Reflections on Wine Tasting
We know that there are external experiences and internal experiences or, in other words, experiences that can be "communicated" and experiences that cannot, because they constitute a "memory of the body."
We know that there are external experiences and internal experiences or, in other words, experiences that can be "communicated" and experiences that cannot, because they constitute a "memory of the body."
The experience of tasting is given by the body.
It is impossible to "tell" about a wine to someone who has never tasted that wine. Yet, there are continuous attempts to do so in specialized magazines, guides, on the web.
The impossibility of narrating the tasting experience is due to the fact that during tasting, the wine is divided into fragments, into separate objects.
They possess an independent existence. It is our senses that bring them to life.
Of course, the wine we are tasting can be translated into "discourse"; it can be defined in terms of nature, physics, or chemistry, or in the tone of intimate confessions.
However, that particular wine, as "discourse," is different from the experience the body has of it.
The experience of tasting can be described, but it is not the same as the "knowledge" of that experience.
This latter knowledge is indeed internal, communicated by the senses through the body.
A body infused with the senses that wine can evoke is a combination of flavors, aromas, sensations, suggestions, and memories.
At this moment, I am trying to convert all of this into speech, but I know that there exists an entire unexpressed dimension.
Knowledge is reduced to the body, but it is also something more than the body.
In other words, the outer experience and the inner experience are separate.
One can be communicated along the boundary of speech; the other we convert into speech but know that it is a coded memory "inside" the body.
It is impossible to separate this latter kind of memory from oneself.
Only that which can be detached from oneself is describable.
The senses, moreover, are limited: they do not embrace the entire personality of the wine.
Touch inevitably fragments, deconstructs. Just as a body that is experienced through touch is never an entity, but only the sum of existing fragments side by side, that do not create a form, are not a structure, … so is the wine, or the food.
For this reason, sight, taste, and smell, like touch, become fragmentary senses during tasting.
They focus on a fragment of the wine: on its fluidity, color, flavor, etc.
The wine is offered to us from different perspectives, from unusual angles, in close-ups that magnify.
It seems that the wine is being dissected, almost reduced to atoms, dispersed, touched from within in its viscosity and dryness, humidity, roughness, and temperature.
Our senses highlight its structure, penetrating to the skeleton, bringing it forth from non-existence and delivering it to the senses and consciousness of the taster.
So far, wine was just a liquid; now it begins to exist. In other words, the senses become a dissection that gives life, but even in this case, the wine retains its fragmented structure and does not create a personality, or at least it creates one that is entirely different.
During tasting, wine is turned inside out like a glove and is experienced from within. The function of language in the tasting experience is also transformed. Language returns to its roots; sometimes it is inarticulate, an onomatopoeic sound, as if only then does the learning of names and things begin. Or it is articulated, and its function is close to magic, causing the existence of a thing or an action simply by naming them.
Tasting is therefore always a cognitive act: the wine is dissected, and the senses constantly control each other: sight is assigned some functions of touch, just as taste does with smell, and vice versa. It is as if the existence of wine is continuously questioned and requires constant demonstration.
This proof's ultimate and final instance is represented by the body of that particular taster.
But the paradoxical and sad aspect of tasting lies in the fact that its absolute realization is impossible. The proof is possible only during the act itself.
The moment the tasting ends, the taster and the wine return to being separate. They must be subjected to proof again. And the proof is possible only during the act itself, appealing once more to the body.
Because the body is an essence, the only essence. And this, as in the case of love, is perhaps the reason for the failure of that experience of the body that we call "tasting."
Pierpaolo Paradisi