The Dodgy Bros.: Wes Pearson, Peter Somerville and Peter Bolte ... image from their website
As sensory science accelerates one wonders how emotion and mood affects wine enjoyment
by PHILIP WHITE
Wes Pearson just called
by. Wes is a sensory scientist at the Australian Wine Research Institute. He
makes the cheeky Dodgy Bros wines after-hours.
They're the ones with the
upside-down labels.
Wes has one working eye. I
have a weird form of colourblindness. We laughed about how differently-abled people
regard us as handicapped, and therefore dodgy to a degree, and marveled at the
unfolding science of human sensory perception, how it varies from one to
another, and how each individual reacts differently to the same flavours at
different times.
In one of those brief
conversations that I was tempted to record and transcribe, but rather let flow,
we sat on the veranda and spoke of how much humans have learned about our
organoleptic abilities in the last fifty years.
This lode of discovery
seems to magnify at an exponential pace.
In the gloaming, we looked
out over Ayers Flat past Mt Bold to the Ranges, watching the mists slide from
the uplands down Dashwood Gully toward the Gulf St Vincent, all the way through
the Onkaparinga Gorge. I got the feeling Wes got the feeling that this whole
Fred McCubbin motion-painting thing we were in was really a movie of smell.
The gloaming: from Ironheart Cottage ... photo Philip White
Having followed the
frontline of such science as best I can amateurishly do, I can vouch that in the
last seven or eight years, the advancements in the understanding of our
organoleptic senses has been phenomenal. Like out there.
When I lived on the edge
of the big Yangarra farmyard, I knew there was a biodynamic cycles calendar in
the vineyard shed. I taste wine every morning. Some mornings it just won't
work. Different times I'd have my nose to the winestone, sniffing to no avail:
my receptors were down. The wines were not singing, talking or even mumbling. I
don't hit this panic too often, mind you, but when I let it settle I'd wander
over to check the calendar in the shed and most times it turned out to be what
the biodynamicists call a 'root day.'
Biodynamicists don't trust
their noses on root days. Hardcore bio-d leaders won't move wine, rack barrels
or even drink wine on root days. I'm cool with that. No skin off anybody else's
nose. I have no idea how this moon cycle system can work. I want to know. My
brain is hungry for the science.
Emotion changes my
organoleptic sensibility. There are those moments when the past sweeps in and
an overwhelming wave dumps you or a seeping insidious weep comes under the door
to rot your feet and you take to a good consoling chair and the way you
understand the wine in your glass will change with your mood.
Lately, partly due to the
cabin fever the winter brings, the spirits of many departed friends swoop by at
random. Mood spooks. Depending on whose it is and how it got into my hand and
what happened a wine can explode like a windscreen in my face. Or it can slump
into the deepest swampy blues in E minor, depending ...
The prettiest florals can
leap from a fresh Riesling, like, speckling dots of colour on the brain like
the trippy pointillism of Seurat. On a good spring day, every single one of
those thousands of dots will bring its own brilliant fragrance. Bach French Suite No. 5, Gigue. Bung James Rhodes on here, and let him go.
photo by Philip White
One day we will learn
about how memory, mood and grief administer our ability to smell.
What joy has
to do with it; music and light. How the vibrating patterns of leafy shadows
can make mellow reds look edgy; how a fudgy muddy day can make them seem as soft
and sure and warming as a mother one minute, then lose the bloom when those blues move to the grey and gloom
of some old memory rotting on the Lakes.
Milang, Lake Alexandrina, Murray River estuary, South Australia ... photo Philip White
I took quite some flak in
the 'eighties, when I suggested that before too long we'd prove that the body monitors and manages its organs through its constant analysis of its
exhalations. Like, we smell when we breathe out, just as much as we do breathing
in. We have never been trained to notice this. My point being that the
exhalation is actually the smell of our blood coming fresh from our damp lungs.
Why wouldn't our clever little noses be analysing this?
Whenever I wake, which I hope to continue to do, before I open my eyes I analyse my first exhalations. This teaches me what to expect, because of what I have done. What I have or have not put in there.
After each inhalation, that moist mixture of the scent of the blood, the food, the wine, with all we've inhaled, including the pheromones on the air, and those we've exuded ourselves, passes from our lungs through the aromatic receptors in that mess of bone behind the pineal gland and then down the nostrils, and guess what? After all that opportunity for analysis, before its escape, the last receptor that exhalation passes is the Jacobsen's organ: the two tiny holes - one on each side of the septum - that are our pheromone receptors. These pack their collected samples past the olfactory cortex - where the other organs send the smells - straight through the olfactory bulb to the hypothalamus, the mixing deck of our neuroendocrine system.
Different path. Different destination. Anything can happen there. Like lust, for starters.
Not only have these heretical
notions edged toward proven reality, but great organoleptic scientists like Dr Hanns Hatt (below) and his Ruhr
University Buchum team in Germany have gove well beyond, discovering
olfactory receptors all over the human body. Hatt reports smell and flavour
receptors in our hearts, lungs, livers and brains - all our major organs. Which
includes the testes and that biggest organ of them all: our skin.
Which partly explains the way we feel places, like great vineyards, or that
rolling wall of aroma and weather that entertained Wes and I on the veranda.
Such discoveries are much easier tracked since the advent of the
internet, which I'm sure helps their incidence accelerate. It seems a lifetime ago that I first began to unlock the web's wonder to
discover the radical work of Nirupa
Chaudhari and her team at University of Miami, Florida, when she demolished the
old school map of the zones of the tongue -- those neatly-segmented bits that
detected sweet, sour, salt and bitter -- by finding complicated receptors all over the place, including a system custom-built to recieve
monosodium glutamate, the perfectly natural umami flavour and texture which
makes everything else taste and feel better.
Nirupa Chaudhari PhD, professor of physiology and biophysics with her husband and research colleague, Stephen D. Roper PhD, professor of physiology and biophysics, at the Miller School of Medicine, where they work at the Univeristy of Miami
Since its discovery by
Professor Kikunae Ikeda in Japan 1908, the concept of umami as MSG had been
ridiculed by the west, as its physiologists and neurologists had maintained
that as this stuff works like WD40 in the brain we could not possibly detect it
in such concentration or we'd fuse our neurones. Not only did Chaudhari discover the protein filter
in the MSG receptors in the human tongue, but we also know now that the glutamates
occur naturally in many great wines.
That's a turn-on.
The implications of all
these variables and all those billions humans spend on sensory titillation have
yet to be understood. Apply the science of such variables to the phenomenon of
the wine show system and you're floundering. Why do I feel so uncomfortable in a wine judging room? Because it smells and feels like aggressive foreign chaos.
Apply all this to pheromones and
the way they influence other people's receptors and mob behaviour and we're
only just starting.
We marvelled at the
astonishing amount of human sensory data the Wine Research Institute has
assembled over these recent years, and the power it could have if
scientifically mined for information and patterns we haven't even realised we
need to understand.
Next time I'll turn the
recorder on.
1 comment:
LOVE this Whitey.
Sel
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