第 1 章
The Intoxicating World of Wine Obsession
When Bianca Bosker abandoned her job as a tech reporter to immerse herself in the world of wine, friends and family worried she'd developed a drinking problem. What they didn't understand was that she'd stumbled upon a secret society-an elite clan of sensory athletes who live for taste above all else. These sommeliers weren't the stuffy, pretentious wine snobs of popular imagination, but rather masochistic hedonists who sacrificed normal lives to pursue flavor with religious devotion. They entered high-stakes competitions while pregnant, abandoned marriages for palate practice, and studied weather reports that might dull their noses. Cork Dork quickly became a New York Times bestseller and was named one of NPR's Best Books of 2017, striking a chord with readers fascinated by this hidden subculture. Even celebrities like Diane Keaton have praised its blend of immersive journalism and sensory science, calling it "the Kitchen Confidential of wine."
第 2 章
The Quest for Sensory Enlightenment
Perfume was the first to go, followed by scented detergent and dryer sheets. Raw onions, hot sauce, and extra salt disappeared from Bosker's diet. Coffee became a distant memory, along with daytime sobriety and her Advil supply. This deprivation routine came from two dozen sommeliers who became her mentors and tormentors over eighteen months.
While most wine connoisseurs have epiphanies over rare bottles in picturesque European settings, Bosker's came through a computer screen, watching others drink. As a tech reporter covering virtual worlds that couldn't be tasted or touched, she'd forgotten what sensory experience even meant. Her first night with New York City sommeliers ended with her vomiting after crashing a blind tasting competition. The next morning, nursing her hangover, she received a photo from a sommelier already tasting again. Lesson one: These people are relentless.
The sommeliers she encountered were nothing like the stuffy stereotypes. They were white-collar refugees with advanced degrees who'd abandoned conventional careers to pursue their passion. While wine literature portrayed a sybaritic lifestyle of fancy men drinking fancy bottles in fancy places, the reality was grueling: long hours, constant study, and an obsessive dedication that one sommelier called "some blood sport with corkscrews."
Her journalistic curiosity soon transformed into something deeper. When she drank wine, her taste buds sent garbled messages her brain couldn't decode, while connoisseurs received rich stories of winemakers, regional histories, and environmental conditions. She began questioning whether super-tasters were born or made, and discovered that training our senses depends primarily on training our brains.
Why do we collectively disdain taste and smell? Our anti-sensory bias traces back to Plato, who considered them the degenerates of the five senses-fleeting, intellectually bankrupt stimulations that merely tickled the body. Thomas Aquinas declared it "clearly impossible" that happiness could come from bodily pleasures. Descartes considered sight "the noblest" sense, while Kant scorned taste and smell as "nothing but senses of organic sensation." Even scientists long neglected researching these supposedly primitive faculties.
Bosker's journey would challenge these ancient prejudices, suggesting that cultivating our neglected senses might help us live fuller, more perceptive lives.
第 3 章
Morgan Harris: The Obsessive Wine Savant
After months working inventory at an Italian restaurant, Bosker realized she needed a different kind of mentor-someone who approached wine with religious fervor. One name kept surfacing in her conversations-a savant some called "Rain Man." What she found in Morgan Harris was both inspiring and intimidating.
Morgan arrived by bike dressed in jeans, vintage T-shirt, gray beanie, and worn sneakers borrowed from his father. "He'd rather drink his money than wear it," Bosker noted. Removing his hat released a single curl that danced on his forehead like an exclamation point. He was bike messenger from the neck down and Hugh Grant from the chin up-lazily handsome with blue eyes, defined jaw, and dramatic wavy hair.
Before she could express a preference, Morgan ordered sherry and launched into a rapid-fire lecture about aging processes, varieties, pairings, and wine history. He pounded the counter for emphasis, feet propped on her stool, discussing Jefferson's Madeira preferences, 19th-century Barolo, and the "stomach-churning richness" of Delmonico's 1880s menus. Morgan rattled off his palate strengths and weaknesses like sports statistics and mentioned his manifesto-in-progress meant to change "America's metanarrative about wine."
After seven years in the industry, Morgan had worked his way up from a Boston red-sauce joint to Aureole, a Michelin-starred restaurant. He was attempting the Master Sommelier Exam-the dining-room equivalent of becoming a Navy SEAL, with only 230 people ever passing compared to 2,450 active SEALs. Most candidates taste over 20,000 wines, study 10,000 hours, and make thousands of flash cards.
