How My Palate Has Changed Over the Years

One of the questions I am asked most often is whether my taste in wine has changed over the years.

The answer is an unequivocal yes.

Like many wine enthusiasts, my early years were spent chasing intensity. Bigger wines seemed more impressive. Higher alcohol, richer fruit, more extraction, and lavish oak often translated into greater excitement. When I was first building my cellar, I found myself gravitating toward the wines that generated the loudest praise and the highest scores. If a critic described a wine as powerful, concentrated, and massive, I wanted to try it.

And there is certainly nothing wrong with that. Some of the world’s great wines are indeed powerful and age-worthy.

Yet somewhere along my wine journey, I noticed a shift.

The wines I most looked forward to drinking were no longer necessarily the biggest wines on the table. Instead, I found myself increasingly drawn to wines that possessed something less obvious but ultimately more satisfying:

Balance.

A Lesson Learned Around the Dinner Table

I remember hosting a dinner many years ago and opening several highly regarded wines from the cellar. As expected, they generated considerable discussion. Everyone admired them. Everyone appreciated their quality.

But by the end of the evening, the bottle that was completely empty wasn’t the most expensive wine on the table. It wasn’t the highest-rated wine either.

It was the wine that simply seemed to work with everything.

It paired effortlessly with the meal. It evolved throughout the evening. It never became tiring. Most importantly, people kept returning to it.

That evening taught me an important lesson.

There is a difference between a wine that impresses and a wine that invites you back for another glass.

Another experience comes to mind from a tasting group I have participated in for many years. On this particular evening, the theme was Napa Cabernet Sauvignon. Several of the wines were highly acclaimed bottlings with substantial price tags and correspondingly impressive reputations.

As we worked our way through the flight, everyone dutifully evaluated the wines, discussing concentration, oak influence, and structure. Yet when the voting was complete, the clear favorite was not the biggest or most opulent wine in the lineup. It was a wine that displayed freshness, restraint, and remarkable balance.

What struck me most was not the result itself, but the reaction afterward. Long after the formal tasting ended, people continued pouring that wine for themselves while leaving small amounts of the bigger, more powerful wines in their glasses.

That was a telling lesson. Wine may command attention, but balance often earns affection.

Better Wine for Better Food

One of the reasons balance has become so important to me is that wine was never intended to exist in isolation.

The greatest wine experiences of my life have almost always involved food and good company.

When I think back to memorable dinners over the years—whether enjoying Barolo with friends, exploring Super Tuscans in a tasting group, or sharing mature Bordeaux over a leisurely meal—I rarely remember every tasting note.

What I remember is how naturally the wine fit into the evening.

Balanced wines excel in these settings because no single component overwhelms the others.

The acidity refreshes the palate.

The tannins provide structure without harshness.

The fruit remains expressive without becoming heavy.

The alcohol supports rather than dominates.

The entire wine feels seamless.

Some wines seem designed to win a tasting competition. Balanced wines seem designed to accompany a meal.

Better Wine Makes for Better Conversation

Another realization has emerged over the years.

The wines I remember most fondly are rarely the centerpiece of the evening.

The people are.

I have attended dinners where the conversation revolved entirely around evaluating the wine. The discussions became analytical, almost competitive. There is a time and place for that.

But my favorite wine experiences usually unfold differently.

A balanced wine quietly contributes to the evening without demanding constant attention. It allows the conversation to move naturally between wine, travel, food, family, history, and life.

The bottle enhances the gathering without becoming the gathering.

Some of the most enjoyable evenings I have spent with fellow wine enthusiasts have involved wines that possessed a certain elegance and restraint. Nobody felt compelled to keep talking about the wine because everyone was busy enjoying it.

I vividly recall a dinner several years ago where an older bottle of Barolo was opened near the end of the evening. By modern standards, it wasn’t a particularly powerful wine. The color had faded somewhat, and the fruit was no longer primary. Had it been evaluated solely on intensity, it might have been overlooked.

Instead, it became the centerpiece of the evening.

As the wine slowly evolved in the glass, conversations around the table seemed to slow down as well. People became less focused on evaluating the wine and more interested in sharing stories, asking questions, and simply enjoying the experience.

The wine seemed to create an atmosphere rather than demand analysis.

