of agreements “wins” – that’s patently ridiculous given that criticism is inherently subjective – but that the critic’s output must, in some sense, be useful to others.

Thus, while we may justifiably subject our knowledge to those with a superior breadth or depth of it, we somewhat less justifiably subject our opinion to that of the critic. This is not inherently misguided, because an informed opinion can indeed be more valuable than an uninformed one, but it is similarly irrelevant. A better-justified but still subjective response to an object of criticism does not mean that the less-justified opinion is now incorrect for the holder of that opinion. This is not an argument against the supremacy of fact and reason, both of which must remain paramount, but instead a restatement of this simple principle: just because you like something doesn’t mean I like it too. Shouldn’t that be obvious?

Wine appreciation is subjective. It cannot be otherwise. So for a person to allow another’s subjective judgments to hold sway over their own, they must posit the existence of a superior subjectivity. Except that doesn’t make any sense from a definitional standpoint – subjectivity is inherently leveling – and so the next step is to assume that a critic must now be objective. This is lunacy, but it’s what many people appear to believe.

If a critic is truly objective, then they must be free from all external constraints on their judgment. And this is how we wade into the miasma of bias, for if such a mythical creature as the objective critic existed, he or she would obviously be fundamentally and absolutely free of any influences other than those contained within the object of criticism. No prior experiences, no pre-formed opinions, no external motivators (a nearby winemaker, a pleasant dinner, an enthusiastic companion, the label), and certainly no generalized opinions on what does and does not constitute quality. Nothing. In other words, wine criticism in a sensory-deprivation tank.

Taken to its logical conclusion, of course, this also means that such an objective critic can only ever review a single wine. Because, as a critic, they must render a judgment on that wine. Having done so, they have now constructed a preliminary definition of quality. The next wine cannot help but be tainted by this construction, and thus bias has been introduced.

It sounds ridiculous, of course, and yet it is exactly where the anti-bias journey reaches its inevitable conclusion: a being that transcends their humanity, has no contact with anyone or anything that could influence their opinion, works just once, and then retires. Hopefully to somewhere where they can be a person.

No…better to let our critics be human, to accept that they (as we) are biased and cannot be otherwise, and to judge them not on conceptual philosophies but on the quality of their work. In other words, to be critics ourselves; critics of the critics, with all our own biases fully and gloriously intact.

Fired

[label]Sella & Mosca 2004 Cannonau di Sardegna “Riserva” (Sardinia) – Fruity, fresh, and fun. Strawberry bubblegum with a gravel foundation and fine balance. This is an extremely reliable wine, though I suppose it sacrifices some uniqueness for that reliability. (2/08)

The hobgoblin of little minds

“Another wine that I underrated (probably because of my generally conservative nature regarding new estates, and I had only tasted one previous vintage from this one) […]” – Robert M. Parker, Jr., The Hedonist’s Gazette

“Neither price nor the reputation of the producer/grower affect the rating in any manner.” – Robert M. Parker, Jr., an explanation of his methods

The world’s most powerful critic caught in a contradiction. Is it a backhanded admission of error? Or is it blatant hypocrisy?

How about none of the above?

Parker hasn’t (yet) responded to this contradiction, revealed on his own online forum, and the resulting thread has spun off in a predictable way: an exceedingly arbitrary debate about the pros and cons of blind tasting. While that’s certainly an interesting topic, it’s not what I’m interested in at the moment. Instead, I’m here to defend Parker. At least, after a fashion.

Every critic eventually contradicts himself. Computers, if programmed correctly, are perfectly consistent. People are not, and probably can’t be. Critics will practice regular inconsistency when it comes to individual wines, and while there are always a worshipful few who can’t seem to grasp the subjective and ever-changing nature of criticism, most rational people understand that this is simply the way wine interacts with the taster. Wine is a (more or less) natural product that can be different from bottle to bottle, taste to taste, and time to time.

However, when it comes to statements about the very nature of criticism – as described in the above-linked statement of Parker’s methodology, for example – people seem much less forgiving of inconsistency, and resort to imposing ever more rigid strictures on the critic’s methodology (e.g. “all wines must be tasted double-blind”). Or they’re forced into impossible and indefensible rhetorical acrobatics in an effort to explain away the inconsistency (it’s those worshipful few again, causing problems). The fact is, there’s no way to reconcile the two statements quoted above. Parker is mistaken (or, if one feels they can read his mind and his motivations, lying) in one of the two. In the absence of further clarification from him, it’s up to the concerned reader to decide which is his true position.

Of course, there is a way that they can both be correct, and that’s if they’re applied consecutively, rather than simultaneously. Parker might well be considering reputation when he evaluates some wines, and ignoring it when he evaluates others.* Certainly, it would be a natural human inclination, and despite Parker’s allegedly superhuman tasting abilities, he’s still just a human being, with all the normal flaws inherent in the species. Just like the rest of us.

