made Gil Petty almost unique, was his ability to remember smells, to classify them in some way that allowed him to associate them with words.’
Enzo nodded. ‘Michelle said he had the smell equivalent of a photographic memory.’
Bertrand started lining up bottles and glasses. ‘It’s much harder than you think to identify a smell. The first day of my training course, they gave us little bottles of clear liquid infused with different odours. Some were easy, like peach, or strawberry. Others were impossible. You recognised the smell, but couldn’t for the life of you say what it was. Until the prof would tell you it was ground pepper. And immediately you thought, of course it is! Why the hell couldn’t I tell that?’ He turned to face the others. ‘It’s a long, hard learning process.’
‘It can’t be that hard, surely?’ Nicole said. ‘I mean, we’ve all got the same sense of taste and smell. Except for me, of course. I’m a supertaster.’
Bertrand started pouring a little wine into each glass. ‘They did this experiment in Italy with something called fMRI. I’m not sure what it stands for.’
‘Functional magnetic resonance imaging,’ Enzo said. ‘It’s an MRI scan specifically applied to the brain. It allows scientists to actually see the brain working.’
‘Well, anyway, they did this experiment taking seven professional sommeliers and seven other people matched for age and sex, who didn’t have any specific wine-tasting abilities, and scanned their brains while they fed them different wines.’
‘Hmmm, I’d have volunteered for that,’ Sophie said.
Bertrand tipped her a look of mild annoyance. ‘While the wine was actually in the mouth, it stimulated activity in the same area of the brain in all fourteen participants.’
Nicole let a little explosion of triumph escape her lips. ‘Like I said, we’ve all got the same sense of taste and smell.’
But Bertrand shook his head and raised a finger. She was being premature. ‘No, you’re wrong, Nicole. Because there was another area of the brain that showed activity only in the sommeliers. And then during the aftertaste phase, when they’d swallowed the wine, the sommeliers had brain activity on both sides of the…the… amagama hippo something…’
‘Amygdala-hippocampal?’ Enzo suggested.
‘That’s it. Well, the professionals showed activity on both sides of that, and the others only on the right side.’
‘So what’s your point?’ Nicole was impatient to get on with the tasting.
‘Well, the experiment showed that the professional tasters were accessing parts of their brains that the nonprofessionals weren’t, almost certainly consulting database material accumulated through training and experience. You can’t just walk in off the street and be a professional winetaster, you know It’s a learned art, and it takes time.’
‘Not much point in us even trying then, is there?’ Nicole was skeptical.
‘Well, let’s see,’ Enzo said.
Bertrand spread the tasting information sheets from the Maison du Vin across the kitchen worktop and handed them each a glass. ‘Okay, this is how we do it. We hold the base of the glass between thumb and forefinger, and tip it away from us, preferably towards something white. We’re looking for the colour here, and how the light strikes through it.’
In silence, they all did as they were told, peering at the wine through tilted glasses.
‘Okay, so this is the Sarrabelle syrah. Petty described the colour as being tile red. Like terracotta tiles on a roof. You can see what he means. It’s a good, strong red, but if you look around the edges of it, there’s a slightly brownish quality that gives it a sort of brick colour. That comes with age and oxidation. This wine’s five years old now, so it’ll be browner than when Petty looked at it.’ Bertrand glanced up at Enzo’s whiteboard. ‘He also suggested that it would have a drinking life of five to eight years. So it should be perfect for drinking right about now. Let’s see if he was right.’
He dipped his head, putting his nose right into the glass, and breathed deeply.
‘This is important. The first smell. Don’t shake the glass or disturb the wine.’ He watched as the others followed his example. ‘So what do you think? What do you smell?’
No one had any immediate thoughts to offer. Nicole looked disappointed. ‘I don’t really smell anything. I thought I was supposed to be a supertaster.’
Bertrand shook his head. ‘No, you smelled something. You just haven’t identified it. Try again.’
They all tried again.
‘Fruit,’ Enzo said.
‘Yeah, fruit,’ Sophie agreed.
‘Yes, but what kind of fruit?’
‘Plums.’ Nicole looked pleased with herself. ‘Red plums.’
‘No, I’m getting strawberries,’ Sophie said. ‘And maybe something a little more tart, like black currants.
‘Could be rasperries there,’ Enzo said.
‘Yeh, and ripe melon.’ Nicole was on a roll now.
Bertrand sighed in exasperation. ‘Sounds like you’ve found a whole fruit salad in there.’
‘Okay, smartass, what do you smell?’ Nicole thrust her jaw at him.
Bertrand sniffed again. ‘Strawberries certainly. Raspberries, maybe. Red fruit, for sure. But we need to swirl the glass and smell again?’
‘Why?’ Sophie asked.
‘To get oxygen into the wine and release more of the smell molecules.’
So they all swirled their glasses and hung their noses over the rims once again.
‘Big fruit,’ Enzo said. ‘And something meaty, maybe. Gibier. Like game. That…what was it, umami smell?’
Bertrand canted his head doubtfully. ‘I don’t know. I’d say it was more…woody. Oak, maybe.’
‘Liquorice!’ Nicole looked pleased with herself. ‘I can smell liquorice.’
Sophie breathed deeply from her glass. ‘Me, too.’
Enzo began counting on his fingers. ‘Okay, so now we’ve got strawberry, raspberry, red plum, ripe melon, black currant, meat, liquorice and oak. That’s eight different smells.’ He looked up at the whiteboard. ‘Petty lists five.’
‘I thought you said we could only smell four things at the same time,’ Nicole said.
It was Bertrand who responded. ‘Yes, but we’ve had two tries at it, the second time after oxygenation. So we’re picking up different things.’
‘Too many things,’ Enzo said. ‘I’m not sure this is going to work, Bertrand.’
But Bertrand was not to be deterred. ‘We’ve still to taste it, Monsieur Macleod.’
‘About time.’ Nicole raised her glass with relish.
Bertrand lifted his own glass to his lips. ‘Just take a small mouthful, then let it flow back over your tongue. The front of the tongue is more sensitive to sweet tastes, the back of it will pick out the sharper notes. And while the wine is still in your mouth, suck in a little oxygen to help the wine release its flavours.’
They all gurgled and slurped, and Nicole nearly choked.
Bertrand kept up his commentary. ‘The first thing you experience is the attack. That initial flavour and texture in the mouth. Then as the complexity of the wine develops, you should start being able to distinguish all the flavours. And after you’ve swallowed, there’ll be an aftertaste-what’s called the finish. The longer that lasts, the better. Provided, of course, that it’s a pleasant taste. Then, really, we should spit it out.’
‘I’m not wasting wine this good.’ Sophie rolled her eyes dreamily. ‘It’s fantastic. Smooth and silky. And I’m not getting any of that meat that you were smelling, Papa. But I’m still getting strawberries.’
‘And liquorice,’ Nicole chipped in.
‘And soft, soft tannins,’ Bertrand said. ‘And vanilla from the oak.’ He smacked his lips noisily several times. ‘And the finish just goes on forever.’
But Enzo was looking at the board again. ‘Petty lists codes for six flavours. We’ve come up with three.’
‘Yes, but he’s also describing textures, tannins, acidity, complexity, finish,’ Bertrand said. ‘Just look at any of his reviews. And those pluses, and plus-pluses alongside the codes probably translate as something like very and extremely, or words to that effect.’
