Robert Finigan and the Post-Mindful Wine World
I ran across an apparently out of print book by wine writer Robert Finigan. In the Seventies and Eighties, he was one of the most influential wine critics in the U.S. and across the globe. He has since been supplanted by Robert Parker and The Wine Spectator, but it is nathless intriguing to read this book.
I’m enjoying it. Finigan clearly cares about writing as much as about wine. As scrupulous as Finigan was, however, the book is anachronistic. Much has changed in the wine world over the years: laws, tastes, markets, and maybe even expectations. In 1987, the book's publication date, wines from South Africa could not be imported to the US, merlot was the ascendant grape variety, people still sipped chenin blanc, and Chile, Argentina, New Zealand, among many other regions, were barely on the wine map. Merlot is now largely thrown into blends, malbec and pinot grigio are bywords, chenin blanc n’est pas ici, and the wine world has exponentially enlarged.
Finigan began writing about wine in 1972, when interest in fine wine, especially from California, blossomed. The wine scene then resembled the current craft beer boom: everything seemed to sell. Finigan wrote an influential monthly newsletter and appeared regularly in various lifestyle magazines. I read whatever I could by him, for the information and for the enjoyable style of his writing.
I had heard years back that Finigan suffered a virus that affected his sense of smell. I now don’t know if such happened but his influence decidedly waned. In the mid-Eighties, wine critic Robert Parker (not the mystery writer) became the exciting new voice in wine criticism. His rise proclaimed a shift in the industry.
I suppose this all sounds dull or niche-worthy but I think there’s something broader here than just the prance of wine commentary.
Finigan died in 2012 but his newsletter passed in 1990. Both he and Parker knew their subject. Parker, however, added bombast, a must-have agitation. He introduced a 100-point rating system, which immediately became the identifying factor of a wine. People really would say, “I only buy wines scoring 90 and above.” Ninety points was his cusp to greatness. Parker was not afraid to award 100 points: vino perfecto! He was also unafraid to enter overdrive about the most expensive wines.
The system reeks insofar as the numbers seem to bundle a range of wine types under one umbrella of perfection. Keeping in mind that wine is just intended for pleasure, not satori. I mean, you may find satori at the bottom of the glass, but I don’t think that’s the intended ROI.
Tasting wine requires a mindful practice. You must notice the colour, the aroma, the texture, and the taste of the wine to appreciate it. To do otherwise would be to miss the singular character that inheres to every wine. The same approach applies to anything you read, anything you see, anything that you think about. Mindful in the moment of the experience.
Parker’s overdrive works for retailers, who can stick cards by a wine saying 90 Points Robert Parker. His scores tend to end conversation. Wines scoring below 90 wither on the vine.
The writing styles of the two simply were antipodal. Finigan’s prose was leisurely and thoughtful (both were trained as lawyers, by the bye). His explanations were patient and he could write with humour.
Parker leans on the superlative. He also communicates in a clunkier way than Finigan. Parker described one of his 100 point wines, 1990 Chateau Margaux, as having a texture like motor oil. The words battle his meaning. Motor oil in the delicious sense? I once counted the use of the word gobs in an issue of his newsletter, as in ‘gobs of fruit’ or ‘gobs of aroma’. He used the word 50 times! Every issue was like that. He was also capable of writing “This wine has a big nose.” Nose, in this usage, is an acceptable synonym for aroma, but he obviously misses the play of words. Finigan would not have.
I admit I have a rooting interest in Finigan. The claptrap of Parker’s scoring system, which the canny rag The Wine Spectator horked for eternally abject commercial usage, became the basis of all wine knowledge. The rating became a fact. A directive arose: You only buy wines 90 points or above.
The comments of any wine critic represents a digest of that critic’s experience of a wine. The numbering system is a digest of a digest. Here’s where we live!
Enjoying wine needn’t be graded with yes/no. Nothing need be. Placing things in critical containers results in placing things in critical containers. But the thing itself, not to sound like Heidegger (the “boozy beggar”), can only be witnessed on its own terms. This is a big test for most of us, but no less worthy of trying. To be mindful of the moment's experience, and tune out the noise.