For those who demand absolutes from their critics, this is an irreconcilable inconsistency. And they’re welcome to move on to whichever critics they find to be reliably inerrant, since Parker must now be excluded from that set. But I would like to suggest that the problem is not whether Parker is being inconsistent or not, and only partially that some people don’t actually understand the practice of criticism, but rather that he, himself, has fallen into an absolutist trap of his own construction.

Who makes a bigger deal about their methods and ethics than any other major wine critic? Parker, of course. From this position, he issues far-too-frequent attacks on other critics, and at times amateurs; a habit that is, by far, his most distasteful characteristic. (To be fair, he is frequently the victim of similar attacks, though that doesn’t excuse them on either side.) By doing so, he obviously opens himself up to attacks based on inconsistencies like the one above. But he wouldn’t have to defend such obvious inconsistencies if he didn’t take such an absolutist line. By saying “I do this, and only this,” and then being seen to be doing the opposite, he makes a mockery of the rigid methodological code he so loudly trumpets.

The solution, of course, is to take on a more liberal view of the possible ethical and methodological approaches to criticism. This is not to say that one should abandon all ethical codes – to be sure, there are critics who think that Parker isn’t strict enough – but simply to suggest that basing one’s reputation on ethics and methods rather than the results is fundamentally misguided. People may listen to Parker’s (or any other critic’s) ethical pronouncements, but his power and reputation are due to consumers’ trust in his results (that is, his wine evaluations). Using those ethics and methods to heap abuse on other critics is unseemly on the face of it, but more so when it turns out that the source of the abuse doesn’t even follow his own advice.

Parker shouldn’t be criticized for contradicting himself. And he wouldn’t be, did he not so gleefully wrap himself in the shield of absolutism when it comes to his methods. Since the “don’t contradict yourself” solution is generally unavailable to humans (including Parker), that leaves only the other option. An option he – and all critics – would do well to consider.

* Parker’s statement about price and reputation is, of course, meant as a direct attack on critics who could do 75% of their work without actually tasting the wines; critics for whom label and reputation mean nearly everything. Those critics exist (though as a smaller percentage of total critics than they did when Parker started…and he can probably take a large portion of the credit for that), and they’re a plague on the calling. Certainly, the number of unheralded wines that have nonetheless been heralded by Parker over the years suggests that he has not, as a rule, been unduly restrained by his own doubts when it comes to a young, untested brand.

When you taste the Southern Right for the first time

Southern Right 2006 Pinotage (Walker Bay) – Big, explosive fruit that presses and shoves its way onto the palate. Dark berries and smokier chocolate notes are paired with the usual unfortunate furniture polish aromas, but here they’re more subversive than irritating, and seem to drift all the way into the background with food. I rather like this, though it’s no good as a cocktail. (2/08)

An ill Zind blows no good

Zind-Humbrecht 2002 “Zind” (Alsace) – Heavy and, truth be told, tasting very much like chardonnay grown in Alsace. The flavors are fair enough, with a heavy metallic edge to the weighty, spiced stone fruit. And there’s some acidity, balanced with a little bit of residual sugar. But mostly, it’s powerful to the point where you’ll want some sort of palate version of earplugs. (2/08)

Beau bridges

[vines]Notes from a Perrin & Fils/Beaucastel wine dinner at Simon Pearce in Quechee, Vermont. Food pairings, and their appropriateness with the wines, are described below each note.

Perrin & Fils 2006 Côtes-du-Rhône Rosé “Réserve” (Rhône) – Solid salted berry flavors, red and glowing with energy. It’s strong for a rosé, but not imbalanced (as so many southern French rosés are, in favor of their alcohol). But it lacks much bite, verve, or really much of anything on the finish. Short finishes aren’t exactly unusual with pink wines, of course. Overall, it’s tasty but simple. (2/08)

Served with: Steamed Blue Hill Bay mussels in a broth, with crisped potatoes (essentially, fries) on top, and a drizzled aioli. Both the mussels and the “fries” are excellent, and the single-dish take on moules frites is visually clever. However, there’s a problem with the dish: if you want the fries to remain crispy, you have to eat them first, by which time the mussels are cooling and slightly overcooked. If, however, you dig out the mussels to eat them at their optimum doneness and temperature, the fries fall into the broth and get soggy. Despite the clever presentation, the two-vessel service really would be preferable here. Oh, and the aioli is a little sweet, which suggests that it might not be an actual aioli, but a sauce based on a prepared mayonnaise. It’s not bad, it would just be better were it more authentic. The match with the wine is inoffensive, with each element sort of standing apart but not conflicting.

