Nomaville: Tasting Room Etiquette

Due to a recent upswing in this column’s popularity with wine drinkers, I’ve received a staggering amount of correspondence seeking my expertise regarding tasting room etiquette. Most are along the lines of, “Dear Daedalus, clearly someone needs a primer in how to behave in a tasting room,” to which I say, Darling Reader, indeed, if this someone is you or perhaps your “friend,” please read on. I have had the pleasure of visiting hundreds of tasting rooms and have mastered the etiquette such that the managers themselves will often escort me to the door after a hearty afternoon throwing back tastes.

The tasting room protocols we use today hearken back to the first tasting room, the Forum Vinarium of ancient Rome, located next door to the Forum Vomitorium. Yet, the same dilemmas persist, such as the ubiquitous “Spit or swallow?” This question has plagued many wine enthusiasts since their first communion. A good rule of thumb is to do what you do in the privacy of your own home. If you swallow at home, swallow in the tasting room. If you choose to spit, there is always the spit-bucket, or as we call it in Spain, the “sangria.”

Complimentary tastings or “comps,” from a Latin term meaning “to beg in reverse,” are a frequent fringe benefit for those of us in the wine trade. If you’re not in the grape game you can easily appear to be by introducing yourself as a member of one of a number of noted wine dynasties. Names like Mondavi, Ernest or Julio and Welch’s are some of the many associated with grapes. If it’s true that we all share a common ancestor (the so-called “Grandpa Darwin Theory”), then it’s likely that you were related to someone at sometime who was in wine – you might even be an heir. I, for example, have long held the assumption that the Howell Mountain appellation in Napa is named for some forgotten ancestor of mine. And someday, I’m going to get it back.

If, however, you’re not a member of the family of Man but still feel worthy of a comp, simply say you’re a member of the media (this works for me every time). At this point in my storied career, of course, simply saying “Daedalus Howell” is now enough to garner free vino (or frino as we say), seeing as my name has come to be synonymous with journalistic integrity and cultural refinement. Theoretically, saying that you’re “Daedalus Howell” could work for you, too (to apply for an official Daedalus Howell Franchise Kit, email franchise@daedalushowell.com). I find opening with a pithy line usually breaks the ice. A rhetorical question such as “Do you know who I am?” works well, since it segues nicely into saying my name.

Now that you’re a wine writer, it’s important to keep the wine flowing for the sake of your research. Remember, the past participle of “drink” is “drunk” and writers are known for their grammar. To keep it flowing, be sure to refer to the tasting room attendant with respect – terms like “bartender” and “boy” are effective, as is the traditional “wine wench” if your attendant is a woman. If you call a female attendant “wench” and she splashes wine in your face – congratulations! You’ve just been initiated into the inner circle of wine connoisseurs. I can still taste the briney blend of joyful tears and a piquant gamay noir from my own initiation.