I was saddened to learn this week of the death of Michael Broadbent, MW, my first mentor in wine. He was 92 and lived a rich life full of great wine, and eulogies are pouring in from around the world. The news made me both sad and, curiously, a bit happy as well. Not happy at his passing, but happy because knowing Michael Broadbent was a joy to reflect on, and in these very troubling times, we take comfort where we can (and often in a glass of wine). And therein lies a story.

When I was in my early 20s and a very inexperienced wine drinker aspiring to be a wine taster, I picked up a copy of a small book simply titled, Wine Tasting. Published in 1968 and written by a man with the curious and totally English name of Broadbent, it was a very straightforward guide to tasting wine. In my unenlightened youth, I was confused that one might taste wine differently than tasting anything else (I mean, seriously, you put it in your mouth and tasted it, didn’t you?). But this book piqued my interest and did several things: it prompted me to purchase more books about wine (easy to do because at that point there weren’t many books about wine in the market), it spurred me to join with a group of friends to create an informal series of wine tastings together (we didn’t know anything about a “tasting group” at the time), and in my youth and total naiveté, I wrote to the author.

Michael Broadbent, MW (I later learned that meant Master of Wine) was not difficult to find even at that time long before the internet. The book jacket said he was the head of the wine department at Christie’s, an important auction house in London, and so I wrote to him there. I remember the letter – a plea for some guidance in how to taste wine. The group of which I was a part had decided to taste cabernet sauvignon from California, mainly because it was easy to obtain. We searched and managed to come up with eight different wines which, at the time, seemed like a huge number to a group of inexperienced young drinkers. We splurged on one that was significantly higher priced than the others available to us and I wanted some insight into how to taste them.

In retrospect I had no right to expect a luminary of the stature of the head of Christie’s wine department would respond to a letter from relative youngster, but he did. He wrote me the kindest letter in response and took great pains to compliment me and our group on the remarkable adventure on which we were embarking. He had some good tips on how to order the wines, using good wine glasses (not at all a given in my circles at the time) and taking the time to make some careful notes about what we were tasting. Acknowledging our youth, he wrote, “Remember this tasting - you will look back on it often as the beginning of something wonderful.”

I have indeed looked back on that tasting many times, but I have looked back on Michael Broadbent’s letter even more often. Yes, the tasting was an adventure, but the letter to a 24-year-old taster was even more important because he essentially gave me permission to begin something that has become a lifelong pursuit: he both allowed and encouraged passion. I have many frustrations with today’s community of wine drinkers (only a few of them strike me as true tasters), and the greatest frustration of all is that too many people pursue technical mastery in place of passion. Today, I’m privileged to be in a position where I can help change that. As a wine educator, I meet several hundred people every year who want to “know” more about wine. In my classes for the Wine & Spirit Education Trust (of which Michael Broadbent was president for many years), I encourage students to learn the basics of wine but more importantly to find their own passion. Science and passion can not only co-exist, they enhance each other and lead all of us wine lovers to find even more wines to love.

I met Michael Broadbent in person several times after that first postal encounter and if anything, he was even more passionate in person. Within the wine industry, he was an icon – a consummate gentleman, infinitely knowledgeable yet equally curious. In the mid 1990s when he was updating his seminal Great Vintage Wine Book, I had a call from a wine collector who was a mutual friend. “Michael is in town – he wanted to taste 1985 California cabernet. He’s here and I have about a hundred bottles each missing one glass. Want to come join us?” Of course I did, and there was Michael holding court without a hint of pretense, just genuinely enjoying nearly every cabernet made that year. Indefatigable in his research, magnanimous in his sharing his experience and never without a little bit of awe at his good fortune in living this life in wine.

Over the years, I became good friends with Michael’s son Bartholomew (a wonderful wine importer) and tasted with the two of them many times. Michael inspired and informed my love of vintage port and Madeira, his books encouraged my exploration of wine and my eventual happiness at finding my true calling as a teacher who only wants to share a passion for this remarkable beverage. I’ve often thought that each time we taste wine, we experience a place. Wine gives us a postcard in a glass, an opportunity to travel and share an experience, and that is a lesson I learned many years ago from a phenomenal writer and taster, an expert who was willing to share his passion with a novice who hadn’t yet discovered his. Michael Broadbent, Master of Wine, and, perhaps less officially, professor of passion. RIP, professor.