Growing up in Seattle as the oldest child of two general internists, Morgan had always blazed through interests "like a forest fire." As a child, he'd assemble elaborate LEGO sets in an afternoon, never to touch them again. He memorized every detail of his massive Magic: The Gathering card collection. With video games, he had to complete every subquest and solve every puzzle. When he discovered rock music, he had to know everything about the bands-"every album, every song, how they all fit together... whose girlfriends they fucked."
Wine had finally given Morgan a subject with "an infinite number of expansion packs." Despite the potential perception of his profession as "a glorified, overpaid waiter with a drinking problem" or "a sycophant sponging off the rich," Morgan believed wine could fundamentally reshape someone's life. To him, bottles weren't mere possessions like sweaters, but "ways that my humanity will be changed."
第 4 章
Inside the Secret Society of Blind Tasters
The Eleven Madison Park blind tasting group was rumored to be New York's most elite-"so cutthroat" there was a waiting list to join. Stories circulated of people blacklisted for bringing the wrong wine or missing sessions without notice. Entry required no formal application but depended on knowing the right people, working at prestigious establishments, and demonstrating exceptional tasting abilities.
Bosker's first actual tasting session was humbling. Dana Gaiser, a Stanford-educated mechanical engineer turned distributor, analyzed a white wine with astonishing precision: "Pale gold, with rim variation at the meniscus, flecks of gold and green. Star bright, no signs of gas or sediment, viscosity moderate-plus." While she struggled to identify even basic characteristics like "apple" and "sweet," Dana rattled off "ripe peaches, apricot, Meyer lemon, candied grapefruit, honeysuckle, lily, heavy cream, yogurt, butter"-all before even tasting it.
The sommeliers spoke a language of their own, debating aromas like "wet asphalt," "surgical glove," "dried pomegranate," "asparagus pee," and chemical compounds like "pyrazines" and "terpenes." They argued over whether oxidized Chenin Blanc smelled more like dried cardboard, cereal box, Apple Jacks, or Cheerios.
The financial commitment was substantial-Morgan spent about $250 weekly on practice wines during intense study periods, totaling around $15,000 annually toward his Master Sommelier pursuit, a significant portion of his $72,000 salary at Aureole.
The best tasters train their bodies long before approaching wine. Bosker's subway rides became exercises in classifying human odors-the sommelier's equivalent of a workout. Jean Claude, a perfumer who'd memorized 15,000 aromas, taught her to "put words" to every smell she encountered.
Morgan's approach was primarily psychological rather than dietary. He embraced Zen philosophy, emailing Bosker passages from "Zen in the Art of Archery" about letting go of oneself to achieve perfection. "Fear and worry are the heart of failure," he explained. For him, blind tasting required sharpened focus and mental control-being "in tune with my senses" while silencing self-doubt. He prescribed yoga to practice "turning off parts of his brain" and staying present.
Few moments in sommeliers' lives weren't devoted to wine. They carried flash cards everywhere (Mia reviewed hers while cycling to work), worked brutal hours (12-14 hour shifts, six-day weeks), and socialized almost exclusively with other wine professionals.
第 5 章
The Sommelier's Performance: Theater of Service
Blind tasting competitions reveal the extraordinary mental calculations sommeliers perform under pressure. When Morgan's turn came, he followed his ritual-removing glasses and positioning his spit cup-before methodically analyzing the wine. Starting with appearance ("clear red wine of moderate-plus concentration with dark ruby core"), he noted its clarity, density, and color, all clues to grape variety and age. He observed its "day bright" quality, viscosity, and tear patterns suggesting higher alcohol content.
With his nose deep in the glass, Morgan detected "moderate intensity of ripe red and black fruits," along with plum, cassis, rose, earth, oregano, and leather notes. The vanilla and baking spice suggested new French oak aging, while the "Brett" character (barnyard aromas from Brettanomyces yeast) pointed toward Bordeaux. Analyzing structure-moderate-plus tannins, acid, and alcohol-he narrowed his conclusion to a "Merlot-dominant blend from the right bank of Bordeaux from Saint-Emilion, 2010 vintage, Grand Cru Classe quality."
