Confessions of a Wino

Confessions of a Wino is sad to announce the passing of the last bottle of Château Gris in my combine harvester.  Specifically it was passed about two hours after I drank it.

This 1999 Pinot Noir was part of the first case of wine I ever bought en primeur.  A 1er cru Nuit St Georges I think it cost about £25 per bottle, which is at the top end of my range and reflective of the sometimes cheeky prices the Bourgogne domaines think they can get away with, for often variable wines.

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I used to love the Sunday Times Wine Club regular cases.  I still admire their marketing and I still order plenty of wine from them.  I just think that, once a member for a couple of years or so, one is better placed to select wines personally, than take the pre-mixed cases.  Having said that, the mixed cases are by far the best value.  What a dilemma.

I reconcile this dilemma by continuing my subscription to a single mixed case programme.  The “President’s Cellar” delivers 6 bottles every six months at about £20 a cork.  It does encourage me to try new wines occasionally.  Generally the wines are for drinking, rather than laying down, and just occasionally they are not from Bordeaux or Burgundy.

This is how I acquired this St Joseph Rhône Ranger – I don’t know whether it is still available.  The 2003 is still on the website at £16.91 per bottle.  I have no idea whether this represents any better value than the 2001.

Made from 100% Syrah (I think) and aged in 50% new oak and 50% older oak casks, the 2001 is subtle with no strong aromas.  The taste is spicy and fruity.  Black pepper, fresh mint leaf and basil, with some bilberry, fig and peach.

Intense and concentrated flavour, it lasts forever in the mouth and is superb with rump steak.  But, then it should be for the price!

A trip to Bournemouth last year resulted in me bringing home the best red wine I ever drank, a 1982 Camensac.

Browsing through Majestic the other day, I spotted the 1996 vintage at £19.99.  Only one course of action was available to me, and for once, my bank manager obliged.

It felt right to open this on the anniversary of the barbecue that saw the 1982’s fifteen minutes of fame (and I was surprised that it lasted 15 minutes, so cherished was it by the St Helens massive).

This 1996 Haut-Médoc, at 12 years old, is surely drinking well by now?  I was surprised at the amount of tannins still attacking my upper gums, but, consumed contemporaneously with simply barbecued lamb chops, it was excellent.  Liquorice, blackcurrant, cedar and parsnip – yum.  15 minutes later, it was gone.  With only one bottle in my basket, we had to wave goodbye to the French nobility and make friends with an impudent teenager from the New World.

I am no expert in these matters but I sense that Château Camensac 1996 will keep a good while longer and I shall probably pop back to Majestic for another couple of bottles to squirrel away in my combine harvester.

If Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond, named this his favourite restaurant, and Adrian Gill, erstwhile restaurant critic of the Sunday Times, also raves about the place (albeit that he is presumably on a retainer for writing about the history of most of the major restos in Caprice Holdings Ltd), then any self respecting wino has to visit.  Sunday lunch is just the perfect time to eat oysters, and my rocks were from Malden.  I am embarrassed, though, to admit I had to ask the waiter to explain that Essex is where these crustacea were reared.  I am such a northern oik!

The service at Scott’s is obviously superb, highly professional and (unusually) English.  However, our waiter was having an off day.  I had to ask three times for my wine to be topped up.  You may be thinking “lazy so and so” but I would have had to walk about 300 yards to get to my bottle of Pouilly Fumé from where they parked it.  Talking of which can you spot our car in the photo below?

No I can’t see it either.

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Is there anything worse than spending 7 hours in the car in one day?  Well, how about 8 gruelling hours at, according to my trip computer, an average speed of 57mph, punctuated by two meetings in different towns with different companies, in which I play different roles, and have completely different thought patterns?  Then followed by numerous conference calls (for which I pulled off the motorway, obviously).

I set off at 5:45am this morning, and I have just got home at 9:0pm.  I resemble a panda that has been on a scientific sleep deprivation experiment.  Dark rims around my eyes like the stain left by a bottle of Pinot Noir on a ghost white tablecloth.  And you should see what my peepers look like from this side!

As a treat before I conk out in bed, I am sampling Trenel Morgon 2005 Côte de Py.

My first reaction is that it is much more serious than your average Beaujolais, but then again, Morgon is one of the crus that tends towards longevity, albeit lacking the joie de vivre of, say, Fleurie.

Cherry flavoured tannins combine with fresh tomatoes and a little meringue.  Superb with pink lamb steaks (must be chargrilled or barbecued).

It is available from The Wine Society for £7.95.  Good value I reckon.  zzzzzzz zzzzz zzzz zz z good night…..

Btw, can you name all the Beaujolais crus?  Here is your starter for ten – Côte-de-Brouilly, Chénas, Chiroubles, Fleurie, Juliénas, Morgon, Moulin-à-Vent, Saint Amour – can you spot the missing ones?  Big pat on the back if you can.  No prizes because I haven’t set up my premium rate telephone line yet.

I don’t get much time to read.  I catch up on enterprise software stuff when I can.  I read certain wine blogs and books – the usual factual ones that any wino has nosed in and out of.  I can’t remember the last time I read a novel.  So when Random House sent me an advance copy of Benjamin Wallace’s fact-based novel-style yarn, I didn’t feel obliged to read it.  Instead, I gave it to Fred (an avid reader) to see what she made of it – “lacking a firm conclusion” she erm concluded.

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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