Spit and polish
LEARNING TO SPIT WAS a turning point in my wine education. The ability to expel a mouthful of wine without ruining my clothes, or those of a fellow taster, was a milestone I reached with pride.
I had practised in the bathroom with a glass of water. My first attempt was pitiful: my pyjamas and the bathroom mirror were both splattered with splashback and my chin covered in dribble. I adjusted my technique to a more direct, projectile-like force, slowly delivered in closer proximity to the basin. Once I'd mastered that, I progressed to tasting white wine in the kitchen. The greater viscosity of wine required more force than the water but I soon had it licked. I was ready to move on to the red.
Red wine shows no mercy. The slightest dribble, the merest splashback, and a white shirt is beyond repair. Extreme caution was essential. Aiming directly at the base of the kitchen sink while using the minimum of force was the best approach.
My next goal was to attend a tasting and pretend I had been spitting wine since I was 30. (Unless they have children, nobody younger than 30 spits out wine; they quaff it and sleep until 3pm the next day.)
That first tasting, complete with spittoons, involved 12 wines served at four tables. Having assessed each group of three wines, tasters were encouraged to move on to the next table and taste a different group.
My first hurdle came early: six tasters were standing around a large table with one spittoon in the centre. There was no way I could get close enough to avoid splashback. I examined the colour and savoured the nose of the first wine for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone else to lead the way. Soon enough, a quiet octogenarian showed his experience and spat into his water glass, then emptied it efficiently into the spittoon.
At the next table, the spittoon was full. My elderly role model simply raised his hand and the waiter knew exactly what was required. The final table offered no spittoons. Disgruntled murmurs about poor planning could not conjure up another receptacle - the venue simply had no more available. Seasoned hands were not concerned: reaching into handbags and briefcases, they withdrew their own spittoons and continued tasting and spitting. The rest of us had to be content with water glasses and frequent trips to the bathroom sink to empty them out.
I have learned a lot since that first experience. Good wine is meant to be savoured and enjoyed; only in the most professional or academic scenario should you even consider spitting it out. Experts agree that people aiming to learn about wines informally should only use a spittoon if the tasting will comprise four or more wines. The alcohol consumed while evaluating any fewer is not enough to cloud your judgment.
Another tip: take an old handkerchief with you. Occasional dribbles are unavoidable and a discreet dab provides an instant fix.
And finally, no one looks good while spitting wine. At high-profile wine tastings, when photographers and film crews - or a friend with a new camcorder - are at hand, never allow your spitting action to be recorded. Always turn your back: the audio effects alone are sufficiently alarming on film. Should you become confident enough in your spitting ability to consider not heeding this advice, take a glass of red into your bathroom, watch yourself in the mirror, and remind yourself otherwise.