The service section proved most revealing-deliberately designed for "full, unbridled hazing, sommelier-style." Master Sommeliers relished tormenting competitors with impossible scenarios: a birthday celebration requiring discreet price negotiation, guests demanding extensive Loire Valley travel advice, and tables requiring simultaneous attention to decanting, Madeira service, and endless questions.
When Morgan dripped wine on a glass rim during service, the judges' silent horror revealed how a single drop could ruin everything-"like a turd smeared on a wedding gown." The experience exposed the elaborate choreography behind wine service, with countless rules: don't lean, slouch, touch the table, discuss price, say your name, let glasses tinkle, pour men before women, or block the label. A sommelier must perform these mechanical steps flawlessly while making recommendations, running wine from the cellar, and making each guest feel specially attended to. As Jon explained, "We use the analogy of a swan. We look smooth and calm on top, but we're pedaling frantically underneath. It has to be perfect."
第 6 章
Rewiring the Brain: The Science of Taste
Many skeptics believe wine expertise is a sham, citing studies like Frederic Brochet's experiments where enology students couldn't distinguish between white wine dyed red and actual red wine, or when they praised the same midrange Bordeaux when told it was a prestigious Grand Cru but criticized it when presented as a humble table wine. However, scientific evidence confirms wine experts' brains function differently.
Brain imaging studies provide the most compelling evidence. When Italian researchers had sommeliers and amateurs taste wine in an fMRI machine, the experts' brains showed dramatically more activity in regions associated with high-level cognitive processing like memory, planning, and abstract reasoning, while amateurs' brains showed only scattered activity in emotional processing areas. French neuroscientists later replicated these findings, confirming that professional tasters experience wine differently.
Acquiring wine expertise is less like building muscle through exercise and more like learning a language-it requires developing conceptual frameworks to organize sensory information. Experts improve by assigning names to smells, encountering them repeatedly, and developing classification systems to understand their significance.
Bosker began a two-pronged approach to accelerate her training: physical practice through daily olfactory training with Le Nez du Vin aromatic essences (smelling five new vials twice daily for thirty seconds each), and theoretical study to understand the meaning behind aromas (like recognizing that vanilla, dill, and coconut suggest American oak aging, common in Spanish Rioja and Argentinean Malbec).
This approach has scientific backing. Unlike visual identification where most people would call grass "green," humans struggle naming smells-not due to neurological limitations but social conditioning. The Jahai tribe in Malaysia can quickly and consistently name odors because they grow up with a rich lexicon for scents, with specific words for categories like "bloody smell that attracts tigers" or "smell of human urine."
第 7 章
The Magic Kingdom: Inside Elite Restaurant Service
The dining room at Marea revealed a world where money trumped all other considerations-even a guest who harassed female staff wasn't banned because "he spends SO much money." He was merely restricted from having female servers.
Victoria James, a 24-year-old sommelier, worked the floor with practiced precision, interpreting guests' wine requests while often ignoring what they actually said. When an elderly woman asked for something "cold and crisp, like a Chablis or Sancerre," Victoria instead brought an Italian equivalent of a buttery Chardonnay. "Sometimes what people say they want is not what they really want," she explained after the guest loved it.
Victoria moved with deceptive speed while maintaining an air of calm, describing her role bluntly: "When you think about it, you're like the servant. Wine is just the vehicle through which you serve these people." She decoded guests' often contradictory requests-people who claimed to hate Chardonnay but ordered Chablis (made from Chardonnay), or requested "dry red wines" (when virtually all reds are dry) when they actually wanted tannic wines.
Stereotyping was essential to Victoria's approach. She immediately sized up tables: Japanese guests who'd need high-acid wines to match their palates, business dinners with either strict budgets or unlimited expense accounts, couples on dates who'd play it safe. With older guests, she was extra deferential: "You never want to make it look like you're trying to teach them something." With wives, she was careful to make eye contact and pull up her shirt "so it's not too low" to avoid jealousy. With men, she played to their egos: "Great choice. You have a great palate. Congratulations, you have a very big penis."
As the evening progressed, the clientele grew wealthier-"softer" people draped in cashmere, silk, and rhinestones. The sommeliers celebrated "exciting wines" (expensive bottles) while lamenting tables that weren't drinking. Yet their goal wasn't purely mercenary-they genuinely wanted to delight guests and earn trust, often recommending bottles below stated budgets to build long-term relationships.
