Tim Hanni, a Master of Wine whose work and perspective we follow with great interest, is one of the senior members of a very small professional group—only 425 people in the world currently hold this prestigious title.

Hanni is a wine professional who urges caution when it comes to the clichéd food-and-wine pairing charts. He has already written one book on the subject and has announced that another is on the way. The following text is a synthesis of his published writings, offering a glimpse into his perspective ahead of his upcoming book.

In the 1960s, most romantic notions about wine were essentially marketing language—nothing inherently wrong with that. But how many people know that in 1960 the world’s largest wine producer and exporter was Algeria, with its biggest market being France? In France, wine and food were largely about accessibility, convenience, and affordability. People drank the wine of their region with the food of their region. The phrase “what grows together, goes together” was more of a slogan than a universal truth. A major development in France was the rise of nouvelle cuisine, which transformed French gastronomy. But did all wines magically start to “pair” with these new techniques and flavors?

The 1960s also marked a turning point when Julia Child transformed American culinary awareness. With her groundbreaking book Mastering the Art of French Cooking (1961) and her TV show The French Chef, she introduced French cuisine to American audiences. Her warm and down-to-earth style made what once seemed like the exclusive domain of professional chefs accessible and enjoyable. She equated French cuisine with refinement, culture, and adventure. And with her cheerful “bon appétit!” at the end of each episode, wine became an inseparable part of this emerging culture.

Another milestone was the English translation of Larousse Gastronomique in 1961. Originally published in France in 1938, it was not just a cookbook but an encyclopedia of knowledge, history, technique, and cultural significance. Interestingly, the English edition was the first to include “Wine Service Charts” and “Wine-Food Relationship Charts.” The 1938 edition had no such thing—it simply stated: “Wine is served at the table as follows…” and suggested Bordeaux, Lafite, Romanée, Hermitage, Côte-Rôtie, or, if guests preferred, Bordeaux whites and Sauternes. In other words, the essence was simple: you served whatever the guest wanted.

So perhaps it is time to remember this: what does the guest prefer? Historically, there was no rigid concept of wine-and-food “pairing.” Choices were pragmatic, shaped by regional production, social class, personal and guest preferences, income, and special occasions. Accepting the rigid, supposedly scientific rules of the modern age as truth has been a mistake. Take the rule “red meat with red wine.” It is not an ancient principle but rather a modern invention.

Even the so-called “scientific” explanations—such as tannins interacting with meat fat—are misleading. Salt, for instance, suppresses bitterness, which is why a salted steak may make a red wine taste smoother. Without salt, or with rare-cooked meat, the wine can taste harsher. Historically, red wine was often chosen with meat not to “pair flavors” but to cleanse the palate of heavy, gamey, or even spoiled aftertastes.

In 1962, Ellen Church launched the “Let’s Learn About Wines” column in the Chicago Tribune—considered the first major U.S. newspaper column about wine. Through the 1960s and 70s, wine writers emerged in many newspapers and magazines, turning wine into a culture that was “taught” to the masses. Fun fact: the very first issue of Food & Wine magazine was distributed in March 1978 as an insert in Playboy. Hugh Hefner supported the project—perhaps explaining why so many wine descriptors still draw on imagery of the female body. Initially, these guides were useful, offering curious consumers direction and giving wine professionals material to teach.

But over time, flexibility was lost. Guidelines became rigid rules. In the 1970s, particularly in the U.S. and other New World markets, wine began to be marketed not merely as a beverage but as a lifestyle upgrade. Baby boomers, seeking cultural capital and new identities, embraced wine. During this period, sweet wines were increasingly dismissed, even ridiculed—despite the fact that for centuries in France, very sweet wines and Champagnes were preferred. Until the 1960s, even Château d’Yquem could be served with oysters or steak.

The rise of wine writers, sommeliers, educators, and critics led to the formalization of wine language, quality definitions, and scoring systems. Robust reds and structured whites were deemed “serious,” while light whites and delicate reds were overlooked. Lovers of sweet wines were almost shamed. Education programs reinforced romantic clichés and misconceptions as if they were truths, laying the groundwork for today’s rigid system.

What began as a culture rooted in pleasure, discovery, and storytelling shifted into one defined by anxiety, performance, and exclusion. Exploration was no longer wide open—it was guarded by those fluent in the new jargon. Which is why today, it is time to rethink not only how we taste wine but also how we describe, teach, and share it.

For decades, the wine industry has relied on a “push” strategy—production details, awards, expert endorsements, pairing advice, specialized glassware. But in today’s personalized world, this approach resonates less and less with consumers. Now there is a need for a “pull” strategy—placing the consumer at the center.

An approach built on empathy, personalization, and relevance could transform the sector. This would recast the wine professional not as an authority figure but as a curious, guiding companion. Such a shift would engage wider audiences, build stronger loyalty, and ensure new generations remain connected to wine.

Instead of labeling people as “beginners, naive, or unsophisticated,” the right question is: what do you like, and how can I help you? Moving from a vertical approach (hierarchies imposed by experts) to a horizontal approach (embracing consumer diversity) could make the wine industry both more innovative and more inclusive. This way, different palates, new styles, varied price points, and alternative packaging could all be celebrated, reaching far broader audiences.

The concept of perceptual individualism—the idea that everyone experiences the world differently and no two people perceive the same thing in the same way—should form the foundation of a “New Wine 101.” Such education would highlight differences in perception and support people on their personal journeys.

In the end, when the wine industry shifts from vertical to horizontal, it can achieve a future that is more inclusive, innovative, and consumer-driven. Such a transformation will not only boost sales but also foster deeper, more authentic relationships between producers and consumers.