Swept Up In Wine...oops, we missed a spot!

Author’s Note: This article is part of an ongoing series, and eventually for a book, aimed at rethinking many of the conventional wisdoms, entrenched practices, and contemporary models of how we perceive wine consumers within the wine and hospitality industries and revise contemporary education programs to include perceptual sciences and more accurately reflect the history and traditions that have been lost. The goal is not to tear down the past, but to critically examine and to build something more inclusive in its place. At the heart of this project is a roadmap and actions the industry can create adaptive, horizontal marketing strategies that understand and celebrate the diversity of personal tastes, define and apply new market segmentation parameters, legitimize a broader range of wine products, and provide the means to understand and respect all wine consumers regardless of their preferences. The intention of this project is to move away from myths and rigid hierarchies that have evolved toward a more empathetic and empowering wine culture. Questions, comments, and even the occasional rants sparked by this article will be welcomed and used to clarify, produce more information, or revise the final text of my upcoming book.

From Romance to Rigidity: The Evolution of Modern Wine Culture

I got swept up into the wine vortex in the mid-1960s, and like many things in my life, my fascination with wine started innocently enough. I discovered I enjoyed the taste of wine at the age of 14 and began cooking and reading books about wine and gastronomy. Too young to get a job in wine, I became a professionally trained chef with a head full of ambition and gastronomic trivia, a mouth full of tournedoes with sauce béarnais, a nose full of Corton, and a goal of eventually working in the wine business. Wine, at that time, was not the typical beverage of choice for a teenager in the 1960s. Becoming a chef did not hold the cachet and status that the profession commands today, and even French chefs I trained under knew virtually nothing about wine. But I found at age 17 that I could buy French wine without being asked for ID, and used my prowess to score wine and cook roast duck and escargots on a grill at the beach in Miami to impress dates and my friends in equal measure. It was game on!

I bought into everything I read in the wine books of the time as the gospel. I memorized wine names and trivia, wine and gastronomic history, and learned classic French cooking at a professional level. I studied the works of Escoffier, Brillat-Savarin, Prosper Montagne, and read Gourmet Magazine that my Dad kept right next to his Playboy magazines. Of course I only read Playboy for the gourmet cooking articles. I eventually became one of those guys who would not only tell you exactly which wine to drink with your oysters, lobster Newberg, roast goose, or sole meuniere, but also weave a fantastic web of BS why they were the appropriate choice. I was dubbed a “wine and food pairing guru.” Life was pretty dang good!

But over time, a number of things started to nag at me. While I lectured on the history behind serving certain wines with certain foods, I knew deep down these were false correlations. I’d be at wine dinners or tastings around the world, rattling off pairings and pontificating on the rationale behind my "pairings." The harmony, the "synergy," structure, and balance. I’d notice people, real people and even experts, smiling politely but clearly not loving the experience. Some hated the wine I’d declared “perfect” for the dish. At consumer events, many would have preferred sweet wines, God forbid, and mostly felt embarrassed to say so out loud. Others still fawned over the "perfect pairings." It slowly dawned on me that something was very wrong. That we’d built this elaborate system around wine that rewarded conformity and agreement, and shamed nonconforming preferences. And it occurred to me that, despite my passion, fascination, and expertise, I was complicit in buying into and promoting an overly complicated, esoteric, intimidating, and exclusive wine community.

In 1989 I had made my way to the Napa Valley. Having been accepted as a candidate to sit the Master's of Wine examination, and having epically failed my first attempt, I attended a writing seminar that introduced me to critical thinking to improve my chances of passing the Master of Wine exam. It worked! I passed the exam in 1990. But the critical thinking process became embedded in my thinking. Trying to answer lingering questions I had, I started digging into the science of taste and perception. I began working with sensory scientists around the world, became the "oracle of umami," (and you can't even imagine the resistance I faced talking about it in 1989!), and started going back over the classic books I had read decades ago. What I found and learned blew my tidy house of cards down. Very few argue that people are perceptually different, that we each have our own "palate," and we even go so far as to exhort people, albeit weakly, to "trust their own palate." What does that even mean? How different can we be? After a brief acknowledgement and permission to "drink what you like," we get sucked back into the vortex. And we commune mostly with other people in the vortex. In the vortex, wine values, language, beliefs, and behaviors are rarely ever universally identical, yet no one seems to ask, "Where did this information come from?" Or, "Okay, we are all different in what we perceive, but how different, and why, and what does that mean?" This is what I have studied for the past 35 years.

