From a wine lover's perspective, Asimov can be viewed as living a charmed life: imagine being paid to drink fabulous wines from all over the world, traveling to picturesque chateaux, charming wineries and bucolic vineyards in beautiful, romantic settings to do research and then give your own personal assessment of the wines! (Okay, I do get a little remuneration for the wine courses I conduct, but I still have my day job to pay the bills.) Since we are both about the same age and pursued our interest and passion for wine in roughly the same time periods, what I found particularly interesting was the "memoir" chapters of the book wherein he describes his first tastings of wine as a teenager, his first big splurge on a bottle of wine (a 1995 Chateau La Mission Haut-Brion for his parents' 30th anniversary) and his various and sundry adventures and misadventures in wine drinking through college, graduate school and beyond, before he took serious measures in educating himself about wine. I could certainly relate to these accounts of youthful experimentation and (at times) embarrassing situations. His eventual appointment as "Chief Wine Critic" (a title he assumes with deference and humility) is somewhat fortuitous, yet mostly likely due to many years of dogged journalistic inquiry and editorial experience.
On the "manifesto" side, Asimov takes issue with the "tyranny" of the tasting note and the limitations of the 100-point scoring system. His main criticism of the tasting note seems to be that it's become more of a critic's game to list how many different aromas and tasting sensations one can eke out of a single wine sampling, as opposed to whether the wine is actually any good and will suit a consumer's expectations and preferences. As for the 100-point scale, he points out that these blind-tasting scorings ignore the single most important consideration when enjoying wine: context. (In a recent column related to so-called objective wine scoring, Asimov makes the case that he is not at all averse to making a point of his personal preferences in assessing wines. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/23/dining/a-wine-critics-realm-isnt-a-democracy.html )
Overall, I found the book to be a very enjoyable and enlightening read, inasmuch as I highly value the author's approach to the experience of wine tasting and his criticism of the trappings of wine culture, not to mention that I find his personal preferences in wine to be very much in synch with my own so that I trust his judgement. His writing style is engaging and personable and generally avoids pedantic and overwrought wine terminology. However, I did find an overabundance of references to high-end Bordeaux wines as well as other ethereal wines from France and Italy which may either leave the reader in a fog as to what he's talking about or give the impression of name-dropping to bolster his wine "cred". A further caution is that the memoir parts of the book - as much as I enjoyed reading about his exploits and adventures and comparing them to my own - may become tiresome and tedious to the younger reader (i.e, under 45 years of age). In the end, the book will be most appreciated by the serious wine reader (or geek), but is not likely to be of great interest to the casual wine drinker. That said, I will leave you with some of the more salient points Asimov makes that hold value for all wine imbibers of today:
Right now is the greatest time in history to be a wine drinker [due to] unparalleled access to more different sorts of excellent wines, from more places all over the world, than ever before.
Nobody, not even the world's greatest wine scholar, will ever master all they need to know to choose the right bottle every time.
The single most important thing one can do if one wants good bottles with dinner is to make friends with a smart salesperson at a good wine shop.
Wine production today is essentially divided between those who make huge amounts of acceptable wine for cheap prices and those who make small amounts of more ambitious, more distinctive and more expensive wines.
What's in [a] glass at a particular moment almost never represents the full potential of a good wine. It offers a ... suggestion, ... but is almost never completely knowable.