第 8 章
What Makes Wine "Good"? The Elusive Quest for Quality
The search for objective wine quality remains elusive. UC Davis researchers couldn't reliably correlate chemical components with quality scores, finding only that wines containing europium, barium, and gallium tended to receive higher ratings. But with potentially thousands of compounds in each wine, identifying what makes a wine "good" chemically proves nearly impossible.
The subjective nature of taste further complicates matters. While Bosker's own preferences shifted dramatically during her training-abandoning her beloved $14.99 California Chardonnay for esoteric Vin Jaune from Jura-experts insist there's a distinction between wines that are "good to me" versus objectively "good." Critics claim to evaluate wines on balance, complexity, and finish within an "aesthetic system" independent of personal preference.
Yet studies reveal troubling inconsistencies. Research in the Journal of Wine Economics found only 10% of judges gave consistent scores when tasting identical wines multiple times. One judge awarded the same wine scores of 90, 80, and 96 points in quick succession. Another study tracking 4,000 wines found that over 1,000 won gold medals in some competitions while failing to place in others. One vintner entered identical wine under three different labels-two were deemed undrinkable while the third won double gold.
At Treasury Wine Estates, Lei Mikawa approaches winemaking like product development. Having previously worked at Jack in the Box testing trans-fat-free cooking oils, Lei applies similar sensory research to wine, developing products "from the consumer backwards." Treasury's lab tests wines with regular drinkers to determine exactly what consumers want, then adjusts formulas accordingly-perhaps adding sugar or deepening color to match preferences.
The resulting wines-sweet, fruity, low in astringency and complexity-are the antithesis of what wine cognoscenti consider "good." Yet these engineered wines now receive consumer ratings comparable to premium ice cream. This suggests a simpler definition of quality: a wine is good if many people enjoy it intuitively, without needing to understand balance or finish.
第 9 章
The Language of Wine: Poetry or Pretension?
Bosker's wine vocabulary evolved dramatically during her sommelier journey. She'd learned the insider lingo of restaurant service-where "flights" were multiple wine glasses, "full turns" meant table seatings, and sommeliers "marked" tables with glasses hoping to "stretch" guests to expensive bottles. The wine world had its own taxonomy of drinkers and bottles: "necrophiliacs" preferred ancient wines, "BSD" (big-swinging-dick) bottles appealed to status-conscious men, while "cougar juice" referred to sweet Malbecs and oaky Chardonnays.
Scientists and wine professionals agree that naming smells makes them more intense, recognizable and memorable. Without proper terminology, we struggle to describe experiences, corrupting our memory of them through "verbal overshadowing." While the Court's official grid used relatively mundane descriptors, sommeliers created poetic, esoteric tasting notes that sounded like "recipes from a Wiccan book of love spells"-from "wild strawberry water" to "decomposing log" and "jalapeno skin."
The naturalistic, food-based wine lexicon we use today is surprisingly recent. Ancient Greeks and Romans gave only brief assessments of wines as "first class" or "noble," focusing on physical effects rather than flavors. Even Samuel Pepys in 1663 needed just half a sentence to describe Chateau Haut-Brion as having "a good and most particular taste."
Wine vocabulary evolved in the 18th and 19th centuries as winemaking improved and wine became a cultural status symbol. Early critics described wines anthropomorphically-as having character traits like "manliness," "distinction," and "class" rather than specific flavors.
Everything changed in the 1970s when Ann Noble arrived at UC Davis and found aspiring vintners struggling to describe wine aromas. She created the "kindergarten of the nose," making students blind-sniff everyday odors like blackberry jam and vanilla extract. This evolved into her Wine Aroma Wheel-a revolutionary chart organizing specific descriptors into categories like "spicy" and "nutty."
When we say we smell blackberries in wine, we aren't detecting actual blackberries-we're using a code that others recognize. This vocabulary is partly figurative, as proven when translated across cultures. The Guild of Sommeliers now promotes technical language among professionals, with chief operating officer Geoff Kruth dismissing traditional tasting notes as "useless and self-indulgent."
