Confessions of a Wino

My (software) day job is pretty intense right now. I can’t afford to spend hours researching wine. Yet, somehow, I still find time to drink it (early evenings only, you understand, and in sensible measures).

So, you can find all about this Franco-Argie mix just by Googling it, or by visiting Jamie Goode’s excellent Wine Anorak.

If you want a handful of words about whether to invest your hard earned readies (at >£50 per bottle, you may well want to ponder for a moment before you ring Barclays for a banker’s draft), read on.

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A bull at the door is a welcome nod to Wall Street riches, and I only wish my shares were stampeding a little harder right now.  But as a promise of what was to come, the comedy doggie doo left under the hindquarters of the statue was a more accurate entrée to the Bloomsbury branch of Black & Blue.

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It’s hard not to feel charmed by Olena Zabornikova.   Walking into her restaurant is like visiting a lovable but slightly dotty aunt.   The entrance draws you in from a quirky and quiet part of university town, and once you work out how to avoid being snared by a Spar supermarket, it is like walking through a time portal.  To be blunt, the decor is old fashioned.   The tables laid in the style of a 1960’s Inter-City train, and the dishes in which the food is served give the impression of having been collected over many years from Portobello Market.   And just as you sit there admiring the old pictures and Russian relics, the volume of the Eastern Europop is racked up and mirror balls reflect the disco lights, discolouring your dining partner’s face and turning the room into a cross between Peristroika and Studio 54.   Apparently there is live music here at weekends, news of which has entered St. Petersburg high up on my list of weekend “must-dos in Manchester”.

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When you are a wine magpie like me, you tend to lose some bottles to middle age.  Kiwi Sauvignon Blancs from a couple of seasons ago, found looking (and tasting) forlorn in the corner of the garage.  Cheap and cheerful cherry flavoured Malbecs that prove that half lives apply outside the nuclear industry.

I dug out a few old bottles from the bottom of the rack recently and this appeared, purchased from Majestic a couple of years ago.  I feared the worst.  But still opened it, obviously!

I should have trusted Catena (the reliable makers) and Bibendum (the reliable importers) and, in no small part Majestic (the now evergreen but reliable retailer), who despite their various mark-ups only billed me £7.99 for this excellent wine.

Full of smooth zingy fruit, it is still quite ‘in your face’ like a New Zealand Pinot Noir, but somehow with a surprising amount of refinement.  I treated myself to a bottle at about 15 degrees with beans, bacon, mustard and watercress on toast (I know what you are thinking…..phwaaaarp).  YUM!

I got reprimanded on Twitter (I am @tiptoptaps) for slagging off wine brands, when I made a curt comment about Jacob’s Creek.  In response to a question from someone interviewing the head winemaker at JC, whether I had any questions for him, I put my tongue in my cheek and said “yes, could he stop?”  But I am not against wine brands at all.  It is a massive mistake to judge a lady by her dress sense.  Even if you are desperate.

For example, I have always shown affection for scantily clad beach babes from Chilean conglomerate, Concha y Toro, and especially their sub-brand Casillero del Diablo.  OK, it is not fine wine, but this cost me £6.99 from Sainsbury (available from many sources including Tesco and, I haven’t bothered to check, but presumably Morrisons and Asda too, and maybe Somerfields and Co-op).  How is such a ubiquitous and cheap wine so tasty?

Put aside your preconceptions about mass produced wine.  CyT keep demonstrating that large quantities of grapes can be turned into very drinkable slosh.

The Carmenère is always a bit of a bonfire night wine.  Autumn fruits and the smell of real wood fires.  Make sure you stick it in the fridge for 30-40 minutes before drinking to maximise the flavour (see WART).

My mate Paul gave me a bottle of wine and told me that it is never wise to look a gift horse in the mouth.  So let’s take a glance at its teeth then!

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Do you prefer penguins or skateboarders?  Personally I am a penguin man, although this caused a bit of controversy when I reviewed Hawksmoor.  I did, though, fall in love with the beef.  But, having revelled in Hawksmoor’s meat, I felt obliged to sample what most London foodies consider to be the competition in the steak stakes, Goodman.

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If you are looking for a cheap and cheerful Malbec, you could do a lot worse than try this specimen from Naked wines.

Imagine a bowl of fresh cherries and vanilla ice cream.  Not as dark and devious as many Malbecs but tasty and good with or without food.  Seems like incredible value at  £7.99 (less a mysterious discount of x%*) which probably means you are paying little more than a fiver.

* x = 1/y+3σ (no I can’t work out Naked prices either).

A plastic cork.  Oh my GOD!  Hugo Mesquitah (@mesquitah) will kill me if he knows I even looked at this bottle, never mind drank the wine.

This came from Naked Wines at a pretty expensive £9.49.  But, then again, there is such a super-complex array of discounts that the real price could be anywhere between £3.50 and £750.

The wine is typical Mabec and tastes of dark chocolate and cherry liqueur (probably Thornton’s) and has a velvety texture.  Very nice and possibly even worth a tenner.  A bit lighter than most Malbecs and a refreshing 13.5% ABV.

I recommend drinking young (as it is plastic corked), trying to avoid the “face” price,  and following WART advice to drink at circa 16°C.  Snap some up quick though.  Before you know it, Gaucho Grills will be serving this at £56 per bottle.

Last time I wrote about the London food bloggers’ beefy hero of Shoreditch, I was accused of snobbery.  I was unkind to the waiting staff who I described as ‘skateboarders’ lacking coordination and worse, more dishevelled in appearance than most customers.

However, my steak was so mouth-wateringly, drool dribblingly, bib wettingly luscious, that Truly Scrumptious couldn’t have tempted me away from it, even if she had offered to blow my Toot Sweet in the back of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  I had to come back for another try.

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