Perception forms the basis for every belief, value, and opinion we have. Our sensory experiences and perceptions are shaped by a combination of our unique genetics, neurology, brain plasticity, and psychology. There is no universal perception, no absolute belief, value, or opinion. There is no universal perfect wine or “perfect pairing.” For example, what we experience when we taste wine and food in combination is technically known as a cross-modal interactive flavor modulation; a dynamic interaction that changes our perception based on what we eat, what we drink, and who we are in that moment. Brush teeth, drink orange juice - negative flavor modulation for most people. Lick a tiny bit of lemon and salt, sip red wine - positive flavor modulation for most people. The degree of modulation is highly variable from one individual to the next. Although this phenomenon is pervasive, it is not absolute. The only thing that is absolute is that nothing in the individual experience of wine or wine and food is absolute. There is no such thing as an "objective" perceptual experience. Yes, the sensations of the wine, the food, and the combination of the two change, but how it is experienced is individual. In the vortex, we tend to seek out others who seem to share common perceptions, beliefs, and values.

So, I changed course. I ditched the guru robes and took up the cause of forwarding a deeper understanding of perceptual individualism and flavor modulation along with critically rethinking and correcting misinformation that started innocently enough in the 1960s and now has been adopted as gospel. My mission now is to help people feel confident about what they like and to help the industry shift from snobbery to empathy. If you love a Moscato with your steak, I say go for it. I can provide perceptual validation and historical context for doing just that. And thank you for being a wine lover! If you are ever interested in learning more or discovering new wine, let me know; I am all over it. Love the combination of rare, grilled beef and an intense red wine? Don't stop! If intense red wine and oysters float your boat, sail on and damn the torpedoes, and you may be surprised as hell how many people love this combination even if you do not! Perception is personal. Wine is personal. Food is personal. And the best pairing is the one that makes you happy.

If you know what you love, don't stop doing what you are doing. Just don't impose it on others without permission. And millions of people will grant that permission. The change I am promoting is in how we relate to others, understand how to connect at a personal level, and correct the misinformation and misunderstandings that are prevalent in wine education, marketing materials, and conversations.

My unnatural, early interest in wine began just when the US wine culture started to emerge in the mid-1960s and into the 1970s. It began innocently enough. It was a time of growing enthusiasm for wine, of newly found sophistication, and of romanticized stories that often portrayed wine as the poetic partner to food, history, and a trendy gourmet lifestyle, moving from a niche beverage to mainstream popularity. It is also important to note that while wine consumption in the US began to rise, wine consumption in France, Italy, and Spain has continued to decline at an alarming rate.

The romantic notions about wine were mostly just marketing lines, and there is nothing wrong with that per se. But how many people know that the largest wine producer and exporter in 1960 was Algeria, and their largest export market was France? Wine with food, except in the vortex, was simply a matter of availability, convenience, and affordability for the vast majority of French people. In situ, one would drink the wines of the region with the dishes. "If it grows together, it goes together" was just a meme used in the vortex. A major development in France was the emergence of la cuisine nouvelle, which changed the face of fine French cuisine. Did all of the wines magically transform to "pair" with these new techniques and flavors?

The 1960s marked a turning point in American culinary consciousness with the meteoric rise of Julia Child who introduced American TV audiences to French gastronomy. Her 1961 book Mastering the Art of French Cooking and her groundbreaking television show The French Chef made these ideas accessible, even entertaining. With her unpretentious charm and flair, Child demystified techniques once reserved for professional chefs, rebranding French food as a path to refinement, culture, and culinary adventure. Julia Child profoundly influenced the emerging wine culture by aligning wine with gourmet food, tradition, and the show-ending toast with wine, "bon appétit!"

The 1961 English translation of Larousse Gastronomique marked a pivotal, if much less dramatic, moment in American culinary history, introducing home cooks and professionals alike to the depth, rigor, and prestige of French gastronomy. Originally published in France in 1938, Larousse was more than a cookbook; it was an encyclopedia of culinary knowledge, history, technique, and the cultural significance of food. It also marked the arrival of the first wine and food "service guide."

The addition of a "Table Showing the Serving of Wines" and "Table Relating Wines to Food" was not a part of the original 1938 publication. In the original 1938 text the instructions for serving the finest wines and finest dishes were clear, "This is how wine should be served at the table...As soon as the third service has succeeded the roast, with the entremets, the vegetables, the elegant pastries, the Bordeaux-Lafite, the delicious Romanee, the Hermitage, the Côte-Rôtie, or, IF THE GUESTS PREFER, the white wines of Bordeaux, the Sauternes, the Saint-Peray, etc."

It is time to restore this way of approaching wine and food today. What does the guest prefer?

Historically, there was no "pairing" of wine and food. were far more pragmatic. Wine selection was far more practical, based on local availability, social class, personal and guest preferences, income, and occasion rather than our modern complex notions and pseudo-scientific rationales.

