Have been through quite a few of them, enough to write about.
In contradicktion to my earlier state-ment of mind, I would like to write something here. A feeling of performance anxiety is the last thing one has in his mind for such spaces!
Okies, every tasting session starts with a healthy sophisticated presentation of the blends tagged Blend 'A', 'B', 'C'...etc. and on a very sober note and sombre looking people performing a class act of holding, tilting and swirling glasses.
Sight is the first exercise of the drink in the glass. In
Take a dip into the glass. Come out with the aromas stinging the inner walls of your nostrils. Oaky/ woody, nail varnish, caramel? Fruity? Floral?....again no poetry please. Please...I want my palate to feel the concoction...lyrical regurgitation on an observation sheet is for the French. Woody and Peppery!
Good, a sip atlast! Chew the liquid, chew it…says the expert...gargle, roll the fluid, do all sorts of mime tricks till you understand what personalities the drink carries on taste. Never waste. Let the French spit it out into the bucket. We swallow the whole nip. Hmm...
Now to Sample B. Get over here baby.
7 or 8 samples later...
The air in the room has changed. The room has become noisier, boisterous to the brim! Sombre faces which were taut with apprehensions are now jolly good red with mutual bonhomie. Everyone is happy. Some are slurry. Comments on the drinks – still classified – are received with bigger laughter. Intricate observations follow.
How does this one smell? Dip Sniff Soar – I say MELONS!
The expert beams upon me. Bravo – right word…this one has a bouquet of melons!
I suddenly couldn't resist, lest for a more perfect timing. So I utter “Big Juicy Melons!”
Room resonates with spine splitting squeals.