What it takes to be Best Sommelier of the World

It is blossom time in Tokyo. An unruly pack of journalists, photographers and TV crews prowls the corridors of the Grand Prince Hotel Takanawa, where a world championship is taking place. Where’s the smart money going? Who’s looking good and who’s out of sorts? Who stayed out last night and who was tucked up in bed nice and early?

‘That’s Bruce, the coach of the Canadian team, he’ll know what’s cooking,’ mutters a colleague as an anxious looking guy scuttles past.

‘And there’s the European champion,’ whispers another as a dark-suited young man darts out of a door and hurries away. A Japanese film crew sprints off in pursuit.

Finally, an official corrals us together and solemnly hands out the behaviour rules for the final. Media representatives, we are told, must keep behind the indicated line. We must be silent at all times and can only take long-distance pictures and then only of someone’s face, not their hands. In interviews we must ask only general rather than technical questions and we mustn’t enter the antechamber at any time. Most importantly, we must ‘create the best environment allowing participants to keep high concentration, tension and spirit’.

We digest our instructions, mentally disregard them, and are ushered into a vast reception room. Sixty or so black-suited folk stand around in aprons, chatting nervously. These are the championship contenders. And in three days’ time, one of them will be proclaimed the proud bearer of the title Best Sommelier of the World.

Who would have that the humble wine waiter would be accorded such razzamatazz? But the red-nosed old soaks in grubby tailcoats and stained shirts are long gone. In these days of the celebrity chef, sommeliers also claim rock star status. This is the 14th Best Sommelier of the World competition — it’s held every three years — and 5,000 public tickets have been sold for the final.

‘Being a sommelier is more than just knowing about wine,’ says Benoît Gouez, Chef de Cave at Moët & Chandon, sponsors of the competition since 1989. ‘It’s about psychology and understanding the consumer and his or her expectations. The sommelier stands between the chef and the client and must have exceptional knowledge about wine and be technically adept too. It’s an enormous challenge.’

There are 55 nations competing. The UK is represented by Eric Zwiebel from Summer Lodge Hotel in Dorset. He’s from France, but is a member of the UK-based Academy of Food and Wine Service, so we are entitled to regard him as one of our own. Indeed, the reigning champion, Gérard Basset (co-founder of the Hotel du Vin chain), is also British, having overcome the inconvenience of being born in France. He was appointed OBE for his trouble.

‘The cult of the chef has left sommeliers a bit overshadowed in the UK,’ Zweibel tells me gloomily. ‘But is wine any less important than food in your meal? We can seriously enhance a diner’s experience. I’m here to show them how.’

Back at the hotel, we kick off with the quarter finals. These consist of a written exam, a blind tasting and an analytical commentary on a series of randomly chosen bottles, all of which must be undertaken in a language other than one’s mother tongue. The Best Sommelier of the World must be at least bilingual.

The competitors are whittled down to 12 and come in one by one to undertake a number of set tasks, such as choosing, opening, decanting and serving a wine to a table of two judges within three minutes. They must open and serve a magnum of champagne and pour a precise equal measure into a dozen glasses, and then carry the tray one-handed and serve (one drops the lot and flees in tears). They must identify and describe three wines served blind, explain the best food matches for them and the correct serving temperatures and discuss their provenance. They then sit an hour-long written exam.

This leads us to three finalists who must fight it out on stage in front of an array of TV cameras, a specially picked jury and that 5,000-plus audience. Among many nerve-racking tasks, the finalists must open and serve three separate champagnes for three folk sitting at the bar; identify six spirits served blind; read a menu and advise a table of six on suggested wine matches; check a wine list for spelling and accuracy; serve and decant an old claret; and taste six wines served blind, analyse and describe them, identify them and their vintage.

After three days of intense competition, Paolo Basso from Switzerland just edged it and was crowned at a noisy gala dinner for 600. Our Eric Zwiebel came a creditable, but rather disgruntled, fourth.

‘I’ll be back next time,’ he tells me bullishly. ‘I’m more than just a guy who lives in a cellar and pops up occasionally to pour some wine. I’ll do Britain proud.’