Confessions of a Wino

With apologies to Cilla Black, the European Wine Bloggers Conference is over and I have made some terrific new friends – Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, German, even American, but I am left wondering what it’s all about.

A group of people got together with some overlapping interests, basically an enthusiasm for wine and an opinion itching to be aired via digital means.  We discussed what blogging is, its importance to the wine industry, how to monetise blogs, quality and ethical standards, and whether rating systems are relevant to the wine blogosphere.  Of course, since the conference was handily located in the famous Rioja wine region of Spain, there were ample opportunities to sample wine and food from the Iberian Peninsula.

As you might expect the laptop is mightier than the sword, and opinion frothed like a breakfast cappuccino.  A tidal wave of wine testosterone streamed through alcohol thinned veins.

Wine and computer geekdom collide somewhat incoherently in a region where tradition stretches back hundreds of years.  And yet, we heard leading wine producer, Santiago Vivanco, say that the internet is a new door to wine, albeit that only hours later his brother was explaining how long it takes to innovate in the wine world – tradition is fiercely protected in most of the old world wine regions.

On the final evening of the conference, a handful of remaining souls, including the organisers, sat in the market square in Logroño over a beer (yes beer) and wondered what we had learnt.  Sure there was goodwill.  Friendship.  Trust.  Confidence.  Enthusiasm.  But a lack of clear direction.

Everyone has some idea of what they want from this new group and there is always a temptation to quickly place rules around a situation like this.  A mission statement; constitution; membership qualification criteria; communication protocols and platforms etc.  But I think this is putting the cart before the horse.  There is room for some serendipity here.  Group behaviour is an entire subject in its own right and I don’t intend to attempt to understand it, but I do think that if the group is cohesive and finds a purpose it will survive and thrive.  If there turns out to be no more common purpose than a willingness to read each others blogs and share an occasional glass of wine, then the group will ultimately split.

There is a danger in this type of “first” conference being a bit too introspective.  We need to consider the outside world, and allow a bit of time to find a common purpose.  Something that will unite the group and deliver value much more than the sum of its parts, not only to the bloggers, but also the wine industry, wine drinkers and even those that simply like to read about wine.

I am going to hang around to find out what this might be.

I am in La Rioja, Spain for the European Wine Bloggers Conference.  Unfortunately, and much to the amusement of the other 39 attendees, my bag is in Palermo, Italy.  Shirts, electronics, wine samples, underwear…

So Friday morning was spent in Bilbao buying up cheap clothing to see me through the weekend.  Seems someone picked my bag off the transfer bus at Stansted Airport by mistake, and managed to check it onto their flight before noticing it wasn’t their bag and despite five increasingly desperate announcements I put out over the tannoy system.

I managed to find a few grundies and t-shirts from Zara, and El Corte Inglés (the only shop that still had any summer items).  I’ll wear a nice warm leather jacket like the next guy, but it’s 30°C here and sunny.

I was quite embarrassed to be the only person not to have wine samples at the opening evening tasting.  But this was followed by a great tapas meal at El Lorenzo in Logroño.  Jamon Serrano, and mushrooms and scrambled egg being the two dishes that stood out.

This morning we went to the awesome and monied winery, Dinastía Vivanco for the conference, a tour, lunch, and tasting.  The Vivanco family has spent invested huge amounts of wonga on a veritable palace full of Rolls Royce standard wine equipment, but the level of confidence and buzz about the place gives the firm impression that things are going well and success is assured.  Certainly the quality of the wines, for a place built in 2004, are excellent.  Rafa Vivanco, the winemaking one (Santiago is the business brother) is enthusiastic, coherent and not afraid to experiment.

There is also a superb restaurant with panoramic views across Rioja, and a museum that boasts, amongst other things, the largest collection of corkscrews in a single room, anywhere in the world (over 3,000).  I’ll blog about one or two of the wines in a later post, but if you see any Dinastía Vivanco wines (widely available in UK restaurants) I encourage you to give them a try.

Tonight was spent at another great tasting, this time provided by a huge range of Portuguese and Spanish producers, followed by more tapas at La Chata (not as good as El Lorenzo but the belly pork was awesome).  Let’s just say the scales are creaking.

Tomorrow finds us visiting a couple more wineries, including one of my favourites, Riscal.  Life could be worse, bag or no bag.

I went to the opening night of Les Puddings Noir (sic) at Manchester’s Library Theatre.  I have seen so many good productions there.  For such a small theatre it is so innovative and interesting, but this was an amateur dramatic company (MAD).  However, whilst expectations were low, I had a funny feeling that it might be a laugh.

