Judgment of Paris
“The history of wine preserves moments when a glass decided more than diplomacy”
Part I.
Prologue
Paris, May 24, 1976. Forty-nine years ago. 9:12 a.m. The spacious hall of the InterContinental Hotel.
The curtains are barely drawn, letting in a soft, diffused morning light. Outside, spring is in full swing — Parisian, almost theatrical: the rooftops still glisten from the warm night rain, chestnut trees are in bud. Street sounds float up: a delivery van with baguettes rattles across the cobblestones, porcelain clinks in a nearby café, the growl of a Citroën DS engine fades, and a starling chatters from the windowsill. On the wall hangs a poster: “Judgment of Paris – Dégustation à l’aveugle” (The Paris Tasting: a blind judgment).
Inside, elongated tables line the room, draped in flawless, freshly ironed white cloths. On each table stand eight glasses for white wines and eight for reds — aligned in perfect rows, like regiments on parade. The glass is thin, transparent, delicate. Silver-rimmed ice buckets rest at the edges; but inside, not Champagne — instead, white wines from California and Burgundy.
Scattered along the tables are small, dark ceramic bowls — austere, discreet, yet essential: spittoons (crachoirs in French). They are the silent emblems of sobriety amid an ocean of wine, reminders that here no one drinks — here they taste, judge, and decide. Some judges will use them with dignity, others with regret. A few, perhaps, not at all.
In the center of each table lie neatly stacked tasting sheets, pencils sharpened to needle points.
At the back of the hall stands a service table. Two dozen bottles, cloaked in white paper, their labels hidden, each hand-numbered in ink. Already uncorked, yet re-stoppered. Nearby, silver tongs and folded linen napkins wait.
The waiters are young, clad in black and white like a silent ensemble. Aprons stiff with starch, cuffs crisp, hair perfectly combed. They move with the precision of a conductor’s baton. One adjusts the corner of a tablecloth, another aligns the glasses. No one speaks — a ritual silence reigns until the first glass is poured.
What, then, is about to unfold within these walls?
The Man Who Placed a Mirror on the Table
Chapter One. The Idea
Let us step back to Paris in the early 1970s.
A young Englishman with an aristocratic accent opens a wine shop in the very capital of the wine world. His name is Steven Spurrier.
“I was born in England, raised on port, entered college and thought I would become a banker. But banks are lifeless, while wine is alive. It breathes, it argues, it excites and inspires. My passion for wine began not with tasting, but with silence. Once, standing in a Bordeaux cellar, cool and damp, with the scent of earth and oak all around me, I understood: wine is not a drink. It is a story waiting to be opened. And so I found myself in France.”
He never pretended to know everything about French wines — he learned, he tasted, he listened. In a short time, he became “one of them” among sommeliers, wine critics, and merchants. Spurrier was not a revolutionary, but a diplomat of taste.
In 1973 he founded L’Académie du Vin — the first independent wine school in France. His idea was simple: taste is a skill, not a pedigree. His students were budding professionals, housewives, foreigners. He taught them to taste wines blind — and in doing so, taught himself not to trust the label.
One day, two young Californians walked into his shop, carrying bottles from the Napa Valley: Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. Spurrier tasted them and was surprised: the aromas were pure, the structure balanced, the finish long. As a connoisseur, he could not ignore it. There was something here — a challenge to the French.
And then came the thought: Perhaps I exaggerate. Better to hear what others think — those who call themselves connoisseurs.
At the Académie, Spurrier was assisted by an American, Patricia Gastaud-Gallagher. On hearing about these wines, it was she who suggested a bold idea:
“Why not organize a blind tasting? French judges, French and Californian wines, their names hidden, their origins erased. Only taste and aroma remain… I’ll invite the best French experts — knowledgeable, proud, sometimes arrogant. I won’t tell them what they drink. Let taste, not the label, speak! If California wins against France… it will be a scandal. But if it loses — no one will be surprised. One cannot rival France. Either way, I win.”
Thus was born an idea that soon became the slap of the century. The event would be timed to the bicentennial of American Independence in 1976.
Spurrier himself traveled to California to collect bottles and bring them back to Paris.
Chapter Two. The Wines
The Californian Selection
Spurrier’s goal was to demonstrate the quality of California wines, still little-known in Europe at the time. To this end, he chose six of the best Chardonnays and six Cabernet Sauvignons from Napa and beyond, to be compared against two quartets of French whites and reds. His choice rested on the reputations of the estates and the quality of wines available then.
These American bottles carried no grand classifications, no pedigreed châteaux, no illustrious family dynasties. For many winemakers, the mere inclusion of their wines was a surprise. And yet, the idea of a blind competition intrigued them: their wines would be judged without prejudice, purely on merit.