When a cliché, like the pairing of red wine with beef, becomes so ingrained that it's treated as a fundamental truth, it is time to rethink what we are doing and where we are getting our information. This "immutable" pairing rule is a modern misinterpretation and rationalization, not an ancient principle. Of course, the wine and food zealots will point out that exclusively red wines are noted in the chart above. There is anecdotal and contextual evidence, but little in the way of direct documentation, to support the idea that red wine was historically used to help mask or mitigate the taste of meat before modern refrigeration. Not a wine and food "pairing" that has any relevance today.

The easily disproved pseudo-scientific rationale that red wine and red meat are “chemically compatible” due to an interaction of fat and proteins with tannins is a much later construct, often misused to rationalize unrelated older habits or cultural norms. Yes, most people will perceive a red wine as less bitter and astringent after a bite of rare steak, but this is due to the salt on the meat. Try an unseasoned, rare beef with astringent wine, and the wine will seem more astringent, not less. Research has shown that sodium can reduce bitterness by interacting with the taste receptors. Plus, it was a well-established practice to use wine, vinegar, or strong spices to mask unpleasant or overpowering flavors in food. Red wine’s popularity with meat was that red wine was a mouthwash, and the alcohol, acidity, and tannins could help reduce the lingering, putrid perception of gaminess or decay.

Ellen Church launched "Let's Learn About Wines" in the Chicago Tribune in 1962. This is considered the first major newspaper wine column. Following suit prominent magazines and newspapers featured wine columnists during the 1960s and 1970s, reflecting a growing interest in wine among the general public. These magazines and newspapers, through the work of their wine columnists, played a significant role in shaping American wine culture and "educating" consumers during the 1960s and 1970s.

Did you know that the premiere issue of Food & Wine magazine was distributed as a supplement inside the March 1978 issue of Playboy? Hugh Hefner, the founder of Playboy, backed the launch of Food & Wine, and the first issue was a preview of the new magazine inserted into the larger publication. This initial version was originally titled "The International Review of Food and Wine", but was later shortened to simply Food & Wine. Maybe this explains why there are many wine descriptors referring to female body parts LOL?

At first, these rules served a purpose. They offered curious wine lovers a framework and gave emerging wine professionals something to teach and rally around. But over time, the helpful simplicity began to ossify. What started as general guidance slowly spiraled into a convoluted system of rigid “dos and don’ts,” where exceptions became doctrines and preferences became moral judgments. Wine pairing guides ballooned into complex charts of pseudo-chemical compatibility and cultural correctness. What had once been marketed as pleasurable exploration turned into an etiquette minefield.

The shift accelerated during the 1970s, when wine began to be marketed in the United States and in other New World markets as an emblem of sophistication and upward mobility. Baby boomers, seeking cultural capital and new forms of identity, embraced wine not just as a drink, but as a signal. Wine was no longer just fermented grape juice—it was the liquid equivalent of a lifestyle upgrade. The 1970s was also important as the period in which the entirely inaccurate and pejorative correlation of American fondness for sweet wine and the popularity of Coca Cola and other sodas emerged, in spite of history clearly showing the French had a penchant for very sweet wines and Champagne that was often 30% sweeter than Coke! Even the famed Chateau d'Yquem was a table wine up until the 1960s and appropriate to serve with oysters or roast beef.

The vortex was fueled in no small part by the rise of wine writers, sommeliers, wine education, and certified experts, who began to formalize wine language and more narrowly define quality. Wine critics and writers positioned themselves as gatekeepers, offering tasting notes and point scores that created a new kind of hierarchy. In this new narrative, dry wines, especially powerful reds and structured whites, were deemed serious and worthy. Less intense reds and delicate white wines gained little attention and were lost in the "more is better" shuffle. Sweet wines, on the other hand, were demoted as unsophisticated, naïve, or even vulgar, and sweet wine drinkers started to become the pariahs of those of us sucked into the vortex. Expensive Sweet wines, long considered table wines in France and in general, were relegated to the "dessert wine" category.

In parallel, a subtle but powerful form of social stratification took hold. Preference for certain wines became a proxy for cultural intelligence. Wine education programs—many of which were developed or expanded during this period—often adopted the romantic clichés, the rigid heuristics, and the historical misinterpretations wholesale as the truth. Rather than interrogating these "conventional wisdoms," we adopted and institutionalized them. The result is a wine education system that taught conformity over curiosity, and reverence over relevance.

Thus, a culture originally rooted in joy and storytelling calcified into one defined by anxiety, performance, and exclusivity. The gate was no longer wide open for discovery; it was being guarded by those fluent in a particular dialect of prestige. The vast number of wine lovers have not, and will not, get sucked into the vortex. This backdrop is essential for understanding how wine’s image became both elevated and alienating—and why the time has come to reconsider not just how we taste wine, but how we talk about it, teach it, and share it.

