It’s been nearly three years since I began contributing to the Australian Dr Weekly, and although I hope you’ve enjoyed the odd word I’ve written, perhaps even opened the occasional the bottle I’ve recommended, or even been moved to strongly agree or disagree with what I’ve said, I do hope you haven’t taken me too seriously. For the life of me, I can’t figure why Australians pay so much attention to the words of the few of us fortunate enough to make our livings either in whole or in part writing about wine. I meet people all the time who wonder what’s wrong with them because they can’t abide the latest recommendation made by James Halliday, Mark Shield or Huon Hooke. And if your favourite wine copped a caning in the press, why on earth should that stop you from enjoying it? Wine writers – although some of us take our trade more seriously and professionally than others – are by and large wine enthusiasts who happened to have persuaded an editor by whatever means required to print their copy. You don’t sit an exam, you aren’t even required to learn anything about how the stuff is grown or made (although of course that should be an essential prerequisite), and you aren’t prohibited from writing about wine if you own a winery, consult to wine companies, perform their public relations or conduct other promotional activities for them. Of course it’s impossible to state blanket-fashion who should and who should not be criticising wine in the media, for each case must be taken on its own merits. But the issue that stood me up on the soap-box today was a conversation I had while judging wine in the company of a fellow-contributor to the Melbourne ‘Age’ (whose name was not Mark Shield). My colleague and I had been comparing the various merits and demerits of a range of Australian and French sparkling wines. Our intended outcome was to reach a conclusion concerning the relative quality of either, and to decide – although their styles are unquestionably different and distinct – if our local makers of fizz are narrowing the gap. Of the twenty-three wines tasted – of which about half were French and half Australian – the top five wines were all French, namely Bollinger Special Cuvee, Billecart-Salmon NV, Moet et Chandon NV, Perrier-Jouet NV and Pommery Brut Royale (there were no Vintage Champagnes in the tasting). Some Australians performed creditably, namely Domaine Chandon 89.1, Yellowglen Cuvee Victoria 1989, Hanging Rock Macedon, Seppelt Salinger 1989 and Yalumba ‘D’ 1989. Consensus was reached that although the styles were different, the French were obviously the better wines on the day. So which wines, piped my colleague, provided the better value for money – since the average decent French these days asks about $45 per bottle (unless sold at a promotional price) and the premier Australian sparkling wines are about half that? Surely the Australian wines offer the consumer a better return per dollar invested? I bridled instantly. Aren’t you, the reader, able to work that out for yourselves? Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not the critic’s role to present an opinion regarding quality and style, before leaving it to the reader to decide whether or not it offers value for money? Why is it that some critics – and not just those who write about wine – want a hand in everyone else’s household budget? I am hooked on good wine and there are thousands like me. We might collectively decide that should a stray $200 come our way, the best way possible to spent it would be to splurge the lot on a single bottle of decent old Burgundy. We might buy an ethereal wine – the gastronomic highlight of our year, our month or our week – and its finesse and hidden power will live long in our memories. Yet many of those who advise on such matters would tip scorn on such indulgence. What do they care? Isn’t our money? You should, they will say, instead purchase a very fine domestic pinot noir of some varietal expression. Perhaps it won a gold medal at Adelaide, they will say, and it only costs $25 a bottle. “Value for money, it murders anything French.” It’s no coincidence that I am writing this article for a population of doctors. Many of my best friends are doctors, countless doctors take an acute interest in wine and many doctors have even taken the plunge into the wine industry itself. Doctors generally work hard hours, are well rewarded for their efforts and frequently purchase finer things with which the hours away from the surgery or hospital become that little bit more pleasant. How would you appreciate someone in this magazine telling you that the Ford Corsair is a perfectly fine automobile which on a value for money basis is an obvious choice instead of a BMW or a Mercedes? Or that you should forget the Rolex and appreciate the value represented by the $5 digital watch on sale at the service station? How do you like someone else telling you how to spend your money? One of Australia’s most highly-exposed wine writers has a bi-monthly freebie magazine in which he rates wines on a five-star basis. But only in price categories: under $10, $10 to $15 and over $15. Wines appear to be rated between three stars and five for each division, and half-stars are also dished out. But how does a four-star wine in the $10 to $15 group compare to a three-star wine above $15? Why is this critic so intent on making up the reader’s mind about how how each reader should spend their own money? It may not attract advertisers in quite the same way, but wouldn’t it do more justice to both wine and consumer if wine was publicly evaluated according to a consistent scale? Are critics supposed to make the purchasing decision on behalf of their readers? Is there some sort of a cultural cringe going on, acting against imported and top-priced Australian wines? By this I don’t mean it’s necessary for all critics to adopt the same scale, but at least to be consistent in the guidelines in which they evaluate all wine, regardless of price. The buyer is then free to choose between a cheaper wine rated modestly against a very highly rated wine five times its expense. Who is the critic to say which represents the better value for money for each reader? And how, with any credibility, can anyone (i) give an extra star (or whatever) to a wine just because it’s cheap, or (ii) take a star away from another because in the mind of the writer, regardless of how good a wine it might actually be, it stretches the budget just a fraction? Or, dear reader, do you really prefer to be hand-fed like this? How do you react when a one year-old six-dollar chardonnay is given the maximum five stars out of five, when in the next issue a fabulous Yarra Valley chardonnay, whose price is a squeak over $20, is awarded half a star less? Do you enjoy being told to buy the cheaper option? Or would you rather know how they would rate if judged on the same basis and then left to decide for yourself where your dollar should be spent? You might, of course, choose one bottle of the more expensive wine instead of three of the cheaper. Isn’t it your choice? Anyone who buys it regularly must realise that there is not necessarily any linear relationship between price and quality in wine. But when it comes to deciding between conservative safety and the excitement of indulgence, make up your own mind. It’s your money!