★ White Wines (Chardonnay):
• Chateau Montelena 1973 — Jim Barrett (owner), Mike Grgich (winemaker)
• Chalone Vineyard 1974 — Richard Graff
• Spring Mountain Vineyard 1973 — Mike Robbins
• Freemark Abbey Winery 1972 — Charles Carpy
• Veedercrest Vineyards 1972 — Al Brounstein
• David Bruce Winery 1973 — David Bruce
★ Red Wines (Cabernet Sauvignon):
• Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars 1973 — Warren Winiarski
• Ridge Vineyards (Monte Bello) 1971 — Paul Draper
• Heitz Wine Cellars (Martha’s Vineyard) 1970 — Joe Heitz
• Clos Du Val Winery 1972 — Bernard Portet (founded under commission from John Goelet)
• Mayacamas Vineyards 1971 — Bob Travers
• Freemark Abbey Winery 1969 — Charles Carpy
All vintages fell between 1970 and 1973. In California, these harvests were considered good — though not extraordinary.
The French Selection
For the French side, Spurrier turned to established names, wines regarded as benchmarks of quality. His choice embraced both Bordeaux reds and Burgundian whites, estates with grand reputations and official classifications — to ensure a fair comparison.
★ Red Wines (Bordeaux):
• Château Montrose 1970 — Saint-Estèphe; Deuxième Grand Cru Classé (1855)
• Château Mouton-Rothschild 1970 — Pauillac; promoted to Premier Grand Cru Classé three years later, in 1973
• Château Haut-Brion 1970 — Pessac-Léognan; one of the five Premier Grand Cru Classé
• Château Léoville Las Cases 1971 — Saint-Julien; Deuxième Grand Cru Classé
★ White Wines (Burgundy):
• Meursault Charmes Roulot 1973 — Meursault, Côte de Beaune; producer Domaine Roulot
• Bâtard-Montrachet Ramonet-Prudhon 1973 — Puligny-Montrachet; producer Domaine Ramonet-Prudhon
• Beaune Clos des Mouches Joseph Drouhin 1973 — Beaune; producer Maison Joseph Drouhin
• Puligny-Montrachet Les Pucelles Domaine Leflaive 1972 — Puligny-Montrachet; producer Domaine Leflaive
These French vintages likewise fell within 1970–1973. The years 1970 and 1971 were solid in both Bordeaux and Burgundy; 1972 and 1973, less so. In other words, conditions of quality were broadly similar — neither side held a decisive advantage.
A Month Earlier…
California. Dry air over Napa Valley. Bees hum above the vines, a tractor rumbles faintly in the distance. Preparations are underway: a small pickup truck waits at the gate, loaded with wooden crates of bottles, each wrapped by hand in brown packing paper. On the table sits a portable label stamper.
The winemaker, in jeans and a checkered shirt with sleeves rolled up, carefully numbers the bottles in marker. The digits are slightly crooked, but legible. No polished waiters here — only two pairs of strong hands, and three hours of sleep a night. His wife, wearing glasses, gently wraps the last samples, wiping each bottle as if it were fragile porcelain.
They speak little — just short phrases:
— Are they all ready?
— Yes. Now we can only hope.
— Hope for what?
— That in France, they drink not only the past.
On the crate, the winemaker scrawls in thick marker: “To Paris. For Judgment”. He circles the last word twice.
Chapter Three. The Blind Tasting
Hotel InterContinental, Paris.
Someone gives the signal: “They’re coming.” Into the hall file the judges, carefully chosen by Steven Spurrier. All agreed to take part in what seemed to them a curious diversion. None yet knew what awaited them.
Who, then, had passed this casting of gods and mortals?
The Parade of Judges
1.Odette Kahn (1923–1982)
At the time of the tasting, Odette Kahn was editor of two of France’s most important publications on wine and gastronomy: La Revue du Vin de France, the oldest and most authoritative French wine journal, and Cuisine et Vins de France, a glossy magazine uniting gastronomy and wine culture. She was one of the first women to hold such a powerful position in what was still largely a male domain, and her influence was considerable.
She was a woman with wine in her heart and judgment as sharp as a rapier. France, in her person, stood proud and stern. Her light sarcasm: “What could California possibly know about wine?” Or: “I know the taste of Burgundy — and you won’t convince me otherwise.”
2.Jean-Claude Vrinat (1936–2008)
Owner of the legendary Paris restaurant Taillevent — a master of taste, a grand representative of French gastronomic culture. His presence at the Judgment of Paris carried as much weight as that of wine critics. He embodied elegance, refinement, and the subtle art of service. Through men like him, France had for centuries held its gastronomic crown.
