By Lawrence B. Johnson

Reviews in Chicago Wine Journal do not come with numbers. I see only two purposes in reducing a review to a double-digit Post-It note, and neither of them has anything to do with enlightening the reader, the consumer.

Numerical inscriptions lend the inscriber a certain pontifical authority: “I declare this a 90-point wine. Go forth, and purchase it with confidence. Should you opt for this other wine, upon which I have conferred only 89 points (a transcendental distinction that only I can grasp), you will lug it home with less conviction. And your friends may question your choice.”

The other talking point for scoring wine is exactly that: a point-of-sale flag that essentially does the salesman’s job for him. “This one got 90 points!” It’s no longer even necessary to add the name of the scorer. It’s “a 90-point wine,” and that’s all one should need to know.

This sad truth reminds me of a great line in John Logan’s play “Red,” about the abstract expressionist painter Mark Rothko. The character Rothko despairs that even people who buy his art fail to appreciate it. “I’ve been turned into a noun,” he says, adding with dry mockery: “‘I have a Rothko!’”

A friend in the wine retail business once observed, ruefully, that the make or break for any wine was the presence or absence of the number 9 on the left side of its numerical rating. Only a few days ago at a wine shop I overhead a helpful salesman tell a customer, “I’ve got a great 90-point wine for you.” Honestly, I don’t know what that means. Or rather, I don’t get what is being shared, must less illuminated.

But hang around wine shops very long and you’ll hear variations on that dubious insider’s info again and again.

And it is dubious. I seriously question the critical basis of 88 points versus 89, or 90 points versus 91. These are very fine distinctions. Even allowing that a 100-point scale realistically begins at 80, that’s still 21 increments to the mythic summit of a perfect 100. I don’t find such gradients to be credible; they merely impose artificial definition on a nuanced subject.

Any wine selected for discussion in Chicago Wine Journal  is implicitly recommended. The world of wine is oceanic; there is no need to point out what is unappealing. My purpose is to steer the reader toward rewarding experiences. If a wine sounds enticing, try a bottle; if it sounds fabulous, buy three.

Writing a review of anything is about analysis and description. There’s more to the winemaker’s subtle art than can ever be extracted from a score of 89 points. Or even 91.