There are many reasons why my colleagues and I accept invitations to be judges in wine competitions (it certainly isn’t the pay, which at best is a modest honorarium). One of the main explanations for why we’re willing to travel considerable distances for the privilege of spending two or three days in a hotel conference room or undistinguished building at a fairgrounds somewhere, is for the opportunity to hone our palates as we taste a variety of different wines from around the world. There is also the occasional thrill of discovering a wine, producer and/or wine region we might not otherwise encounter. And another powerful attraction is the conviviality involved in being with old friends and colleagues (and meeting new ones) and sharing with them, in a very specific context, a mutual passion for wine.
For the uninitiated, however, I feel obliged to point out that judging wines can be many things–interesting, educational, fun–but one thing it generally isn’t is easy.
Let me walk you through a typical first-morning of most wine competitions. The action usually starts promptly at 8 or 9 am, which can be a hardship for judges who have been out partying 
the night before (I am not one of them–honest). Okay, you’ve just gulped down your final sip of breakfast coffee as you take your assigned seat and gaze at the fifteen glasses of, let’s say, Chardonnay arranged in front of you. Generally speaking you’ve not been provided with clues as to the wines’ appellations or countries of origin, their various vintage dates or price points. Faced with this sea of yellowish liquid quivering in fifteen glasses, you may feel a wave of panic flutter through your gut: How will I be able to distinguish one wine from another, doesn’t all Chardonnay taste kind of alike, and why did I drink that third cup of java when everyone knows coffee dulls the taste-buds?
But then you settle down and start swirling, sipping, spitting, and evaluating the wines. There’s little time to dawdle over any of them, let alone take meaningful notes, for soon those first glasses will be cleared away and immediately replaced by, probably, another dozen or so Chards and then another. When all the Chardonnay flights are finished you might be faced next with 64 Cabernets spread out over three or four flights and then, perhaps, 4 or 5 glasses of wine categorized as “other whites”: A couple of Seyval Blancs, a Vidal, and a Moschofilero from Greece, for example. And you’re expected to make judicious sense out of this vinous confusion!
Time to break for lunch (you are famished! What is it about sipping and spitting that induces this kind of hunger?)
After chowing down for an hour or so it’s back into the chilly room (the wines need to be kept cool) for a full afternoon that might focus on anything from Albariño to Zinfandel, including wine made from blueberries, vitis labrusca or mangoes.
By the end of the day’s session everyone’s teeth have been stained a zombie-ish purple. You all have glazed eyes, throbbing tongues and sore gums (from all those high-acid and/or tannic wines), a stiff back from 12 hours of sitting, and an insane desire to compare notes with other judges: “Our panel had to taste 72 Merlots!” “We had a delicious Niagara that I actually gave a gold medal to.” “What’s with all the California Pinot Noirs that taste like Syrah?”
In some competitions each flight is discussed with other panel members as soon as individual scores are recorded (judges are almost always instructed to make up their own mind before comparing notes with fellow panelists); other competitions discourage discussion. Both systems have advantages and disadvantages, but one benefit of discussions is that they can be a valuable experience for participants who are open-minded enough to really listen to what colleagues might have to say (pro or con) about a given wine.
One of the most rewarding aspects of dealing with experienced wine professionals, whether they are journalists, sommeliers, educators or vintners, is the diverse and wide range of experience they may bring to the table, the level of proficiency, and the general lack of egomania (prima donnas and non-negotiaters are seldom invited back.) Of course this is wine, not world peace, but still it’s refreshing to be reminded that adults are capable of gathering together and behaving like civilized human beings who are serious about what they’re doing but still have a sense of humor (some of the best jokes I’ve heard are at wine competitions, usually somewhere between the Merlots and the Rieslings).
The most recent competition I’ve been involved in was the 17th annual International Wines for 
Oysters competition held earlier this month at the legendary Old Ebbitt Grill in Washington DC. Each judge was poured the same twenty wines to evaluate (they’re tasted blind, of course), and collectively we slurped down hundreds of oysters as we assessed every wine–not on its own merits, but on its affinity for oysters. (This is one competition, by the way, where judges do not communicate until after the results are announced). I’ve participated in almost every one of the Old Ebbitt competitions, and since, as usual Sauvignon Blanc dominated the field, this time it was no real surprise when, after the votes were tallied, the winning wine was revealed to be a Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. Even with the annual input of a handful of new judges, we inevitably reach the conclusion that zingy, lean and mean white wine is the best partner for raw oysters.
What was new in 2011 was that although many of the runners-up came from well-known New Zealand producers (Villa Maria, Nautilus, Goldwater, Vavasour) the number-one wine was from Jules Taylor (Marlborough, NZ), a label unfamiliar to many of us. And this is exactly one reason why competitions are good for everyone: Judges learn about a relatively obscure wine and pass the word along to the wine drinking public.
The critical feature of wines that win awards in a competition is that they have been appraised by a group of experienced tasters rather than an individual palate. While it’s certainly true that a single respected wine critic’s opinion can guide us towards making relatively informed purchases, winning wines in reputable competitions have been vetted and approved by a consensus of skilled tasters. Which is why I can advise you with relative confidence to seek out Jules Taylor Sauvignon Blanc the next time you serve oysters (or, for that matter shrimp or most other shellfish). If you happen to be one of those people who haven’t jumped on the NZ Sauvignon bandwagon, I’d recommend with equal enthusiasm “Grooner,” a 2010 Gruner Veltliner from Niedeosterreich, Austria. I ranked it among my top three wines at the Old Ebbitt Competition.
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