Of course, I'd be happy to serve as a judge for your wine competition. Let's see? Drink wine, give my opinion -- I'm made for this job.

My affirmative e-mail reply was still hurtling through cyberspace when the thinking began: What if I don't have any taste?

After all, if not for the two short words that have recently been attached to my name -- "food editor" -- no one would have thought to ask me to tell other people which wines to drink. My dinner companions never sit awe-struck by my wine acumen. I don't collect wine. And sniff as I might, I've never sussed out hints of gooseberry in anything.

Then again, I know what I like: fruity reds, and what I don't: big, oaky Chardonnays. Usually, my strategy in the wine aisle is to drop less than 15 bucks per bottle and avoid getting suckered by bright, funky labels into buying something Australian simply because the kangaroo looks cool.

But is that enough? Do I have sufficient taste to judge quality just because I have a vague idea of what I like?

That line from "When Harry Met Sally" comes to mind, from the scene where Carrie Fisher is trying to get Bruno Kirby to toss out his wagon wheel coffee table, and he insists that he has good taste.

She replies: "Everyone in the world thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor, but they couldn't possibly all have good taste."

Chicago-based sommelier Alpana Singh might disagree. At 26, Singh became the youngest woman inducted into the Court of Master Sommeliers. She'll tell you that what the novice wine drinker needs most is not a grasp of the wine lingo, a hound dog's nose or even a million dollar budget. What the novice needs most is confidence.

Figure out what you like and be bold about it, she says. Don't worry that you're giving the "wrong" answers to the questions of what you smell and taste in a glass of wine. If you smell oranges, you smell oranges.

"No one is going to be able to climb into your mouth and take over your taste buds and tell you that it's not oranges," she says. "If you smell Barbie dolls in wine, you smell Barbie dolls."

Still, I am unsure. There's a chance my go-to wine, which when I started this quest happened to be Bogle 2005 Old Vine Zinfandel, is the true connoisseur's equivalent of my favorite song, which happens to be ABBA's "Dancing Queen."

Through a mutual acquaintance, I meet Steve Eudy, sommelier at Herons, the uber-chic restaurant in Cary's posh new Umstead Hotel. He agrees to give me a few tutorials.

When it comes to the definition of good wine, Eudy agrees with Singh: It's what you like. But he and Singh also agree that although you might not like it, a wine can be good. It's like art or cars or anything else subject to personal taste.

The key is balance, Eudy says.

For instance, an oaky Chardonnay might be considered a good wine if its tastes and scents balance out. Is it too acidic? Too woody? Does the taste of butter, usually prominent in an oaked Chardonnay, drown everything else out? Then it's out of whack, not good.

In white wines, you want the sugar and the acid to balance. In reds, you want the fruit and the tannins to be even.

So how to assess that? Use your senses, especially smell, Eudy says.

Eudy poured me a splash or two of good California cabernet sauvignon. Right after the wine hit the glass, I brought it to my nose for a sniff. The aroma reminded me of a fresh compost pile -- raw, vegetably and overpowering. I had no desire to put this expensive wine in my mouth. I sipped, then I pushed the glass away while I stuck out my tongue for some air.

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