The marketing story: Cense Marlborough sauvignon blanc is the first Weight Watchers-branded wine, made by Truett-Hurst, a holding company for California-based wine production and branding operations. Cense has 85 calories per 5 oz glass,* equating to 3 Weight Watchers’ “points.” The partners expect to add other wines to the brand line-up including (surprise, surprise) a rosé.
The numbers: Cense is a reduced alcohol wine. The brand also hooks its diet-friendly message on claims about no added sugar, but dry table wines essentially never contain added sugar, and the small fraction of residual sugar in the vast majority of table wines makes an insignificant calorie contribution. “Lower calorie” is just alternate marketing for “lower alcohol.”
Since ethanol and sugar are the only signficant sources of calories in wine, estimating the calories in your glass of non diet-branded wine is simple.** (Color only matters in that whites are often, though not always lower in alcohol than reds.)
Calories in a 5 oz glass = (alcohol on the label as a decimal)(785) + (sugar in grams/liter) X (.568)
A 12% dry wine with .5% residual sugar clocks in at just about 100 calories per 5 oz. Make that 13.5% – the starting point for sauv blancs from Kim Crawford up to Cloudy Bay and Greywacke – and the same 5 oz glass comes up to 110 calories. By drinking Cense, you save about 35 calories per glass, the equivalent of about 5 almonds or one and a half medium-sized carrots.
The analysis: Does Cense make sense?
The vegan wine conversation usually goes like this:
“So, I’m looking for a vegan wine…”
“Wait; isn’t all wine vegan?”
“Dude, no. A lot of wine is clarified using egg whites, or gelatin, or a milk protein called casein, or this stuff from fish bladders called isinglass. Wine isn’t just fermented grapes, you know. Winemakers can use a bunch of other stuff for processing steps, and they often don’t have to put it on the label.”
“Wow. I never knew that. I don’t want animal products in my wine! So, are any wines really vegan?”
“Yes! Not all winemakers use those products. Some use a kind of powdered clay called bentonite, and some just let the wine sit for a longer time so the particles settle out by gravity. But all of that isn’t always on the label, so you have to look kind of carefully for “vegan friendly” or “no animal products” or “fined with bentonite” on the label or something like that. Some big brands, like Bonny Doon, are known for making only vegan wine, so that makes things a little easier.”
That whole dialogue sidesteps a crucial question: what counts as an animal? And what counts as exploiting it? Talking about whether wine is vegan, in other words, should sound more like talking about whether honey is vegan. Do the bees count? Do the yeast count? Are they being exploited?
A Slate article about the vegan honey question way back in 2008 makes the central point: “any vegan who eats honey but avoids milk is making the tacit assumption that the pain experienced by a bee counts for something less than the pain experienced by a cow.” From caring about bees, it’s a short and slippery slope to caring about silkworms, or yeast or, heck, plants. And then where does that put the conscientious vegan?
Even if you think of your brain as a muscle, you probably don’t think about it literally bulking up as a result of exercise. It does, at least in some cases. Master sommeliers – professionals who we assume (and sure hope) have intensively developed senses of smell – have more white matter in regions of the brain associated with olfaction, according to new research (open-access) comparing images of master somm’s brains with those of randomly wine inexpert university students. Very similar patterns of brain-buffness have been found in the heads of professional perfumers.
There’s a funny paradox at play here. On the one hand, smell is probably the least understood of the senses – at least if we’re only counting the canonical ones. On the other, in part because it’s so little understood, smell is a favorite subject for this kind of study. You might suspect that smell is also useful for being simple and isolated from other elements of mental function. It’s not.
One reason for being interested in the brain’s anatomy of smell is to test the limits of neuroplasticity – how much our brains can change after we become adults. (How much can it change? A lot more than previous models of human development allowed.) At least in the United States, most wine experts will have learned their craft as adults. Another reason for smell-focused research is that olfactory regions are among the first to deteriorate in Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, to the extent that smell impairment is being considered an early warning sign of those diseases. That link is especially interesting in light of the mountain of scientific and lay-person evidence linking smell with memory.
I’m still waiting for the study investigating whether well-trained oenophiles have better memories or are less prone to Alzheimer’s. Which, contrary to reports by writers who actually earn salaries for their work, is not what this study did. This is observational research about neuroplasticity and developing expertise, about the capacity of the adult brain to change shape with training. No one investigated rates of Alzheimer’s amongst aging sommeliers. No one gave them memory tests. Certainly no one sat around and watched the somms who took part in this study into their retirement years to check up on their mental acuity. Even if they had, too few sommeliers were involved to make any kind of statistically significant judgment even about a disease that the US National Institute on Aging calls the sixth leading cause of death in the United States.
We can say that the effects of intensive sensory training are apparent on an MRI. We can’t say that becoming an expert wine-sniffer prevents Alzheimer’s. Not yet.