It reminded me that mature, balanced wines often offer a form of intellectual and emotional engagement that younger, more exuberant wines rarely achieve.

Learning to Taste Structure

As my palate matured, I also realized that I had been focusing on the wrong things.

Like many people, I spent years concentrating primarily on flavors.

Black cherry.

Cassis.

Cedar.

Tobacco.

Vanilla.

While those descriptors are useful, they tell only part of the story.

Today, when I taste a wine, I pay far more attention to its structure than its flavor profile.

Here are a few simple techniques that can help any wine lover better understand structure.

• Assess the Acidity

After swallowing the wine, wait a few seconds.

Does your mouth begin to water?

If it does, that’s acidity at work.

Higher-acid wines create freshness and energy. They often pair exceptionally well with food because they cleanse the palate between bites.

Some of the world’s most food-friendly wines are driven more by acidity than fruit intensity.

• Evaluate the Tannins

Pay attention to how your gums and tongue feel after tasting a red wine.

Do they feel dry?

Do your cheeks tighten slightly?

That sensation is tannin.

Young Barolo, Cabernet Sauvignon, and many Bordeaux wines often display significant tannin. The question isn’t whether tannins are present. The question is whether they feel integrated and proportional to the fruit.

• Consider the Alcohol

Ask yourself whether you notice warmth in the finish.

Alcohol should contribute body and texture without becoming obvious.

When alcohol dominates, balance suffers.

• Look for Harmony

The most important question is surprisingly simple:

Can you identify one component that overwhelms everything else?

If the answer is no, the wine is probably balanced.

The Beauty of Subtlety

Perhaps the greatest change in my palate has been an increased appreciation for subtlety.

When I began studying wine, I was attracted to wines that announced themselves immediately.

Today, I am far more intrigued by wines that reveal themselves gradually.

I enjoy wines that change over the course of an evening.

Wines that seem almost shy at first, only to reveal additional layers with time in the glass.

Wines that reward patience.

I experienced this recently while revisiting a mature Bordeaux. The wine was not particularly powerful. In fact, some tasters might even have described it as understated.

But over two hours it continued to unfold, revealing layer after layer of complexity.

By the end of the evening, it was the only wine anyone was talking about.

Not because it was loud.

Because it was interesting.

One of my favorite examples occurred during a visit to Italy. Over lunch, I was served a relatively simple regional red wine that probably would never receive significant critical attention. It was modest in alcohol, modest in concentration, and modest in reputation.

Yet with the local cuisine, it was absolutely perfect.

Each sip seemed to refresh the palate and prepare me for the next bite. The wine never dominated the food, nor did it disappear into the background. Instead, the two worked together seamlessly.

Years later, I can still remember that lunch.

Ironically, I cannot remember many of the much more expensive and highly rated wines I tasted that same year.

That experience reinforced something I had been learning gradually: wine does not have to be monumental to be memorable.

What I Look for Today

If I am being honest, I pay far less attention to scores than I once did.

Instead, I ask myself a few simple questions:

• Does the wine feel balanced?
• Does it make me want another sip?
• Can I imagine enjoying it with food?
• Does it evolve in the glass?
• Would I enjoy spending an entire evening with it?

If the answer is yes, I usually know I have found something worth remembering.

In recent years, I have noticed another small change in my tasting habits.

When I attend a wine dinner or tasting event, I often find myself returning to a glass that initially seemed understated. Early in my wine journey, I might have overlooked that wine in favor of something richer or more dramatic.

Now I have learned to pay attention to the bottles that quietly improve with time.

If I keep returning to a particular wine throughout the evening, there is usually a reason. More often than not, that reason is balance.

The wine is simply comfortable in its own skin. It doesn’t need to impress because it already knows exactly what it is.

A Final Thought

One of the great joys of wine is that our palates continue to evolve.

The wines that fascinated us twenty years ago may not be the wines we treasure today. That is not a contradiction. It is growth.

As my own palate has matured, I have become increasingly drawn to wines that exhibit grace rather than brute force, harmony rather than excess, and nuance rather than volume.

These wines may not always receive the highest scores.

They may not be the most expensive bottles on the shelf.

They may not even be the wines that generate the most excitement in a blind tasting.

But they are the wines that make dinner better, conversations richer, and evenings more memorable. And, at least for me, that is what great wine is ultimately all about.