Stop talking 'terroir'

Walk around any major wine fair - Wine Paris, ProWein, Vinitaly - and ask producers what makes their wine special. A remarkable number will reply, "It reflects the terroir." They sing the same tune, even though it's one few wine drinkers recognise, let alone request.

Surveys show that "terroir" ranks very low among consumer priorities. In real life, no one walks into a shop asking for a wine that expresses limestone, or a hint of north wind. People want something that tastes good at a price they find fair - not a geology lesson in a glass.

To be fair, winemakers are encouraged in this refrain by wine writers, who nod earnestly while taking notes on gravel, slope and microclimate. Yet for most normal drinkers, terroir is as obscure a word as "mycorrhiza." They're not discussing clay and chalk over dinner; they're wondering whether the wine is fresh or heavy, soft or sharp, sweet or dry.

Don't misunderstand me: terroir matters. It shapes a wine's personality just as upbringing shapes a person. But few of us open conversations by describing our DNA and childhood environment - unless, of course, our stories are truly exceptional.

So unless your vineyard contains dinosaur bones, Roman coins, or once belonged to Brigitte Bardot, spare the lecture. Most people will nod politely, as they did to your neighbour who said the same thing. Better to let the wine do the talking - and if it really does taste of its place, your audience will notice without being told.