Confessions of a Wino

When one reaches one’s forties, birthdays are quickly forgotten.  They are not anticipated with the same excitement of youth, rather the disdain and fear of middle age.  Nonetheless, they are still a cause for celebration and an opportunity to go and splash a few quid on some top nosh and wine.  This year we went to Linen in the lofty (metaphorically and physically) surroundings of Manchester 235 Casino.

My camera was not welcome for obvious reasons.  The discretion of the clients (and I will indiscreetly mention that most of the Man United team were in that evening) is clearly important.  I am also sick of getting papped by photographers from the Daily Mail who have clearly mistaken me for a footballer or some TV star (yeah right…).

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Another from Virgin and you may recall me sampling a range of wines from a mixed case I took as an introductory offer.  The results of my samples have been mostly good and my conclusion on Virgin is that for everyday glugging wines, if you choose carefully you will find value rather than fine wines, drinkability rather than complexity, down to earth language rather than pretension.

This Chablis, though, tasted most unlike Chablis.

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Is it possible to feel remote in a city centre?  I think it is.  I am not talking about loneliness, or feeling culturally distant from people stood next to you.  I am talking about sitting in silence whilst the world goes on several floors below.  This is what the atmosphere is like at The Modern in Manchester.

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There are occasional tiny slivers, splinters of darkness in my life, that give me a sharp reminder of what I am giving up for my work.  It’s not that I resent it, entirely my own choice after all.  When I started the company in 2001, I went in with my eyes open.  I realised it would mean sacrifices.

This afternoon I took my 10 year old god-daughter to see Man City.  The look of delight on her face when City beat Spurs 2-1 was matched only by my relief at the end of an awful run of games that had put us on a snake track slithering down the league table.

Kellie came over from Dublin for the weekend with her sisters, Rebecca and Chloe – all gorgeous girls, well behaved, entertaining, polite, model children.  Kellie is obviously my favourite and she is the footie fan, tomboy, fitness fanatic, make-up-rejecting bundle of energy.

And now they have all gone and I am alone in the flat.  It’s strange how lonely you can feel when sudden mayhem is suddenly replaced by a sudden quantum of solace.

So to cheer me up, apart from consoling myself that City are back on the ladder of success, I have dragged out my notes from a bottle of Shampoo I sampled last weekend.

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I’m making a move for Pinot Noir, the Brigitte Bardot of grapes.  Beguiling, attractive, seductive, fruity, yet inconsistent and possibly a little bonkers.

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If you want to dine in a beautifully preserved piece of British Victorian architecture.  If you want to eat traditional English grub like fish ‘n’ chips, corned beef hash and steak and kidney pudding.  If you want to be served by professional, traditionally dressed, polite and informed waiting staff.  And if you want to do this with a cracking fine wine list to choose from, there is only one place to go.  Sam’s Chop House in Manchester.

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I’m having mood swings.  Pinot Noir vs Merlot.  I love Pinots from Chile, New Zealand and even Burgundy (when I can afford them).  I am equally starting to appreciate the right bank of la Gironde, the home of Merlot?  In any case, both grapes are a welcome change from Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec and Sangiovese for example.

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In deepest Evian-les-Bains I found one of the best wine shops ever.  La Cave à Paul had such a wide range of Armagnacs going back to the year dot.  But they had none from 1964 (year of my birth), so I settled for second best 1966 (last time England won the World Cup).

And when I got home I discovered that I had also (sort of) unknowingly bought some duty free Armagnac by Sempé (we flew from Geneva, Switzerland).  It was time for a taste test.  But hang on!  There is more complication because I had also invested in Riedel glasses.  The Cognac glass is a small tulip (on the left of the photo below), whereas a traditional Cognac or Armagnac glass is a bowl (shown on the right).  An interesting experiment was to ensue…. 

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Tomorrow I have to place 44 candles on a birthday cake, light them and blow them out.  What will I wish for?  While I deliberate, my body decays albeit slowly, and I am enjoying a glass of fizz before heading out for dinner.

Scottish shortbread, grapefruit notes and possibly a little lime.  I find this a little too acidic to be truly memorable.

I have to admit that I know very little about champagne.  I enjoy drinking it but I need to learn more about what makes one better than another.  So whilst I did not get on greatly with Waitrose Vintage, this should not put you off trying it for yourself.

Have to dash – off to eat and yes, I am taking my notebook.

As for my birthday wish?  It won’t be for another bottle Waitrose Vintage Champagne.

Another mixed bag of news in the last couple of weeks.  I spent several hours in hospital but not as many as Mrs Wino who suffered another miscarriage.  On a much more positive note, Man City completed a glorious double over some lowly team from Stretford.  Throw into the mix a really busy time at work and I almost missed Confessions of a Wino’s first birthday.

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