第 10 章
From Curiosity to Certification: The Final Test
Despite downplaying the importance of passing the Certified Sommelier Exam to friends, Bosker was determined to succeed after nearly a year immersed in sommelier culture. Her original curiosity about their obsessions had transformed into sharing them.
In Virginia Beach for her exam, she met a diverse group of candidates-from Sean, a "superhip bartender" in vintage Gucci loafers, to JJ, a NASA satellite designer. She tried to channel Morgan's advice about approaching blind tasting like martial arts-achieving mushin, or "no mind," a state of perfect unguardedness where she could perceive wine without interference from nerves or preconceptions.
When the exam began, she methodically analyzed her white wine-citrus notes, briny character, straw color-eventually concluding it was Chablis Chardonnay. The red wine seemed more straightforward: ruby color, jammy fruit characteristics, new oak influence-California Cabernet Sauvignon.
The theory portion tested obscure wine knowledge-from Swiss grape varieties to financial calculations for wine service. The mood darkened as people emerged from the service exam looking traumatized. Many had invested $3,000 in preparation, with jobs and raises hanging in the balance.
Despite her terrible track record with opening sparkling wine, her service exam with "Master Keith" went surprisingly well. She successfully opened the Champagne and confidently fielded questions about vintages, pairings, and recommendations. Something clicked-like muscle memory-and she performed with unexpected charm and authority.
Yet the experience left her questioning the Court's approach. The disconnect between their formal service standards and the realities of modern restaurants was stark. They were "preparing for a wine utopia" that rarely existed, with ice buckets and elaborate service rituals few establishments could accommodate.
第 11 章
The Blindest Tasting: How Wine Changes Your Brain
There was one final blind tasting Bosker needed to take-the blindest of all. She had to close her eyes, plug her ears, and place her head in a plastic frame inside an fMRI machine. She couldn't smell the wine, only bite down on a plastic tube while someone squirted red wine, white wine, or water into her mouth. For twenty minutes, she lay on her back as a man near her feet injected liquid and shouted commands: "Swish!" then "Swallow!"
This setup replicated two pioneering experiments that used fMRI scans to study wine expertise. Both studies found that when experts taste wine, their brains activate in patterns completely different from novices. After more than a year of intensive wine training, she wanted to know how her brain compared.
When Professor Seung-Schik Yoo showed her the results weeks later, they confirmed she processed wine like a true expert. Her left orbitofrontal cortex and left insula-regions that process sensory information and attach emotional meaning to experiences-showed significantly more activity than the control subject's. Her dorsolateral prefrontal cortex was also highly engaged, suggesting she was analyzing flavors rather than just reacting emotionally.
Even more exciting, her "deep brain" showed engagement in the cortical-striatal-thalamic-cortical circuit, indicating complex problem solving, response selection, error detection, novelty detection, and memory processing. And though she hadn't been instructed to identify the wines during the scan, her blind tasting brain had kicked in automatically-she correctly identified both as a 2013 Burgundy Chardonnay and a California Pinot Noir of the same vintage.
These results proved that sensory training changes us profoundly and quickly. In response to identical tastes and smells, novices' brains stay relatively dark, while trained tasters summon critical, analytical, higher-order parts of our brains. Far from being primal or animalistic, cultivating smell and taste engages the very parts of us that make us human.
Wine had transformed from a mere condiment into the main event in Bosker's life. A Viognier could trigger associations ranging from people and places to philosophies and historical moments. Wine became, in Paul's words, "a whacked-out fucking journey"-whether to industrial tank planks in Sacramento or imposing Bordeaux castles.
When friends asked where to start if they wanted to get their brain fired up like a sommelier's, she advised them to stock their sense memory by smelling everything and attaching words to it. Raid your fridge, pantry, medicine cabinet, and spice rack. Sniff flowers and lick rocks. Introduce odors as you notice them. Look for patterns as you taste. Master the basics of structure-acid, alcohol, tannin, finish, sweetness, body-and apply it to everything you try.
Lying in the fMRI machine, she realized this was the purest but worst way to enjoy wine. It was sterile, robbing the wine of its gold color and horse-blanket musk. There was no soul in liquid from a syringe through a plastic tube. That soul comes from people-from our brains turning amino acids and carotenoids into stories. Every person can find and savor this soul in wine and other sensory experiences. You don't need a trust fund, super senses, or to give up coffee. You just need to pay attention and apply yourself with gusto.