In Praise of Blind Tasting: Seeing the Truth in the Glass

The wine world’s lavish offering of scores, ratings, judgements and trophies has led to two distinctly different sets of wine criticism: the traditional and trusted assessment of wines in a blind-tasted, unsighted environment, and the scores from celebrity wine media components who assess their subject with full knowledge of the bottle’s contents in terms of producer, appellation and personalities behind the brand.

This has resulted in a discernible rift in wine assessment. When it comes to guides, tomes and missives promoting wines that are tasted sighted, one will find a plethora of producers whose names will hardly ever feature as having entered competitions and platforms where the blind, unsighted judging model is employed. Much of the reason being that many producers do not have the confidence to subject their wines to objective scrutiny, being assured that their reputation and backstories will assist in swaying the judge who commits to sighted assessment in reaching a more holistically assumed score.

On the other front, one has the competitions where wines are judged purely on what is offered in the glass. Not a label, reputation or warm smile from the producer in sight. Fair to say that entries to these objective, unknown judging events are less representative of the wine industry than are the reports and special features where the identity of the assessed wines are known by the assessor.

Blind-tasted, or sighted?

For me, there is only one answer: to honour both the wine and the craft of criticism, wines must be judged unsighted. Only by tasting blind can we approach the elusive goal of objectivity, freeing our palates from preconceptions and our pens from bias.

The tyranny of the label

The wine world is awash with information before the first sip is even taken. A label, a region, a vintage, a producer’s name… how can they but not conjure expectations? A famous château or an acclaimed winemaker primes us for greatness before the cork is pulled. Conversely, an obscure appellation, a young, unfamiliar producer or large-scale corporate, volume-orientated winery might quietly lower our expectations, even before the first swirl.

Psychologists call this the “halo effect”, i.e. the tendency to let prior knowledge influence sensory judgment. The same principle applies whether one is tasting a Grand Cru from Burgundy or a newcomer’s Paarl Syrah. To pretend we are immune to these cues is naïve. Even the most experienced tasters are human, and humans are suggestible creatures.

I have seen it countless times: the hush that descends when a wine of grand provenance is poured; the polite murmur when a lesser label is unveiled. Suddenly, the same aromas seem more complex, the same texture more refined, when attached to a name of prestige. This is not deception: it is psychology. But it is precisely why blind tasting matters.

Blind tasting as a leveller

Tasting unsighted does more than remove bias; it restores democracy to the glass. It gives all winemakers a fair hearing, and established names and seemingly untouchable reputations a fair challenge. In a blind lineup, a wine must justify its standing not by the narrative it carries, but by the liquid in the glass.

It is often said that blind tasting strips wine of its story, that it reduces something romantic and cultural to a sterile exercise. I would argue the opposite. When one tastes blind, one truly listens to the wine. Free of distractions, one hears its voice more clearly. The fruit, the structure, the balance. These are what speak: not the marketing copy, the cool, endearing personality of the winemaker and his or her hospitality, nor the price tag.

And how revealing such exercises can be. History is littered with examples of blind tastings overturning assumptions. The 1976 Judgment of Paris remains the most famous: Californian wines, unknown to the European elite, triumphed over Bordeaux and Burgundy when tasted blind. Such moments are not mere curiosities; they are reminders that excellence can come from anywhere, and that even experts can be swayed by reputation.

The illusion of “context”

Those who argue for sighted tastings – like Tim Atkin, Neal Martin and Team Platter’s – often appeal to the notion of context, that understanding a wine’s identity allows for deeper appreciation. There is merit in this sentiment, but it confuses understanding with evaluation.

Context enriches our appreciation of wine as culture, yes. It tells us why a grower farms this slope, why this soil imparts that mineral tang. But when assigning scores, medals, or ratings that influence markets and livelihoods, we step into the realm of judgment. And true judgment – the kind that matters to the consumer – demands impartiality.

To score a wine sighted is to invite bias. Even subtle associations such as price, rarity and vintage can nudge a score up or down. Blind tasting removes that temptation. It insists that a wine’s worth be measured by what is in the glass today, not by its history or ambition or the cosy, personable relationships the producer has kindled with the judge.

The human factor

Of course, blind tasting is not perfect. It can, if mishandled, encourage a certain clinical detachment or overemphasis on surface features such as aromatics, extraction and power at the expense of charm and longevity. But this is a fault of calibration, not of concept. The solution is not to abandon blind tasting, but to refine it.

Truly skilled tasters can reconcile the rigour of blind tasting with sensitivity and experience. A great critic can assess a wine unsighted, then, once its identity is revealed, contextualise their impressions within the broader narrative of terroir and tradition. In this way, we achieve both fairness and understanding.

Integrity in the modern wine world

In today’s hyper-connected, influencer-driven era, where reputations rise and fall with the click of a post, the need for blind evaluation has never been greater. Consumers rely on critics not merely for description, but for trust. If our judgments are to carry credibility, they must be visibly independent of hype, personality and heritage alike.

Blind tasting safeguards that credibility. It assures the reader that when a critic praises a bottle, it is not because of its label or legacy, but because the wine itself deserves it. For producers and consumers alike, it offers reassurance that their wines will be judged on merit alone. And this calls for strictness and discipline. To halt the slide from true merit to mediocrity, something that wine ratings and scores are becoming due to the plethora of guides and scoring narratives where stories are judged to be as important as the quality in the glass.

In an age when transparency is the new currency of trust, blind tasting is our most transparent act.

The wine deserves it

At its heart, blind tasting is an act of respect for the wine, the winemaker, and the consumer. It acknowledges that each wine deserves to be heard before it is judged, that greatness can emerge from unexpected corners, and that humility is the critic’s first virtue.

Wine is, after all, about discovery. And what greater joy than discovering beauty where we least expect it? When the label is hidden, surprise becomes possible again.

To taste blind is not to strip wine of meaning. It is to see it more clearly.