So Neal, What Can I Expect?

BY NEAL MARTIN | FEBRUARY 13, 2018 

Just to get this straight, I prefer to be behind not in front of the lens. I make an exception here as it is my introductory article and you might wonder what I look like. Johan Berglund took this in the hills above Vosne-Romanée.

Why I Write (The Way I Do)

Wine writing is a narrated voyage. It says as much about the writer as the wines they encounter en route. My journey really began back in June 1996 as a buyer for a Japanese importer, when I began visiting vineyards and winemakers, diligently chronicling each and every wine that crossed my inquisitive palate. It took an unexpected turn when I debuted Wine-Journal in 2003 and three years later took another twist when a message from Robert Parker popped into my inbox. Eleven years later and the bearings change once more. Here I am, listening to woozy jazz in a hotel lobby in Lower Manhattan writing the first entry in this latest chapter, fresh from being introduced to the all-star Vinous team. Who knows where it leads. All I know is that my passion for wine is a lifetime journey that only ends when I do, taking all those vinous memories with me to leave an archive of words. So best make sure they’re worth reading. 

Posing outside Petrus around 1999 judging by my smart attire. This was when I was working for a Japanese importer. You forget how many châteaux and even famous names’ facades were grey and a tad shabby until recent makeovers. 

In 2002, when I tentatively tiptoed into wine writing, my governing ethos was to narrate the journey in a personal manner. I am ostensibly a stenographer, typing the voice concurrently running inside my head when I taste wine, manifesting verbiage that tends to read as if I am speaking directly to you. Yes, you. Like an old friend casually nattering away. The prose is nipped and tucked, perhaps furnished a light-hearted preamble: an amuse bouche to ease you in before the main course. It is likely to be embroidered with quotes and observations; decorated with metaphors, wry asides and a dash of finest Essex humour that together, hopefully makes it worth reading. One central tenet is my belief that wine is ineluctably connected with nearly all facets of life, art and culture and therefore the writer is obliged to at least try and bridge them together, hence the anecdotes and extraneous references to wine that obliquely say so much about it. This is all done whilst keeping the essence of that original narrative, one that boils down to me telling you about the wine and its maker.