Some of the chief pleasures wine affords derive from its effects on the special, hyper-sensitive tissue that lines the inside of our mouths — grasping the lips, tongue and palate in a palpable, sensuous embrace. The food science word for this is mouthfeel, a term I find unbearably awkward and clinical. A better choice is texture, a simple word with established connections to the world of familiar, ordinary things and everyday language.
Exactly the same in English and French, texture derives from the Latin word for something woven. Woven goods – textiles – are in part categorized and judged on the basis of the fineness or coarseness of the materials and the closeness of the weave. Texture thus refers to both something inherent in a fabric’s structure and to the tactile sensation it produces when it comes into contact with the body.
I’d argue that texture is almost always the very first impression we have when tasting wine. Even before we’re aware of its flavors, we have a generalized sense of how a wine feels. It’s been suggested that the texture of a wine is a platform upon which its other features play out. I like that idea.
To get yourself thinking about texture, pursue the fabric analogy. Some wines have a texture reminiscent of a silk scarf or pocket square: sleek, slippery, unresisting. Others have the feel of a close-knit linen shirt or lambswool sweater. Velvet and cashmere are there for the choosing. Still others have a touch reminiscent of Harris Tweed — a bit coarse, nubby, fibrous, even scratchy.
The tactile joys of quality fabrics are habit-forming, and we seem to be able to enjoy all sorts of permutations. We can take equal pleasure in the frictionless slip of a silk stocking, the adhesive grip of a pair of leather driving gloves, and the woolly pile of a sheepskin coat. It’s the same with wine – or ought to be. But what makes the texture of one different from another?
Texture in wine depends initially on the presence of tannin in grapeskins. Red grapes always have more to offer in this line than white, but even among reds wide variations are evident. Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah have an abundance; Pinot Noir and Gamay less. But the character these tannins assume in finished wine is heavily dependent on how they’re managed.
At what ripeness grapes are picked, how aggressively they’re pressed, whether stems are included in the fermentation, how long skins and pips (seeds have tannin, too) are allowed to macerate and how frequently the cap is punched down — are all matters of judgment on the part of vintners and each has its own consequences, evident in the finished product.
Fine wine has an almost unlimited ability to please our senses, but that doesn’t mean that we always get all we could out of it. A wine shop has at least as many textures to explore as any haberdashery.
May I show you something in wool gabardine, or would you prefer pre-washed denim? Walk this way, please.