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MOUNT AIRY — By 3:30 p.m. — 53 wines into the wine judging — we hatch a hoax on the Frenchman. Our facilitator at the Bud Break Wine Festival competition in Mt. Airy is Pierre-Louis Teissedre, professor of enology at the University of Bordeaux, who's got the chops for this line of work.

Today, Pierre-Louis is keeping us on task, evaluating North Carolina wines, discussing the good, the bad, the ugly.

And ultimately what gets gold, silver, bronze -- or no -- recommendations.

Bud Break is the first ever wine festival in Mt. Airy -- an event Rotarians here in Andy Griffith's mythical Mayberry hope to stitch into the community fabric.

The judge on my left opens his chemistry book, all the better to name that organic defect. The judge on my right hosts a killer palate and rainbow lexicon, lending eloquent voice to our swirling, sniffing, gurgling.

Me? I've got a pen, a spit bucket and Pierre-Louis staring across from me.

Today, starting 9:30 a.m., Pierre-Louis brought his game face -- and his game.

He's consistently spot-on in his critiques, if not always the appropriate American simile or metaphor. When at a linguistic cross-road with his three American companions, Pierre-Louis casts about, prefacing possibilities in a heavily accented "How you say..."

It's a little frustrating. It's a lot delightful. Because if you share a love of wine, all is understood -- and forgiven.

Except for this: (cue foreboding music here): We're going to punk the Frenchman.

Know this: In wine judging, sweet must follow dry. So after Chardonnay, Cabernet, Merlot, and blends, we reach the end of our rainbow.

Or as I like to say: Meet the Muscadines.

Know this too: None of us are crazy about this grape species. But we have work to do.

Throughout the day, we've spied the Frenchman screwing up his face, quivering and wincing at wrecked vinifera and hybrids. At break, three conspirators hatch their plan: Next time Pierre-Louis goes into his wild gesticulation, each of us will wax eloquent -- rhapsodic even -- and declare that wine the best wine to ever pass our lips.

By 3:30 p.m. we meet the Muscadines. And first up is the Carlos grape -- a bronzed workhorse prized by winemakers Down East.

Now, if you're a Bordeaux or Burgundy fan -- or if your wine rack overflows with California's finest -- then to say Muscadine is an "acquired taste" is to say something freakishly, flamingly obvious.

But if you're a native of France and you're a virgin to North Carolina Muscadine's "acquired taste," well then, step right up, inhale deeply and don't you know that all the "How-you-say" casting about will leave you freakishly bereft -- and gasping for breath.

From his first sniff to his last gurgle, to his never-before-witnessed- spit-buck gusto, we winked.

Game on.

Slyly, we watched his wincing and grimacing, his eyes rolling back, his mad scribble across his judging sheet, his face painted in pain, perplexity, more pain.

And in our coy detachment, we ... saw ... nothing.

Instead we tilted our glass of Carlos, admiring its bead of color. We raised it high, maybe some stray stream of sunlight informing thoughtful analysis.

Furtively, Pierre-Louis watched us. To raise the stakes, someone grunted in appreciation. Someone took a second slurp. Someone head-bobbed in mock wonderment at this nectar.

Poker-faced, we scratched a few Carlos notes. Then, we sat back. We put down our Number 2 pencils. And we stared blankly at our judging sheet.

Pierre-Louis called first on the judge to my right. She employed considerable poetic prowess, awarding it off-the-wall point totals. The judge to my left? He gave it a perfect score, supported by some obscure chemical exhortations.

Pierre-Louis was aghast. He called on me, his eyes pleading.

I say: "I think we've found our Best of Show."

The look on Pierre-Louis' face was ... how you say? Without peer? Beyond value?

Which is to say: Priceless.

Now, you try keeping a poker face after evaluating 53-plus-1 wines. I double-dog dare you. And after a blitzkrieg of Cabernet Sauvignon, Cab Franc, Chambourcin, Merlot, and a rude number of red blends, I was up for something different. Even Carlos.

Because -- and hear my confession -- my tasting notes on those last red wines read: "Really red. Smells good. I like it."

But I digress, So let's get back to Pierre-Louis and his first encounter with Carlos.

Oh, merde. Pierre-Louis does not like it. He does not like it one bit. And if I could only read some French, I imagine his notes might say: "I would not drink it in a house, I would not drink it with a mouse, I would not drink it from a box, I would not drink it with a fox."

One judge gently informs Pierre-Louis: "Um, it's an acquired taste. It's supposed to taste like that."

Another judge adds: "I don't totally hate it. For Muscadine, it's quite restrained, almost eloquent."

Checking our tasting sheets, I tell Pierre-Louis: "This 1.5 percent is the lowest residual sugar we're going to see over the next eight Muscadine wines. It's Carlos, buck naked. The rest of these are cavity bombs."

What would I like to say? "You're staring down the barrel of residual sugars that are the most powerful in all of North Carolina and will blow your head clean off. The question you have to ask yourself: Is this the lucky one?"

After the next eight Muscadine wines, Pierre-Louis has seen enough to know he's seen enough.

And that first Carlos? We hung a bronze medal around it. Including the Frenchman.

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The June and July Williams On Wine e-mail newsletters are chock full of recommended North Carolina wines. There's also the food-wine pairings and recipes, the comprehensive calendar-of-events, plus recommended wines from across the globe that sit well on the palate and the wallet.

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Ed Williams is Public Information Director for Alamance Community College. E-mail williamsonwine@gmail.com