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"SHEEEEEE-IT” AND “TRUE DAT” ARE MEMORABLE LINES FROM THE SEMINAL TV SERIES THE WIRE. THEY MIGHT ALSO HAVE BEEN THE TASTING NOTES OF A PRIVATE WINE TASTING BETWEEN ROBERT PARKER AND THE SHOW’S CAST. 

“Twelve of them came and got drunk and never left character,” says Parker, recalling the evening with amusement and explaining how it came to pass. 

Parker was born in Baltimore – the grungy gangland in which The Wire was set – and to this day lives in the state of Maryland. He was contacted by The Wire’s Dominic West and, as a fan of the show, Parker was only happy to host what must have been the antithesis of the Bordeaux En Primeur tastings through which he made his name.

Though life may have started in Baltimore, the world’s best-known wine critic did not exactly crawl out of the badlands into the wine-lands. Actually, he grew up an only child on a tranquil family dairy farm, 30 miles outside the city. You might say farming was in his blood but Parker was the first of his family to eschew farming in favour of college. “My dream job was to be a vet but it turned out every biology course I took, I came close to failing. I was a very bad student until my third year. I was in a fraternity that was extremely wild and crazy. There were a lot of jocks.”

Ultimate madness 

Parker was one of them – he went to school on a soccer scholarship at the University of Maryland. They say of all the players on a football field, the goalkeeper is the crazy one. “I was tall, athletic and ferocious in goal,” says Parker. “Corner kicks are the ultimate madness.” Indeed when you consider the bravery required to dominate the airspace of a dozen leaping, rutting men, it is easier to understand how this American outsider came to grasp the wine world with both hands.

But in 1967 Parker had yet to discover his palate – back then it was just his nose and mouth. He “partied like crazy” but “never really liked alcohol” and besides, he had other things to worry about. “I completely shredded my left knee three weeks before the soccer season started. It ended my career and that team went on to win the college national championship.”

If there is a positive spin on the phrase ‘ruptured ligaments’, it was about to present itself. The Vietnam War was in full swing in the late 60s and Parker, a staunch opponent, was facing conscription. “I missed being drafted by my cunning,” he says, explaining that he intentionally didn’t apply for student deferment, knowing that if he was called up while his knee was crocked, he might be excused duty permanently. “Sure enough, after I got out of hospital, still on crutches, I was drafted for my physical. As soon as I went in there I knew this had worked to perfection. I failed it and got a permanent LY status which meant I would never go to Vietnam.” 

His knee saved him from more questionable action. “Guys were doing all kinds of crazy stuff. When I was there doing the physical, one guy did a poop on the floor. They carried him away to see a psychiatrist. He was probably totally normal but people were desperate.” 

The young Parker had a way of turning bad luck good. “The girl I was in love with at college had taken off to study in Strasbourg in France,” he says. “I had more worries than she did as I had this notion that French guys were romantics – little did I know they were highly overrated.”

Parker didn’t take any chances and dropped out of school to meet her in Paris. “She took me to a bistro and I had my first dry wine,” he says. Parker can’t remember what they ate (“she says escargot”) but he recalls she was still in love with him. “I had enough money for six weeks so we toured eastern France, went into Germany and Amsterdam, which as a 20-year-old was the coolest place. We drank wine almost every night – probably not the stuff I would drink today because it was too cheap – but it was different every time and it seemed to promote conversation. 

“What I loved about it, and still love, is that wine gives you an incremental euphoria. It’s a feeling of mellowness, a light high without losing control of yourself.”

Both back Stateside, the young couple got engaged, but by now Parker had another love. He had read books by wine writers Alexis Lichine and André Simon and formed a wine group among his fraternity.  “Most of the guys smoked joints – marijuana was rampant – but I wouldn’t allow any smoking. I even had a lieutenant who was the enforcer.” 

On a shoestring budget, Parker made runs to Washington DC, picking up inexpensive Côtes du Rhônes, Beaujolais and Muscadets. “As I got more money I climbed the ladder of quality and price and that established very strong consumer advocacy ideals. 

“The most expensive wines were the rarest and had the most literature written about them, but when you tasted them they weren’t necessarily the most inspirational. A myth had been created. The French are wonderful at this with their appellations systems, Grand Crus and the 1855 classification system. It was basically a giant cast system for price control.”

But the young Parker was curious. “We read that the most expensive wine was Lafite Rothschild so we pulled together some extra dollars. When we tasted it no one said anything. Then one guy said: ‘This is Lafite Rothschild? I don’t like it,’ and everyone chipped in.  It was a major let-down but an important lesson.”

At this stage Parker didn’t conceive of a career in wine and instead enrolled in law school because he “didn’t want to work”. 

“Boy I picked the wrong field – lawyers were just above garbage men in terms of public opinion, but it made my parents very proud. I didn’t enjoy law school. I was too confrontational and it was a lot of work. But through it I developed the 100 point system and developed a real strict standard of ethics – a result of the Watergate era and being a protégée of [political activist] Ralph Nader.”

In 1978, while practising law aged 30, Parker put pen to the Wine Advocate newsletter. “We were a young married couple with a mortgage and I wasn’t sure I could make any money out of it.” 

When his partner dropped out there was even more doubt but Parker forged ahead, trusting in his innovative approach to tasting and the precision of his as yet unknown palate. 

He approached two high-end wine shops in Washington DC for their mailout lists, telling them about his plan to distribute the first issue free to consumers. 

The first Wine Advocate panned the Bordeaux vintage of 1973 and, though this was unlikely to promote sales, the retailers offered their nationwide contacts free. “I sent out 6,000 issues and got a 12% return for the second edition, about 500 subscribers – which I was devastated about. Now I have learned from direct marketing people that that’s an incredible response. 

“The second issue was on Napa Valley, because I didn’t like what they were doing either, and by then I was up to 1,000 subscribers. I knew I had something.” Parker says an article about his breakthrough appeared in The Washington Post. It said the success or failure of Parker depended on whether people agreed with him. “That’s been true for 37 years,” he says.

New style

The much documented 1982 Bordeaux vintage made Parker. When the wine writing elite dismissed the vintage as a flabby Californian Cabernet, lacking in acid, Parker recognised its richness, concentration and integrated tannins. He saw a new style that would later proliferate. 

“I knew that was the turning point. I was getting beaten up by more established writers and I had to survive financially until the wines were in bottle and consumers could taste them.” When they did, the vintage was lauded and has been ever since. “Subscriptions jumped and I was able to leave practising law. The writers who panned it? They’re careers were essentially ended.” Until the mid-eighties Parker had not been a full-time wine writer. What followed was “success after success” or what others called ‘Parkerisation’. 

Now well settled into his sixties and in recovery from a serious back operation, Parker is in slow retreat. He has given up the “young man’s job” of En Primeur to concentrate on Napa. That should mean a little more time to listen to his Neil Young albums, certainly a little less travelling, and a lot less tasting than the days of putting that million dollar nose through 100 wines in a day. 

Those who fell fowl of those tastings will not miss him. His 100-point scores were meritocratic, systematic, and his pay-your-own-way approach refreshingly ethical. 

As Parker fades from the limelight, there will be recognition of the indelible impression this outsider from Maryland made on the world of wine.