Confessions of a Wino

I have an American colleague, of French origin, who given his own bodyweight in Sancerre would happily sit on his sunny balcony and drink it nonstop in a frenzied Loire-athon. He does admit that other wine regions in France exist but they are either over-priced or under-qualitied. There are no wines produced from outside “l’hexagon”.

I share an interest in French Sauvignon Blanc and the Loire is the pinnacle of how to convert the grape into astonishingly bright, juicy, sunny, flavours.

It seems ages since people seriously contemplated that new fangled New Zealand upstarts like Cloudy Bay might put the Loire Valley out of business. The subtleties of the wines of the French region are rarely found in Marlborough. I love many kiwi zingers, but grapefruity zinginess, if overdone, can test ones mouth ulcers to the limit . Built by Domaine Serge Laloue, Exhibition Sancerre is zingy in a gooseberry bush kind of  a way, but without the cat piss. Very refined and priced to go at £12.95.

Under the High Line, one of the seven wonders of New York City, where peace and tranquility mix with rare greenery on a former raised platform railway converted to a unique public park, lies a restaurant of some repute.  A place that, although set amongst meatpacking factories, has thoughtfully empathised with, and even beaten a path for other trendy venues to raise the Standard of this eponymously named district of New York City.  And yet a “Grill” that has remarkably few items on the menu that might ever see a char broiler.   For example, I had oysters followed by shrimp fettuccini.  Although I use the word ‘followed’ in a loose literal sense, or perhaps as its own antonym since the main courses arrived before the starters. This was one of a number of service fiascos we experienced when lunching there on the last day of a New York trip.

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If you have just scaled England’s third highest mountain via Striding Edge, slipped and nearly died, wished that you owned a pair of crampons, nearly shat yourself, and in the process built up a hunger hole the size of one of Sherpa Tenzing’s footprints, you could do worse than get your scram at one of the poshest hotels in the lake district, the self proclaimed inventor of sticky toffee pudding.  Make sure you take your Amex Black Card, though.  And check you are still in possession of your arms and legs on the way out.

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I’ve been impressed by Café Anglais on a number of occasions but I thought it was famous for roast chicken, and not particularly great for solo diners.  So, ever since they emailed me to say an oyster bar had opened I’ve been itching to try it.

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This is just the sort of place I imagined an upmarket New York restaurant would look like.  Solid, spacious, salubrious and snobby, and that is a compliment.  It is expensive in the evening but if, like me, you are on a budget, there are some great deals at lunchtime.  I visited in September 2009 and unlike former customer, Monica Lewinsky, I managed to keep my stains on the tablecloth.

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Cafe de Luna, on boulevard de Clichy is a bustling bistro that caught my eye on a cheeky weekend visit.  We were staying round the corner in the ninth and needed a reasonably priced dinner.  That is a challenge at the moment for Brits in Paris due to the parity of Euro/Sterling.

I started with Bourgogne escargots in garlic and mopped up every last morceau!  Eating snails is always a bit like chewing on rolled up condoms but it is the sauce that makes the strange texture so appealing.

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Chez Clément has many branches in Paris and one in Nantes.  Is this the French version of Chez Gerard? Je pense que oui!

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I have some empathy with John Major and his propensity to give her a pubic service.  Edwina Currie, in her prime, was almost certainly a foxy chick, and she sure has the personality to entertain a Minister of State.  However, her period of public service is not remembered fondly by the British egg trade.

Now though, it seems eggs are safe after all – hoorah!  Boiled eggs are one of my staple dishes and I eat far more than the three a week that most of the public (including me) used to think was safe.

But is there a wine that matches my eggy soldiers?  Will two bell towers stand proud to the challenge?

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Raymond Blanc, founder of high profile restaurant with rooms, Le Manoir aux quat’saisons, and currently starring in the latest culinary reality TV show from the BBC, The Restaurant, has another business interest, a chain of eateries.

I showed up at Brasserie Blanc in Manchester only to discover that Monsieur Blanc has not visited the place in two years.  The brasserie looked unloved and was almost completely empty.  Would this be a culinary delight, or should Raymond come and close his own restaurant?

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We regularly use the plural when we mean the singular.  Nowhere is this more true than in Latin derived words used in a business context.  For example “can you tell me the single criteria for success?”.  Erm no I can’t, but I might be able to enlighten you with the criterion.

A gruff Yorkshireman with mixed ancestry by the name of Marco Pierre White clearly spotted that the single criterion for a good restaurant was to serve good food.  This is certainly a baseline, but in my view there are other criteria.  For one, there is history.  Criterion pre-dates Piccadilly Circus itself by 4 years putting a big red tick in that particular box.

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