Many have tried and failed to make fun of Lancashire haute-cuisine, and the black pudding from Bury used to be the butt of Bill Oddie, uhm, I mean the butt of jokes by Bill Oddie.  Butt nowadays you can find this modern day delicacy in restaurants the world over – Ecky Thump!

Because it was the first night of an amateur production, of course the audience was full of family and friends.  A credits VT rolled to announce the play with rapturous applause for every actor (many were kids).  As complete neutrals, we thought it would be fun to whoop and holler at random names.  I wonder if it spooked them – there were a couple of ropey performances.  But on the whole, the production was a stupendous hit.  At the curtain the crowd went wild and rightly so.  My sides ached, and my eyes watered, and my black pudding swelled.  I predict that this will be a worldwide hit one day soon, and movie rights are likely to be worth more than the Full Monty.

Funnily enough, a local (Bury) butcher had taken the opportunity to give away free black puddings – step forward Chadwick’s Original.  Tonight I sampled the black pudding (sliced, gently fried in olive oil with an egg) and it was as good as the show named after it.  The best black pudding I have ever eaten and all the tastier for being slightly, albeit accidentally, burnt.

So choosing a wine to go with it was a problem.  I have been on a world tour of Pinot Noirs recently, to the boredom of many, and I have been thinking of moving on.  I have a secret desire to try a few Rieslings but I know so little about the grape.

I like the idea that the 1997 Rheingau Kabinett I found in the fridge was only 9%.  Very light and drinkable.  I also found it fruity and with a sweetness that complements black pudding in the way that a well delivered line sweetens a sour script.

Les Puddings Noir was mostly well delivered.  The two teenage mums (played by Alana Thornton and the awesome Danielle Wrigley) were only marginally eclipsed by James Creer’s hilarious French maid.  The writing was the real star, though.

Whilst bears everywhere are majestically prowling and growling to everybody that they told them so, stocks around the world continue their downward spiral.  This does not affect Manchester as much as it used to, as the Stock Exchange here is now an Italian restaurant.

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On a weekend when Obama is charming Europe and Gordon Brown is being pummelled on the ropes of a certain Glasgow by-election, my thoughts have turned to politics.

Most people’s political maturity curve starts as a radical teenager, transcends into a left wing twentysomething and then slowly but surely keeps bending to the right.  Money and the confidence of age surely plays a part.  So why do I seem to be moving in the opposite direction?

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Another epic walk out of Manchester and we decided to see what had happened to beloved Maine Road on the way to Didsbury for lunch at Saints and Scholars.

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I have struggled to evaluate Costco as a source of “fine” wine.  Sure, the prices are good, but I have had quite a few bad experiences.  It seems like Costco are just too price focussed.  So we get offered wines from reasonably good estates but poor vintages.  Or decent wines getting to the end of their life.

I really trust Costco to find me the best price on a wide range of items, especially electronics and white goods where, in exchange for accepting last year’s model, enormous savings can be made.  Also consumables like washing powder, water, beer and bog rolls are generally cheapest at Costco, providing you buy in bulk.

I am just not convinced that the wine department is staffed by real enthusiasts.  I am certainly not going to defame Costco, I am sure their wine buyers are diligent, and that the provenance of all their wines is thoroughly checked.  It is just that, if I was a wine negociant, and someone came knocking with price as the sole criterion for purchase, I would be tempted to find the cases I could sell cheap.  A good name/bad year combination – looks good value?  A wine that less price sensitive buyers rejected – I can afford to let it go cheap!  A batch with a high percentage of corked bottles – who would know?

On my last visit, I was tempted by the fine wine display, so splashed out £19.92 on a bottle of Château Camensac 1995.

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What has this got to do with wine?  You may recall I was kindly invited to see the Foo Fighters by one of the stadium sponsors, so I did manage to grab a few glasses but I am afraid I didn’t take any notice of the bottles.

So, for those of you who are Foo fans out there I thought I might post a few pics and vids.  Those of you more into classical music and sip of Chablis could move to the next post while I indulge myself in a small diversion.

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I met Rob McIntosh in Manchester, the night before the UEFA Cup Final (Rangers lost 2-0).  Piccadilly Gardens was packed and all the pubs were overflowing with friendly but very pissed Glaswegians.  Fortunately, the Scots had not found the Northern Quarter, an eclectic mix of trendy, funky, bohemian bars, clubs, clothes shops and arty establishments.  Rob had spotted the old fish market earlier and a bar/resto on the other side of High Street confusingly named The Northern Quarter.

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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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