How are wine scores calculated for The Wine Fairy blog? What do the different scores mean? I’m so glad you asked!
Having published almost two hundred bottle reviews in the last 18 months, I realized this explanatory post is long overdue. In this article, I share some of my methodology and philosophy of grading wines.
The short version:
I score wines on a ten-point scale from 0.0 to 10.0. The caveat is that I’m a “words and images” person, not a “numbers” person.
I don’t claim that my ratings are precise or scientific. Scores are subjective (duh)–and they are just one dimension of my entire experience of the bottle.
My ten-point scale isn’t the familiar 100-point wine scale with the zero removed. I use the full range and resist the score inflation common in contemporary wine criticism: Every enjoyable wine doesn’t automatically belong in the 90s. (For a table of what the different score ranges indicate, see the bottom of this post.)
When I evaluate a wine, I mainly care whether it gives pleasure. And because readers buy wine with actual money, I care what it costs.
Here are some other things you may want to know about my wine reviews:
Tasting is non-blind.
Unless I specifically say otherwise, bottle reviews are not blind. I usually know the producer, variety, region and price before the wine is poured. Sometimes I blind-taste for study and at my job, but that’s a separate exercise.
Samples and comps are disclosed.
Most of the wines I taste for the blog are purchased with my own personal funds. Wines that are sampled at work, gifted to me, or provided by the trade get a short ethics note. Accepting a sample doesn’t guarantee coverage or a favorable rating.
I try to taste wines at their best.
If I suspect that a bottle is corked, heat-damaged, oxidized, or otherwise not representative of the wine, I don’t treat that condition as the producer’s normal quality. Faulty and compromised wines are not typically reviewed.
When tasting in restaurants, I usually purchase a whole bottle or drink from a bottle that’s opened in front of me. If there’s any question about condition, I’ll ask for a fresh pour.
I taste wines at the temperature I would serve them to a guest, according to my best professional judgment. For wines that may benefit from aeration or decanting, I’ll often revisit them at a couple of different time intervals and note my observations in the review.
Sometimes, I will review a wine that may be past its ideal drinking window out of curiosity about how wines evolve in bottle. In such cases, I will clearly identify the wine’s age and withhold/qualify the score. I also don’t assign numerical scores to works-in-progress, including barrel samples.
Scores are a footnote. The reviews matter more.
I’m sympathetic to the argument that numerical scores for wines are kind of silly and arbitrary. And also to the argument that critics’ scores can sometimes do more harm than good to the layperson’s understanding of wine.
Nevertheless, it’s reasonable for readers of wine reviews to be able to discern–efficiently–whether the reviewer thinks the wine is worth buying/drinking or not. So, I do rank wines on a ten-point scale, but never without explaining what I think works (or doesn’t work).
Context is as important as quality in the enjoyment of wine. I try not to slap a number on a bottle without some discussion of who/when/what the wine is for. My hope is that readers will engage with the review instead of skipping straight to the score.
Personal preference is admitted, not disguised.
I taste widely and don’t have any permanent favorite regions, varieties, or styles. Or perhaps more accurately, I have too many favorites to list!
Still, I’m aware that my palate tends to favor aromatic intensity, concentration, acidity, spice, and distinctive character. I genuinely enjoy most flavors, from heavy florals to barrel funk. I forgive extremes of sweetness, bitterness, and alcohol heat more easily than many of the people I regularly taste with. I have massive holes in my tasting experience, many of them budget-dependent. (Burgundy. 🤷♀️)
Perhaps I may develop, as I learn and practice, a subtler approach to wine tasting. I may become more sensitive to restraint, or find that I admire it more. But I don’t have that yet. I love assertive, expressive wines that retain balance while also loudly being themselves. That bias is cheerfully acknowledged.
Typicity counts (somewhat).
The whole wine world loves to argue about typicity–that is, the expected style of a variety or region. Whether (and to what degree) typicity is connected to quality. And whether appellation rules preserve historic greatness or squash innovation.
I don’t have an easy answer to that old philosophical conundrum. What I do know is that typicity is how drinkers locate wine in the marketplace. For that reason, I try to judge a wine according to what it is trying to be.
I don’t expect a $12 Côtes du Rhône to behave like Hermitage, or Prosecco to behave like vintage Champagne. I ask whether the wine succeeds on its own terms and does what it says on the box.
But typicity alone doesn’t guarantee a high score. Simple or forgettable wines are unable to earn scores in the highest quality bands, even if they are a good value, regionally and varietally correct, and free of evident flaws.
Value affects the score.
This is where I depart from many professional wine critics and publications. I don’t treat wine as some pristine cultural object that exists in a money-free vacuum. Wine is art–but it’s still also a consumer good with a price.
Pricey wine also creates, for non-wealthy drinkers, an opportunity cost. Every $100+ bottle you buy could potentially displace three perfectly lovely $35 bottles, and my hedonistic little heart rues that arithmetic.