The wine industry has long relied on a product-centered "push" strategy—emphasizing production details, descriptive metaphors, accolades, and expert validation to persuade consumers. We even go so far to try to dictate what wine they should serve their wine with, the need for special glassware, and the words they should use to describe their experiences. We assume that this approach will convince consumers to buy and enjoy wine more frequently. Yet in today’s dynamic and highly personalized marketplace, this model is increasingly misaligned with consumer expectations and behavior. A 180-degree shift is needed: from pushing wine products to pulling people in. This means placing the consumer, not the wine, at the center of the conversation.

Adopting a “pull” strategy, anchored in empathy, personalization, and relevance, transforms the role of wine marketing. Instead of dictating what consumers should want, the wine community becomes curious listeners and thoughtful guides. This shift fosters deeper emotional engagement, enhances brand loyalty, and opens the door to underserved and often alienated consumer segments who make up the majority of the wine market. It also encourages product innovation based on real-world preferences rather than tradition-bound assumptions to reach new generations of wine consumers without the unwarranted and ridiculous labels the wine industry uses, like beginners, naive, unsophisticated, or uneducated. Ultimately, a pull approach empowers consumers to connect with wine on their terms, unlocking broader enjoyment, stronger sales, and more authentic relationships between producers and the people they serve. What do you like? How can I serve you?

The benefits of shifting from a "vertical" to a "horizontal" approach in the wine industry are many. Imagine the millions of people already consuming wines not approved by many of the people in the vortex being validated, even apologized to, and welcomed into the wine community. What if we welcomed emerging generations with a sincere and heartfelt, "How can I help you discover your passion and favorite wines using my expertise?" We can quickly increase consumer engagement and expand our market reach with a consensus committed to positive change in the vortex.

Historically, the wine industry has relied on a "vertical" approach where a small group of experts, influencers, and industry insiders in the vortex dictate what constitutes good or bad wine, defining the approved lexicon and jargon, and attempting to educate or persuade consumers to align with their established preferences. This limited approach fails to resonate with the wider spectrum of consumer tastes and evolving demographics.

By shifting to a "horizontal" approach, the wine industry acknowledges the diversity of consumer needs and expectations, moving beyond a "one-size-fits-all" mentality. This creates opportunities to engage a broader audience, including younger, more diverse consumers who may be less interested in traditional wine narratives and more focused on personal values and experiences.

The concept of ‘perceptual individualism’ emphasizes understanding people's unique subjective experiences and perceptions. It suggests that each person's view is their interpretation of what we call ‘reality,’ shaped by their sensory physiology and personal experiences including culture, learning, . This perspective acknowledges that no two individuals perceive the world in precisely the same way, highlighting the importance of personal experiences in shaping our interpretations and understandings of the world around us. Learning about this and learning to help others understand where they are and where they would like to go should become the "New Wine 101."

The vertical approach often leads to a communication style that can be perceived as exclusionary or intimidating, relying on specialized jargon and a rigid hierarchy of knowledge.

A horizontal approach emphasizes adaptive strategies in communications and marketing, recognizing that different consumer segments respond to various messaging styles, values, and expectations. This allows for tailored content that resonates with specific demographics and interests, fostering a sense of connection and trust.

The traditional vertical model tends to prioritize and impose the personal opinions and expertise of industry professionals over the individual preferences of the consumer, potentially leading to a disconnect between the wine professional and the customer.

Adopting the horizontal approach will necessitate retraining wine professionals to better serve the entire spectrum of wine consumers. This involves understanding diverse needs, providing personalized recommendations, and fostering a more welcoming and inclusive environment for wine exploration. By focusing on customer service and experience, wineries can cultivate stronger brand loyalty and create a more positive and engaging journey for wine enthusiasts. 

The vertical approach stifles diversity and innovation and imposes limits and homogeneity, which can restrict the range of ideas and stifle innovation within the industry.

Embracing a horizontal perspective naturally encourages diversity and inclusion within the wine industry, leading to a wider range of tastes, styles, and products that appeal to a broader audience. This approach also promotes creativity and innovation, driving the exploration of new regions, wine styles, packaging, varietals, and winemaking techniques. It encourages wineries to offer diverse products, packaging formats, and price points to cater to evolving preferences and market segments. 

By shifting towards a horizontal approach, the wine industry can move beyond a hierarchical, expert-driven model to embrace a consumer-centric, diverse, and innovative future, ultimately leading to greater success and sustainability for everyone involved.

And stay tuned for more about specifics on how we might move forward to execute this new market segmentation strategy!