Identifying mystery wines isn’t easy at the best of times. But when a wine is chosen specifically to trip up the taster, it adds another layer of difficulty.
I’ve been doing a lot of blind tasting practice since earning my WSET Level 3 certificate in February. I’m trying to get an honest look at my strengths and weaknesses as I prepare to start the Level 4 Diploma later this year.
I’m lucky enough to live near several good wine bars, with interesting lists and highly knowledgeable staff. So a couple of times a week, I’ll sit down and ask them to blind me.
Usually, the wines I’m served are by-the-glass standards. They are of predictable quality and recognizable styles: Your Chianti Classico, your New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. But this week, the wine gods had a sense of humor and sent me some really sneaky wines.
So, my fellow wine lovers, here are three blind-tasting curveballs from the past week: What the wine was, why it was a tricky call, and what I learned from tasting it. Learn from my mistakes–or laugh at my misery!
Curveball #1: A Malbec-y Cabernet
At Blind Bishop‘s Saturday-evening wine bar, owner Dilek Caner MW curates a “Taste This Blind” flight. It’s three wines, all varieties that are commonly confused by students and exam-takers. I’d never done it before, so I thought I’d stop by before dinner and give it a shot.
The format here is semi-blind. You know what the three wines are when you order the flight, and your job is to sort them out. Last Saturday, it was all New World reds: A Chilean Carménère, an Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, and an old-vine Uco Valley Malbec.
The three glasses arrived. They looked dishearteningly similar, even side-by-side. Very slight visual differences–but not enough to start forming any theories.
My strategy was to find the Carménère first, which was easily done. It was the first wine I sniffed. It looked all plush and sophisticated in the glass, but smelled of mulch and iodine. (Never change, Carménère.)
That left just the Cab and Malbec…but uh oh. The second wine was purplish with staining tears, black and blue berries, obvious toast and spice from oak, high alcohol, light florality–this must be the Malbec, right? But when I put it in my mouth, the certainty evaporated. The tannins were assertive and grippy, much more suggestive of Cab.
I turned to the third wine to break the tie, but it was no help. Also showing red, blue, and black fruit with herbal and floral nuances. Lighter extraction, elevated acid, modest oak, very faint pyrazines…it could well be a high-altitude Malbec. Or a modern-style Sonoma Cab with coastal influence. Dang.
I waffled on those two wines, but eventually let structure override appearance and identified all the wines correctly. The purple color and aromas on the Cab were almost certainly meant to suggest Malbec. It’s a trap that I dodged–but just narrowly.
Later, when I looked at the tech sheet for the Alexander Valley Cab, I learned that they actually blend a little Malbec into this wine “for color.” Rude!
My call: Cabernet Sauvignon
Actual wine: Alexander Valley Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon (2021) – Sonoma County, California
What I learned: “See purple, call Malbec” is a useful tip–but visual clues have their limitations. Always confirm first impressions with structure.
Also, producer knowledge is helpful when dealing with atypical styles. Alexander Valley Vineyards produces rather traditional New World Cabernet (dense, oaky, saturated color, often blended with other varieties). The Catena family (parent company for the Malbec in the flight) often favors terroir-focused wines made with a light hand.
In other words, typicity is useful–but so is its absence. Non-conforming producers can help free you from expectations of what a variety “should” taste like.
Curveball #2: Sauvignon Blanc from Burgundy
I’m actually the proudest of this call, even though I didn’t get the grape right. It’s freakin’ cool that Chablis terroir can be detectible under Sauvignon Blanc. (I was at The Gibson, where “Mystery Mondays” are a recurring weekly challenge.)
This annoyingly offbeat wine came from Saint-Bris, a unique Burgundian AOC near Chablis. It’s the only district in Burgundy where Sauvignon Blanc and Sauvignon Gris are grown, rather than the more traditional Chardonnay and Aligoté.
The wine in my glass was medium lemon in color with a light green tinge. Apple and lemon-citrus with obvious biscuit notes on the nose. Some unripe peach and pineapple, too. No noticeable oak or bottle age. Medium plus acidity and medium-minus body (probably mostly from lees contact). On the palate, it had more green apples, pronounced minerality, and a pith-y lemon and chalk-dust finish.
I noted the green tint and unripe pineapple aromas (both atypical for Chardonnay). But the cool-climate orchard/citrus fruits and the chalky texture were screaming youthful Chablis. I’ve also tasted some rather yeasty Chablis recently (Chab-leesies?), so I went ahead with the Chard call.
My call: Chablis (Chardonnay), 2023 or 2024.
Actual wine: La Chablisienne Saint-Bris Sauvignon (2023) – Burgundy, France
What I learned: Don’t automatically link region and grape…especially when the bartender/somm is smirking as they pour from the carafe.
Curveball #3: Pinot Noir from Alsace
This wine was served straight from the fridge, so I really couldn’t detect anything at first but blackberries, currants, and tannin. It also seemed to have slightly elevated alcohol for its thin-to-moderate texture.
First thought: “This is maybe Cabernet. But it’s way too cold. I’m not going to try and call it for at least 20 minutes.” (In hindsight, the fact that the wine was in the bar fridge was also a clue. But that didn’t register at the time.)
As the chill came off, though it got more confusing. More of the wine began to reveal itself, like a dark room coming into focus at sunrise. Underneath the blackberries, I found wild red forest fruits, mocha/carob, raspberry leaf tea, maybe some cola? My Cab theory started to get shaky.
The expected oak spice aromas never materialized. Neither did the body. Bit by bit, the dark, boozy wine in my glass morphed into…Pinot Noir?
What I could not account for was the tannin and the color depth, though. I remembered that some California producers like to blend Syrah into Pinot for deeper color and firmer structure. (The proverbial “Cab-drinker’s Pinot.”) But those styles often have quite a bit of residual sugar and oaky flavors. This wine was bone-dry and tidy. In the end I threw up my hands and took a guess, because I couldn’t make any region completely fit.
My call: New World Pinot Noir blended with Syrah, recent vintage, light or no oak.
Actual wine: Trimbach Pinot Noir Réserve (2022) – Alsace, France
What I learned: That Alsace makes Pinot Noir! Just kidding…I knew that. (Theoretically.) But Alsatian red wines are very uncommon in my market. If I’ve tasted an Alsatian Pinot Noir before, I don’t remember.
Pinot Noir chosen for blind tastings often presents a pale color, but this was colorful enough to mistake for a much darker-skinned variety. And the tannin level was so much higher than any Burgundian or single-variety American Pinot Noir that I’ve encountered.
Happy hour was ending and the bartenders had martinis to make–so I hit the books to figure out what makes this Pinot so sturdy. Turns out, some of it is accomplished through environment (long, sunny days means the grape needs more “sunscreen”), and some is a result of winemaking (Trimbach’s Pinot Noir goes through an eight-day cold maceration on skins).
A final takeaway: When a wine doesn’t fit expectations, expand the stylistic range of the grape before assuming a blend.
This is fun, though!
So there you have it: Three tough blinds that challenged my assumptions this week. Cabernet masquerading as Malbec, Sauvignon Blanc with its feet in Chablis limestone, and a dark and structured Pinot Noir from Alsace.
Thank you for following me as I refine my tasting practice–and cheers! 🍷
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