Confessions of a Wino

It’s easy to be suspicious of restaurants that inhabit buildings with a past, especially those that use it as a theme. Former banks, embassies and even car showrooms have proudly displayed elements of their previous lives in the rush to find kitsch spaces for the entertainment industry of the zeitgeist.

Under 40s will find it hard to believe, but dining out has not always been so in vogue. My childhood caught the end of the movie-going era. Any self respecting date was played out in the back row while some Woody Allen film droned on in the background. Nowadays, sharing a rib of beef and some polite chatter has replaced a silent and clumsy fumble in the dark. How times have changed.

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Hunger is a great sauce, as certain chefs keep reminding me. I wonder how that pie tasted to Magwitch, the one that Pip selflessly stole? It formed the thesis for an entire Dickens novel, such is the power of food, and feelings.

After 3 weeks on the prison ship of abstinence, does wine taste any different? I’ve just opened this St Estèphe and I think I have the presence of mind to review it objectively. It’s fucking awesome!

Whilst still young and tannic (I decanted mine), which means it went superbly with a ribeye steak, it also had a certain fruity sweetness that made a rare red wine match for chocolate. Lindt Selection if you must know, although I am sure you can experiment yourself. Probably worth leaving another year or two, but if you are desperate to open a bottle, you will be far from disappointed.

Mine came from Sunday Times Wine Club (Laithwaites) President’s Cellar which implies a price of £20-30, and I did see it at Berry Bros for around £27.50, although currently out of stock. If you’ve been off wine for a while, or even if you’ve been drinking like Bentley Drummle at your posh London club, it’s worth the extra for a little treat.

A bull at the door is a welcome nod to Wall Street riches, and I only wish my shares were stampeding a little harder right now.  But as a promise of what was to come, the comedy doggie doo left under the hindquarters of the statue was a more accurate entrée to the Bloomsbury branch of Black & Blue.

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January offers up endless possibilities for abstinence, pain and misery. When it comes to 2012 new year torture, my weapon of choice is a diet with the simple objectives of losing a bit of weight and getting fitter.

It is amazing that simply giving up alcohol (especially beer) and fried potatoes (chips, crisps etc) is enough to see me settle towards a more sensible weight. One that will give my knee ligaments a chance of survival as I occasionally pound the streets of city centre Manchester, trying to clear the smog from lungs that suffered cigarette smoke damage until 2003.

I’ve promised myself that I will re-introduce wine to my diet once I have lost half a stone. I’m already at 5lbs so things are looking promising. But I’ve just necked a Ruby Murray so tomorrow is another day on the treadmill.

Forgive the navel gazing. Normal wine service will resume soon.

If there’s one thing better than a pint of Black Sheep, it’s a pint of Black Sheep served in a cosy warm Yorkshire pub, after a long Sunday morning walk on the moors.

The Star at Harome is just such a warming and friendly establishment but with the added bonus of being a restaurant that serves game, fish and fine wines. Oh and it has won just about every “best gastro pub” award going including, at one point, a Michelin star. It’s grouse season and I might just be in heaven. I am going to pay a celestial price too, £111 (a Nelson) plus service is more than a trifle in this part of the world.

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