The master sommelier exam is no joke. If you need proof, only 165 people in the world can claim they’ve passed it. The whole process is nerve-racking and stressful, but the tasting portion is probably the hardest and most frequently failed part of the exam: Not only do you have to correctly identify six wines in a blind taste test, you have to wax poetic on each vintage’s characteristics, as if you were describing it to a midlevel oenophile. Oh yeah, and you only have 25 minutes to do it.
When my time came, I reached for the first glass of white and began: “It has a clear appearance, star-bright reflectivity, a color of white gold and platinum …” After quickly—but carefully—commenting on its nose and palate, I called it a Pinot Grigio from Friuli, Italy, and identified the other whites as a Chenin Blanc from Savennières in France’s Loire Valley and an Austrian Riesling from the Wachau. I was halfway done and making good time.
And then I got to the reds. I quickly concluded that the first was a Cabernet Franc from Chinon in the Loire Valley, but then I stopped—“Would they really give me two Loire Valley wines?” I thought. And that’s when the doubt started to creep in: Did I make the wrong call on the second white? Flustered, I moved on to the second red and called it a Spanish Rioja, then backtracked and called it an Italian Chianti. But I still wasn’t sure—there’s always one wine that gets you off track, and this was mine. The clock seemed to tick faster as I regrouped and tried to remember everything I’d said. I settled on calling it a Côtes du Rhône from France and moved on to the last wine, but I was running out of time. Trying desperately not to stare at the clock, I blurted out, “1990 Right Bank Bordeaux, Margaux, fifth growth,” just as the buzzer rang. “Does that count?”
It did, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Seven of the 55 advanced sommeliers who took the exam that day passed, but I wasn’t one of them. Master sommelier Madeline Triffon complimented my focus, rhythm and overall performance and even said she looked forward to seeing me again next year, but from what I could gather, I missed two of the six wines. The ironic part? I got the fifth wine right.
