Confessions of a Wino

As one aperture in my life opens, another closes.  Having recently discovered a long lost Godmother, today I learnt that my Godfather (unrelated) has passed away.

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My last (and first) visit to Fortnum & Mason 1707 Wine Bar was such a success, the very next time I was in London I revisited.

This time my flight comprised three Pinot Noirs and I also added a plate of charcuterie to nibble on.  At £13 an American would starve on this dish, but the quality soared.  The meat was, interestingly, not Italian, the most notable of a good bunch being Gloucester Old Spot Prosciutto which stood up to any Italian prosciutto I have ever tasted.

The Pinot Noirs were all worthy of drinking, for the record:

Fortnum & Mason Bourgogne Rouge Drouhin 2004 – soft and supple, the most subtle of the three with redcurrants and a creamy finish.

Merricks Creek Pinot Noir Victoria 2004 – a powerful strawberry flavour wine, jammy and louder than Ian Paisley in full rhetorical flow.

Pegasus Bay Pinot Noir Waipara 2004 – the most interesting of the bunch.  Cherries and some mineral.  A bit like the French one but with a bit of kiwi intensity and sharpness.

I couldn’t resist trying one more wine and was pleased to see the Fortnum & Mason Pomerol Clos Rene 2003 served in a Riedel Bordeaux glass from the Vinum range. Black fruits prevailed in contrast to the red fruited Pinots.  A bit of cooked cabbage, quite tannic with a long finish.  Quite a serious wine as you might expect

I tolerated some rude treatment from the staff because of the excellent pricing policy, £10 corkage being added to the shop price no matter the value of the wine.  Clearly the place to go if you fancy a 1961 Latour.

So I award F & M my top prize for least rip-off wine drinking prices in London wine bars or restaurants.

I also enjoy trying the flights of three wines linked by grape and comparing the different treatments.  But next time I think up an award, I really must construct a snappier name.

Finally, you don’t have to drink wine, coffee and tea is available.  It is also very quiet, so I use it for meetings when I am in Piccadilly/Mayfair.  I used to frequent The Wolseley for this purpose but it is nowadays too busy.  Oh well, my secret is out.  I’ll have to find somewhere new, now.  Ciao.

I was thinking of writing a thoughtful and considered post tonight but I am starting to slip into Gary Lineker mode already.

McCLAREN OUT!  McCLAREN OUT!  I’ve been completely consistent on this.  Even after five 3-0 wins on the trot (to weak opposition) I still opined that Steve McClaren should resign with (not much) dignity.

The first mistake was made by the FA in the early Sven days when McClaren was appointed assistant with the openly stated aim that he was being groomed for next England manager, the only visible qualification being that he was English.  Then, when Sven was deposed, the FA, in their infinite wisdom, approached “Fil” Scolari and only when he turned the FA down did they grovel to McClaren and pretend it was his job all along.

Oh, how we now long for the Sven-Goran Eriksson days.  He was accused of being the “quarter final” man.  I’d rather have a “quarter final” man than one who can’t even qualify from possibly the easiest European group imaginable.  The last time England failed to qualify for a major tournament was when Graham “Turnip Head” Taylor failed to qualify for the 1994 World Cup.

To be honest, although I am bitterly disappointed that England have not qualified for Europe, one has to look for silver linings at desperate times like these.  The most obvious of which would be to hear of Steve McClaren’s immediate resignation, and if he doesn’t resign by midnight then the FA will lose 1% credibility for every minute after midnight tonight that they don’t sack him.  So they lose my support at 0140h on 22 November 2007 in such circumstance.

In the interim, please appoint Terry Venables as a temporary manager while we wait for someone worthwhile to become available (Martin O’Neill?, despite not being English).  El Tel will at least be capable of winning a few friendlies, and who knows, maybe one day Sven will throw his hat back into the ring???!!!

Talking of Sven that brings me to Man City and in the photo below I wonder if Georgios Samaras will ever play another game for my glorious team.  While I ponder, I sip away at Château de Cor Bugeaud 2005 to see if that will lift my spirits.

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Less than a week after its release (or some might say escape) the fuss about the poor quality of Beaujolais Nouveau this year is already rife.  So, always keen to avoid the inanely topical, I thought I might take the opportunity to delve into the past.

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A letter arrived.  Not an email.  Not a text message.  Not even a telegram or a greeting card.  A letter, hand written, addressed to me, and delivered to the office.

Of course, I remember the days before this eloquent and pulchritudinous form of communication was rudely re-branded snail mail. Nowadays, I have to admit that I cannot recollect the last time I received a hand written letter.  This particular letter resulted in an uncommon sequence of events that lead me to Tingewick, a pretty country village in Buckinghamshire.

Tingewick, close to the intersection of the three counties of Bucks, Northants, and Oxon, is an architectural melting pot.  16th century thatched cottages huddle awkwardly next to 1940’s council houses like new kids meeting at school.  Grand mansions look down on their tiny peers who appear to doff their tiled roofs in deference.  Residents include a well known rock guitarist, a lottery winner, and my estranged Godmother.

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Funky.  The French don’t do funky well.  So Café Le Brummels must be owned by a Belgian then.  Did you spot the Belgian beer influences in the photo?

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Perennial problem isn’t it?  Matching wine and food.  Which wino has never deliberated over what to serve with foie gras (easy one – Chateau d’Yquem), or mature Argentinean Steak (I would do a Malbec)?  But what about the really tough dishes like chocolate desserts, for example.  What if your dinner party plan includes serving beans on toast?

These thoughts swirled around my head like a pair of boxer shorts in a launderette as I drove back to the flat for my evening repast, which happened to be, due to forgetting to stop at the shops, beans on toast.

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I’ve got tennis elbow.  Or rather, I’ve got the super-modern equivalent: Wii wrist.  If you look at availability in the shops, and prices on Ebay, it seems that Nintendo are doing rather well compared to the overpriced, under specified and arrogantly marketed Sony Playstation 3.

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Was Lausanne really so boring?  We must have thought so, because our only full day there was spent in Evian, courtesy of the excellent and frequent ferry service across Lac Léman.  We were looking for the Riveraine Café for lunch, a place we had visited several years ago and enjoyed many a French laugh (he haw he haw he haw) with the owners.  Sadly the place had closed down.

Searching along the lake front for another resto proved fruitless.  It being October already, the saison de tourisme was already over.  Fortunately, even locals need to eat, so there were some places open on the Rue Nationale (main street).  Le Muratore took my fancy because it actually had customers – always a promising sign.

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Although he made wines for Lafite and Latour, the Prince of Vines’ heart was allegedly in Calon.  But I wonder what the Marquis de Ségur would think of today’s vintage hype?  I tried a 2002 recently.  Not the most fashionable of recent vintages having been ambushed by 2000, 2003 and 2005 which were all breathtaking vintages of a lifetime.  Well, I guess wine writers, like cats, have nine lives, but limited hyperbolic capacity to describe a Bordeaux vintage.

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