Tannins: What We Should Know About Them

Tannins are among the most talked-about, argued-over, and, frankly, misunderstood characters in the wine story. They’re the reason one glass feels like silk brushing your tongue while another leaves your mouth as dry as last year’s toast. For some, tannins are the stern schoolmaster of wine — firm, demanding, yet promising wisdom if you endure. For others, they are the secret spice, the invisible scaffolding that makes a wine not just pleasant but memorable.

The word itself comes from old leather shops, where hides were soaked and preserved by these compounds. Long before anyone thought of swirling a glass of Barolo or Bordeaux, tannins were at work keeping saddles from falling apart. Their leap from animal skins to grape skins was less a discovery than a recognition: here was something both tough and transformative, capable of shaping a thing’s destiny.

In the vineyards of Europe, tannins became synonymous with prestige. A wine with backbone, they said, would not only survive but grow nobler with time. Regions like Bordeaux and Barolo staked their reputations on it. Drink their wines young, and you might find yourself puckering at the mouth; wait twenty years, and you’d swear velvet had been poured into the bottle.

Scientifically, of course, tannins are polyphenolic compounds. They live in grape skins, seeds, stems, even the barrels the wine rests in. They bind with proteins, which is why they dry your gums the way strong tea does. Winemakers, knowing this, court or restrain them with decisions about fermentation, maceration, and oak. Thick-skinned grapes like Cabernet are naturally tannic; lighter grapes like Gamay offer gentler handshakes. Over time, tannins soften, linking together into long chains until the harshness fades into grace.

But theory is only half the matter. The real use of tannins lies in how we recognize, describe, and pair them. To identify tannins, don’t chase flavor — pay attention to texture. Do your gums feel parched? Your tongue sanded down? That’s tannin. In evaluating wine, balance is the watchword: tannins should converse with acidity and fruit, not shout them down. Sommeliers, in their wisdom, reach for words like firm, silky, chalky, or grippy - useful little bridges between sensation and speech. And when it comes to the table, tannins love fat and protein; this is why a marbled steak and a glass of Cabernet get along like old conspirators.

Still, misconceptions abound. Many believe tannins equal bitterness - they do not. Bitterness comes from other corners of chemistry. Others think all red wines are tannic - not so; a Pinot Noir can be as soft as a whisper. Some claim white wines contain none at all, forgetting that oak and skin contact smuggle tannins in. And worst of all is the idea that tannins are inherently unpleasant. Without them, wine would sag into flabbiness, stripped of spine and longevity.

In truth, tannins are not villains but architects. They shape wine’s structure, determine its age-worthiness, and lend it the authority of time. To learn them is to unlock a deeper layer of wine’s language. The best teacher, as always, is the bottle itself. Line up a young Bordeaux beside an aged Rioja, set a Nebbiolo against a Beaujolais. Taste, compare, argue. Over time, the once-harsh schoolmaster reveals itself as a patient guide, pointing you not just to the nature of wine, but to the pleasure of discovery.