A great $15 wine, then, can easily outscore a merely good $50 wine. An expensive wine is not penalized simply for being expensive, but the higher the price, the more I expect it to deliver.
Value accounts for about 10% of the wine’s score, or one full point. (See below for my detailed scoring methodology.) So, a very satisfying supermarket steal could earn a 9.0 out of 10, while a similarly tasty prestige bottle that costs as much as a whole cart of groceries might land closer to an 8.0.
My ten-point scale, explained.
My formal wine education is through the Wine & Spirit Education Trust (WSET), which teaches students to assess quality using the framework commonly abbreviated BLIC: Balance, Length, Intensity, and Complexity. I borrow those four criteria for my own ratings, but the point allocations below are my own. This is not a WSET scoring system.
The four criteria are Balance (harmony between wine components), Length (amount of time that pleasant flavors persist in the mouth), Intensity (definition and concentration of flavors and aromas), and Complexity (number of types of flavors/aromas). As a rough framework, I think of each BLIC criterion as contributing up to two points out of a possible ten.
A side note on Length: When scoring this dimension, I treat it a bit more expansively than the word suggests. A persistent finish matters to me–it’s often the difference between a very good wine and an outstanding wine–but I don’t actually think it’s important enough to account for 20% of a wine’s score. My Length assessment, then, isn’t determined by a stopwatch. It takes into account flavor duration, textural presence beyond flavor, evolution on the palate, and the wonderful sequential experience that the best wines deliver.
BLIC and its four pillars account for eight of the more-or-less technical points available for a wine, or 80% of the total score. Two more points are reserved for factors that I think conventional wine judging sometimes misses.
One point is awarded (or withheld) for the quality-to-price ratio, as described in the section above. All other things being equal, a bargain bottle can achieve a higher score than one that is expensive or mid-priced.
The final point is devoted to the outcome of a nakedly subjective gut check: Do I want another sip? Would I pour it for a guest? If I saw it on a wine list, would I have the urge to order it again?
The basic formula is: 80% wine, 10% money, 10% desire.
So, a hypothetical perfect-scoring wine is balanced in its structure, complex in its flavors, suitably intense for its style, long on the palate and evolving in the glass, an excellent value for money, and individually arresting and crave-worthy in a way that few wines achieve.
That’s a high bar. The majority of wines are consistent and enjoyable to drink, but not extraordinary.
I’ll spare you all the detailed statistics, but my median wine score is an 8.6. A score of 8.6 is not a bad bottle. At all. The mean is a little lower–but also totally respectable–score of 8.3. (That number is pulled down by occasional acts of rage against hideous bottles.)
On score-stinginess: I’m not a critic who goes around spraying 9.7s and 9.8s. I’ve awarded a 9.4 just a handful of times across 155 single-bottle scored reviews. However, almost a third of the wines that I’ve featured on the blog have scored a 9.0 or higher–probably because I’m more likely to review a wine that’s exceptional or inspiring.
Special projects may use different scoring systems. For example, the seasonal Costco Advent calendar posts use A–F letter grades. (Because it’s a lighthearted, informal series. And because I’m not going to pretend that I’m BLIC-ing every Costco mini bottle between glasses of eggnog.)
When judging in a wine competition or for other publications, I abandon the Wine Fairy metrics and defer to the scoring guidelines that have been provided to me by the organizers.
What the scores mean:
9.5–10: Extraordinary. Rare, memorable wines with very little to criticize. Exemplars of their style. These wines provide a transcendent drinking experience, keep unfolding sip after sip, and may transform you into a lifelong wine nerd. As of this writing, I have not reviewed any wines at 9.5 or above for the blog–but I do believe that they’re out there.
9.0–9.4: Excellent. Distinctive, compelling wine I recommend enthusiastically. This is where the air starts to get thin. Many wines score between 9.0 and 9.2 on The Wine Fairy. Scores of 9.3 and 9.4 are uncommon and indicate a wine that is worthy of special attention.
8.5–8.9: Very good. Strong wine, often with a minor limitation, stylistic caveat, youthfulness, or value issue. A score in this range is not a diss–most of the time, these are wines I’d happily re-purchase to drink or serve to friends.
8.0–8.4: Good. Sound, enjoyable, worthwhile. May be simple, imperfect, or strongly context/value dependent.
7.0–7.9: Fair to good. Drinkable and potentially enjoyable, but with significant limitations. Recommendation depends heavily on price, food, or personal taste. A competently made commercial wine should generally be able to reach this range or higher.
6.0–6.9: Mediocre. Not necessarily defective, but with obvious shortcomings that overshadow its positive qualities.
Below 6: Poor. Major problems. Increasingly difficult to recommend as the number drops.
Ultimately, the score at the bottom of a Wine Fairy review is an abbreviation for a much longer judgment: Given what this wine is trying to be, how well does it succeed? With so many wines to explore with finite time and money, is it worth choosing over something else?
If this blog has helped you find a bottle that you’ll enjoy and remember fondly, then I’ve done my job. Thank you for reading! 🥂
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