Perrin & Fils 2005 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc “Les Sinards” (Rhône) – Young Rhône whites are such difficult animals. I really think that whether or not one likes them is as much due to the whim of the moment as it is to their inherent qualities. Tonight, this wine tastes slightly baked with a drizzle of burnt butter. Oak? I don’t know, and the web is unhelpful; perhaps a bit. Tomorrow, the fat but hard-to-identify stone fruit and desolate brown desert landscape could be compelling. It becomes a little less awkward with food. But in general, I’m disinclined to be positive. (2/08)

Served with: Misty Knoll chicken, in a sort of roulade form around foie gras, with a celeriac pear purée and what the restaurant calls a “natural jus,” but which is actually dosed with the poaching liquid from the pear. I love Misty Knoll chicken, but here it’s grossly overcooked, the foie gras is visible but impossible to taste (similar overcooking, perhaps), and the sauce is…yes, too sweet. Thankfully, this is the only failure, and everything from here is an improvement. As for the wine match, it’s hard to say as the dish is distractingly mis-executed, but it appears to work OK, though the sweetness in the sauce and the purée doesn’t help.

Perrin “Coudoulet de Beaucastel” 2005 Côtes-du-Rhône (Rhône) – Bursting with ripe fruit, all fresh and upfront but with a solid pulse underneath. There are hints and shades of the earthier/meatier aspects, but they’re pretty much buried under the berried fruit right now. A lot of fun, nicely balanced, and surpassingly drinkable. (2/08)

Served with: A cassoulet with confit of free range duck, saucisson, and Niman Ranch pork. This, like a cassoulet I made recently, is dominated by the meat elements far too much to be authentic. But note, I’m not saying it’s bad. Hey, I like meat. Doesn’t everybody? (Well, no, but….) It’s about as good as non-authentic cassoulet (meaning one that takes many days to make, which isn’t really possible in a restaurant setting unless the restaurant specializes in cassoulet) can be, with good flavor throughout. And it’s a terrific counterpoint to the wine, with each enhancing the other.

Perrin “Château de Beaucastel” 1996 Châteauneuf-du-Pape (Rhône) – Coming out of its difficult phase, but only just, and as such it’s somewhat evasive. The meat-smoke, bacon liqueur elements are only teasingly in place, there’s a strong but backgrounded residue of dried plum, and the minerality at the core is left rather bare and exposed by the wine’s reluctance to rise from its sleep. As such, the structure dominates. This needs some more waiting. (2/08)

Served with: Veal scallop and sweetbreads with (very) smoky bacon, over-softened pear onions, and chanterelles. The veal is good, and I love sweetbreads, but the smoky dominance and rich meatiness is pretty much a duplication of the previous dish, which would be more dismaying were I not a sucker for both of those characteristics. It’s true: bacon makes everything better. More properly, there should be some separation between these courses. Also, the chanterelles are completely obliterated; this is not a mushroom for such aggressively-flavored food. I do like the dish, but a better attention to sequence would be welcome here. The food somewhat roughs up the wine (not easy to do to a CdP), but they eventually come to a sort of nervous peace.

Perrin & Fils 2005 Muscat Beaumes de Venise (Rhône) – Very fruity, fresh, and fun, tending more towards the concentrated, bright, spring-like fruit elements than the more exotic flowers or perfumes. The best BdVs have a core of crystalline minerality which this lacks, but it’s hard to criticize this wine much. Even average muscat is still pretty good. (2/08)

Served with: Apricot “gratin” (in this case, perhaps even somewhat applicable to the way the fruit appears to be cooked; in the States, the word is usually completely misused to mean soft things in cheese/cream sauces) with honey, almonds, and Westfield Farms blue goat cheese. This is a brilliant dessert, and makes use of counterpoints between the savory/salty cheese and the sweet elements very well. It’s a little deep and complex for the muscat, but then almost any non-fruit dessert will be.

Two live Ducru

Borie “Ducru-Beaucaillou” 1970 Saint-Julien (Bordeaux) – Gorgeous coffee and old black fruit. Leafy tobacco. Well-aged, silky, yet retaining a certain masculinity. It’s not at the absolute top of its game, but it’s awfully good. (2/07)

Cammi Granato

Foradori 2002 “Granato” Vigneti delle Dolomiti (Trentino) – Good but slightly spiky acidity, strawberry seeds, and clean. Nicely balanced. Short, but with a classic feel. Still, I can’t help but think there should be more here. (2/07)

Boxing Elena

Cogno 2001 Barolo Vigna Elena (Piedmont) – Very rosy, and quite tannic, but gorgeous throughout. Graphite, blackberry, and black cherry come the fore on the finish, which is, admittedly, a little odd. But it’s impossible to dislike this wine, and I’m not sure why one would try. (2/07)

Rive gauche

Araldica “Il Cascinone” 2004 Barbera d’Asti “Rive” (Piedmont) – Smooth caramel, soft red fruit, freshly-finished wood desk, and furniture polish. Finishes like burnt sugar. (2/07)