The Man with a Paragon Palate

By John Elson

One of the world's leading wine critics is preparing for a hard day's work. On the cluttered wet bar of his home office in rural Parkton, Md., nine stubby, stemless glasses, narrower at the top than at the bottom, are lined up. Behind them stand nine uncorked bottles of California red wine, their labels obscured by foil wraps. The critic rinses the glasses with wine from three of the bottles. Then he pours an inch or so of red liquid from the first bottle into the first glass and holds it up to the light. "Good color," he says, "but that's rarely a problem with California wines." He swirls the glass fiercely for a second or two and inhales. "Not much wood in the nose," he observes, "but it's jammy, with plenty of fruit." He sips, noisily sloshes the wine along his tongue and, with practiced aplomb, spews a stream of Napa Valley Merlot into the sink of his wet bar. "It's a little too tannic," he concludes. "Competently made, but nothing exciting. Probably an 81."

In the course of an average week, Robert M. Parker Jr., 40, will sniff, sip and spit his way through hundreds of bottles of wine (reds in the morning, whites in the afternoon). The opinions recorded at his daily tastings are written up primarily for the 21,000 subscribers (at $30 a year) to his influential, fact-choked bi-monthly newsletter, The Wine Advocate. Finally, some of the judgments will mature into a book. November marked the publication of his third, The Wines of the Rhone Valley and Provence (Simon & Schuster; $22.95); both sections of France, Parker believes, offer good bargains as well as awesome, mouth-filling wines.

Parker's influence in the wine trade is fairly awesome itself. In France, some vintners await his thrice-yearly tasting visits with the same trepidation that restaurateurs have for the annual Le Guide Michelin ratings. Craig Goldwyn, editor of the rival International Wine Review, says Parker has "one of the greatest palates ever to walk the earth," although some writers complain that as a taster he favors strength over subtlety. (Parker, of course, denies it.) His critics also carp that his success is based primarily on a 50-to-100-point rating system for wines that is fast becoming a popular industry standard. Wine merchants across the country know that advertising a vintage with a Parker rating of 90 or more virtually guarantees a sellout. Parker insists that the controversial scores are less important than his precise descriptions of wines, which are sometimes brutally scathing. Of one California Cabernet Sauvignon he recently wrote, "This is a pathetic wine with a bouquet that reeks of cardboard, is inexcusably diluted, and has harsh flavors that offer no redeeming value." Rating: 52.

It was a Naderite concern for protecting consumers from poor values that first inspired Parker to write about wines. The son of a Baltimore-based oil- company executive, he grew up in a family of moderate drinkers who rarely touched wine. In 1967 Parker briefly dropped out of the University of Maryland to visit his high school sweetheart (now his wife Patricia) while she was spending her college junior year in France. Fascinated by the taste and variety of wines he encountered, Parker back home bought every book he could find on the subject. A hobby inexorably became an obsession; soon he and Patricia (they married in 1969) were spending every vacation in Europe, visiting vineyards to taste and buy.

Parker soon concluded, "There were a lot of experts, but no one was writing for the consumer." In 1977 he borrowed $2,000 from his mother and the following year published the first issue of The Wine Advocate, which was mailed speculatively to 6,000 wine lovers in the Baltimore-Washington area. About 600 readers wrote in to subscribe -- enough to finance a second issue. By 1984 The Wine Advocate had so outclassed its rivals that Parker quit his job as a lawyer to become a full-time wine critic.

In a field with more than a few hustlers in search of freebies, Parker has a reputation for scrupulous probity. He never attends sponsored wine festivals or goes on paid junkets; last year alone he spent $67,000 (tax deductible) on wines for tasting. When his brother-in-law bought a vineyard in Oregon, Parker informed his Advocate readers and promised never to review any wines produced there.

Parker has some concerns about the future of his beloved beverage. He worries about a neoprohibitionist movement in the U.S. that equates wine -- "which should be drunk in moderation, as a socializing accompaniment to food" -- with hard liquor as an enemy of sobriety. Since wine's variety is its glory, he deplores what he calls the "internationalization" of styles, particularly the trend in California and elsewhere to concentrate on the production of two "supergrapes," Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay. "There ought to be more experimentation with wines made from Syrah ((a Rhone varietal)) or Nebbiolo ((from northern Italy))," he says.

On the other hand, Parker believes the American consumer has never before had access to so much good wine from so many different sources. As examples, he cites the stunning improvement of wines from Oregon, Australia, Spain and Chile. No wonder Parker intends to keep on tasting and writing (a Burgundy book is in the works, and one on California is at the planning stage) as long as he can. "I've got a wonderful job. And the feedback from the people I write for is wonderful."

Back to work. Parker picks up another of the stubby glasses, swirls and takes a deep whiff.