Confessions of a Wino

I am sitting here idly watching a football match.  It is Euro 2008 and I am watching with aggressive disinterest because my team (England) did not qualify.  Players from the other teams I am, by ancestry or marriage, entitled to support - Scotland and Ireland, are also sat on a beach somewhere spending their “hard-earned” footballers’ wages on pina coladas.

Like Euro 2008, my world tour of Pinot Noirs has had plenty of representatives from across Europe but not one from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.  So much for global warming.

This one came from the spiritual home of Pinot Noir, Burgundy.  Part of the ancient footballing nation of Gauls.  And in the religion that celebrates this fickle red grape, whether or not worshipping les bleus, the Cathédrale Notre Dame is the Cote D’Or.

Delivered via the Sunday Times Wine Club in a “Pure Pinot Noir” case for £69.99, this is a basic Bourgogne AOC from 2004, but still well priced at just over £7 (about a gallon of gasoline for US readers).

I found it tasted of gooseberry, redcurrant, blackberry and damp logs with a little earthiness thrown in as if to acknowledge the religious origins of my argument.  Slightly on the acidic side but very nice and I’d definitely drink it again.  I would recommend serving it fairly well chilled – give it at least an hour in a household fridge before opening.

In theory Dublin should be one of the best places in the world to eat shellfish, since Dublin Bay prawns and oysters are shipped far and wide.  Intrigued to see if the Irish kept any for themselves, I tracked down Ivan’s in Howth (pronounced as in “hoe” not “how”), an offshoot from legendary fish and chip emporium Beshoff’s that has been clogging Dubliners’ arteries since 1913.

(more…)

My wino mate, Robert, opened a debate about whether bringing a supermarket branded wine showed good judgement, or embarrassed your dinner party hosts.

Most winos concluded that it shows good form to see through the label and judge the wine.  In fact, spotting a bargain winissimo in sheep’s clothing is a big coup for a wine snob (assuming he can convince his friends that the wine is really worth much more than the actual price).  I have a personal view here.  I simply don’t care where the wine comes from, or the name on the label, or the price, but I am a sucker for packaging.  On that measure I am not sure why I picked up this ugly bottle at Sainsbury for £6.99.

(more…)

I stumbled across this branch of Nicolas in bustling Soho.  Wine shops are magnets to my liver and I felt the power dragging me across the street and in through the door like I was a hypnotised automaton.

(more…)

“Armstrong and Miller in Gay Threesome Shocker” read the headline, admittedly only in my head, as the comedy pair walked past us with an unknown accomplice, perhaps a BBC commissioning editor?

“I didn’t know they were gay” Fred said.  “They aren’t” I replied, “so far as I know anyway”, although judging by their choice of fruity shirts one cannot be 100% certain.

We had a decent table near the magnificent bay window atop the ageing Whiteley’s Shopping Centre.  The stars were enveloped by the bay.  The atmosphere is light and airy and the service prompt, efficient, courteous and professional.  Our mop-topped waiter looked like an early 60’s Beatle, so I assumed he was French (as a nation they do like old music – I mean, walk around any public space in France and Phil Collins persists like a 1980’s itch that is weeping puss).  When he described the cheese I realised his French accent was completely fake “erm….. I is Polish” he admitted.  Nonetheless, serve he did, and he was knowledgeable about wine as well as food.

(more…)

I never look a gift horse in the mouth, Trojan or otherwise.  I never knowingly say “neigh” to a first class excuse not to spend my weekend cutting the lawn.

I’ve just been invited to see the Foo Fighters at Wembley on Saturday.  This will be the third time I have seen them in the last 12 months (first at Live Earth, second at the O2).  One of very few bands that can sell out two nights at Wembley, they must be doing something right.  The Foo Fighters were reborn from Nirvana after Kurt Cobain’s “self inflicted shotgun wound to the head”.  I became a believer quite recently which resulted in me enjoying the first hour of the O2 concert and then listening in bemusement as they excavated deep into their back catalogue.  The crowd went wild and I was left holding the spade.  I must do some revision before going this time.

It will also be an opportunity to attack another trophy restaurant (memo to self: bring change of grunge clothing) for Sunday lunch in our fair capital.  I might look up one of the places my mate Douglas has reviewed and see if I agree with his cultured palate.

For me, last year’s “culture” came from a lads’ trip to Puerto Banús.  On the way back I picked up this bottle from Malaga Airport for only €7.  At the time this was a bargain but, of course, with recent currency movements it is now the approximate pecuniary equivalent of a magnum of 1961 Château Pétrus (if bought in the UK or US).

I am sure that Rob could tell me if 2003 was a good year for Rioja.  I thought this Crianza excellent.  In the background, strawberry flavoured, it had a good level of tannin and the sort of sweet acidity I associate with blackberries.  I know this because I happened to be eating said fruit when I drank it.

So maybe it tastes like blackberries soaked in tea with a strawberry sauce and just a dab of vanilla ice cream?  Perhaps it smells like teen spirit?  Or maybe I’m an idiot.

So, the worst kept secret in football has finally been revealed.  Sven-Göran Eriksson has been sacked by Manchester City.  I am always one to say I told you so, but on this occasion I have evidence.  I did predict that it would all end in tears.

Now, the rumour mill has turned up Mark Hughes as the top candidate.  At this point I have to stand up for Sven.  He had a horrific end to the season, results-wise, but he still ended up 9th in his first season in charge of an otherwise relegated club.  The Premiership “superstar” in charge of Blackburn Rovers finished an astonishing 3 points and two places higher, after several years in charge of his club.  In what sense does that promise a better performance next year?  I have two resolutions if Mark Hughes is appointed

1.  I will only attend the first home game of the season next year and I vow to sing “Sven-Göran Eriksson” for as long and as loud as my voice will stand.

2.  I will not be deflected from my world tour of Pinot Noirs.  Meet Zarcillo.

(more…)

Do you remember my epic conquest of the Bridgewater Canal in Manchester?  My flag at the “summit”, otherwise known as the King’s Ransom in Sale, was a glass of 2006 Casillero del Diablo Carmenère (some say Carménère – in fact a Wikipedia “discussion” has broken out – ooooooh my!).

(more…)