The restaurant, founded by his father André Vrinat in 1946, became his life’s work. After André’s death in 1972, Jean-Claude brought Taillevent into the pantheon of world gastronomy. His opinion mattered not only in wine, but in culture. His wine list was considered among the most prestigious in Paris.
“Wine must confirm its lineage, as an aristocrat does his coat of arms.”
3.Raymond Oliver (1909–1990)
Chef, television personality, culinary writer — the “baritone of cuisine.” Owner and head chef of Le Grand Véfour, one of France’s most historic restaurants, which he revived to Napoleonic glory after taking over in 1948.
Why Spurrier invited him: Oliver represented classical French cuisine; his judgment was rooted in taste rather than origin. His fame on television guaranteed his voice would be noticed, even if the contest itself was ignored in France. He was a master of pairing wines with dishes — where precision and nuance matter as much as in blind tasting.
“Wine aromas are musical chords — only in liquid form.”
4.Pierre Brejoux
At the time, Chief Inspector of the National Institute of Appellations of Origin (INAO). His role was to enforce standards of production and classification — a guardian of French wine law and tradition. Author of respected books on Loire and Burgundy wines.
Why Spurrier invited him: Brejoux represented the official establishment. His presence lent institutional weight, showing that the event was no mere private game.
“Wine without origin is like a book without an author.”
5.Claude Dubois-Millot
Journalist, historian of wine, and director of sales for the Gault Millau restaurant guide, as well as CEO of the venerable wine merchant Nicolas. He knew the rhythms of the wine market, consumer tastes, and shifting styles. He brought a commercial and retail perspective to the table, complementing the academic and viticultural voices of others.
“History in wine is not just bouquets — it is the memory of civilizations.”
6.Michel Dovaz (1928–2023)
Teacher, critic, author — a man whose writings seemed to echo Pliny the Elder. He taught at Spurrier’s own Académie du Vin and published books and articles on wine, including Le Grand Livre du Vin.
Why Spurrier invited him: broad-minded, less bound to regional dogma, a palate open to the new.
“Real wine speaks — but not to everyone.”
7.Christian Vanneque (1949–2015)
Young, bold, only 26 years old — sommelier of La Tour d’Argent, one of Paris’s most storied restaurants with one of the world’s greatest wine cellars. In his gaze, a spark; in his voice, ambition; in his memory, the whispers of grand crus. At the time of the tasting, he was only 26 years old. His restaurant, founded in the 16th century, had one of the most outstanding wine lists in the world, and Vanneque managed its underground treasures.
Why Spurrier invited him: Vanneque embodied a younger generation, not weighed down by old dogmas. His daily work with France’s finest wines gave him authority far beyond his years. A rising star.
8.Aubert de Villaine (b. 1939)
Co-owner of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. The voice of Burgundy itself, and perhaps the only judge who truly knew the vine not from a desk, but from the soil. A philosopher and guardian of terroir. His presence lifted the prestige of the event to its highest. He represented the sixth generation of a family associated with this estate, and by the 1970s he was already a recognized authority in Burgundy winemaking.
Why Spurrier invited him: his name was associated with the purity of the terroir, exceptional meticulousness in winemaking, and respect for tradition. Aubert de Villaine was not just a winemaker, but a philosopher and guardian of the spirit of Burgundy. His participation raised the prestige of the competition — if Romanée-Conti was at the table, it was serious business. Villeneuve was known for his openness to dialogue, moderation, and analytical mind. This distinguished him from the more “ideological” Bordeaux winemakers.
“Even if the New World should win — truth does not vanish; it only deepens.”
9.Pierre Tari
Owner of Château Giscours (Margaux, Troisième Cru Classé) and president of the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux. A true representative of Bordeaux conservatism, influential and authoritative.
Why Spurrier invited him: Tari brought the weight of Bordeaux tradition, the voice of the château system, the dignity of Old World hierarchy, and his participation lent authority to the tasting.
All the judges were French.
Thus ended the parade of names and titles. The tables were set, the glasses gleamed, the judges had taken their seats. Yet without witnesses, no great drama becomes history. In Part II, new figures enter the scene — Spurrier himself, the young American journalist George Taber, and the first voices of the judges with their comments, doubts, and surprises. There begins the essence: sip against sip, scores tallied, results revealed — and shockwaves felt from Paris to distant Napa. Spurrier’s own reflections will follow, and, two decades later, a final look back: from California’s vineyards to Burgundy’s cellars, and the lasting consequences for both worlds of wine.
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