Confessions of a Wino

I’ve written many times of my quest to find the perfect wine to accompany beans on toast. But, what about that other saccharine Heinz staple, Tomato Soup?

Everybody tells me that Italian reds are powerful, tannic and rich – like sucking a teabag that has been left in the pot overnight. So that won’t work then, will it?

Well, yes actually. This wine is soft like a fresh raspberry teabag (should you wish to to commit brewed beverage bastardisation) with just a smoky hint of genuine tea (Earl Grey), and there is a slight sweetness that really brings out the flavour of the kids’ teatime favourite.

And as I write, England qualify for the 2014 FIFA World Cup finals! Great goal by Gerrard. Let’s hope we don’t face Italy first up in the competition. Like their wines, they are tough early on, and soften up over time.

Mine cost me £32 from the Sunday Times Wine Club and the 2007 is STILL AVAILABLE. But, not cheap, so maybe better to buy the 2008 and save it to drink when England win in Brazil?

In the world of dining out, if there is one place in Manchester where you could pretend you are in London, it is on the banks of the dirty Irwell.  I say dirty in the sense that if you jumped in a canal barge and headed south you would find yourself at Old Trafford, home to a certain team that plays in red.

This is exactly what the majority of residents of the hotel were doing on Sunday 8 May.   Not all by boat.  Some chauffeured by limousine, taxi, helicopter or rickshaw.  Chelsea and United fans altogether, all up for the day from London.

But it is more than the famous and rich patronage of the hotel that is capitalesque.   The restaurant ambience, service and food bring to mind upmarket places in Notting Hill and Knightsbridge, rather than Cheetham Hill and Chorlton-cum Hardy.

The River Restaurant is styled a bit like Boxwood Café (RIP) with the atmosphere of Scott’s of Mayfair, only with more daylight flooding in, and a larger ratio of famous faces to plebs.

My choice of aperitif exposed my desire to join the elite, an aspirational effervescent bubble short of London pricing, Billecart-Salmon at £10.50.

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I woke up with the sweetest hangover.  The type that brings hazy memories of the day before.  Not caused by alcohol.  Oh no, something far more important.  Football.

But, one has to eat, and drink, and get on with life so, in anticipation of victory, I had booked us into Barbecoa, Jamie Oliver’s new venture in Cheapside in the City.  And as a hangover cures go, you could do worse than select from the “Bites” menu.  The mountain of bread with home made butter was as filling as it was delicious.  A “portion” of pork crackling (£4) was large enough to serve 16 Northern beer drinkers based on the size of pub bags when I was a nipper.  And needless to say the flavour and crunch was in a new class, (but I am known as a bit of a porker).

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In a very twee part of London, where, in more controversial political times Tone used to live, lies a pub.  I wonder if this was a New Labour den at some point.

Keeping my lefty tendencies to one side, (I dress to the left), I booked through Opentable and consumed a pre-match meal.  The glorious Man City made their first Wembley visit since 1999. I made my first visit to Islington since Morgan M‘s in 2008.

The Drapers Arms has a decent array of beers, a pretty and well priced wine list, and a menu that people of my age can read without glasses, which is all too rare. A bottle of 2009 Brouilly was excellent value at £31, and once given 10 minutes in an ice bucket was very drinkable. After only 10 minutes it was turned from flabby Bazooka Joe bubblegum to tight candy foam teeth and who wouldn’t prefer the teeth?  But, why serve Beaujolais at 25 degrees in the first place?

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A revisit to this wine that I last enjoyed (immensely) a couple of years ago.  I am almost sorry that I have just glugged my last bottle of Château Sociando-Mallet 2001.  On this form I really ought to order some more, but it has gone up in price rather a lot since I purchased.  Up to £40 per bottle right now.  Ooof – one in the nuts for my wine budget.  Actually, I was one of those footballing kids who used to duck when planted in the wall.  I also made my own a useful, if cowardly, habit of turning around as the kick was taken, to protect my valuables at the expense of seeing the ball.  Oh well, it’s only a goal isn’t it?  On reflection, I am surprised I never made it into the England squad, when you look at the current crop.

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So the World Cup is under way and the Spanish are hardly justifying their place at the top of the bookmakers’ lists, with the defence doing a passable impression of a kilo of Emmental.  Probably not much of that being sold in Spain tonight.

Meanwhile, new world wine nation, Uruguay, macerated mid-world South Africa 3-0.  And France will have to cheat considerably more than they have so far to win the special FIFA Bloody Sunday Award for fair play.

I guess it’s a good job they can still make great grape juice.

This is a rough country wine from Côtes de Blaye.  Earthy, plummy, dark and fruity.  Like Thierry Henry but more even handed.

Perfect with peasant food – my team of choice was a cheese (not Swiss) omelette and a handful of salad leaves.

I passed £7.50 to the Wine Society.  A quick toe-poke at Google revealed that it is scarcer than a Dubliner in South Africa right now.

In England it is asparagus time.  Time to celebrate!  Surely there is no better flavour than some fresh (cut today) asparagus lightly seasoned and simply pan fried in butter.

Well, I am prepared to reveal that the dish can be improved upon.  Adding a glass of Chablis is like adding a spoon of Dijon mustard to a French dressing – sort of essential*.

You could do worse than this William Fevre, which I picked up from the Wine Society for £13.95.  At time of writing the 2008 had replaced the 2007 at the same price.  Not cheap but a solid example of this under-rated genre.

With the zing of Sauvignon Blanc, the smoothness of Albariño and the class of Chardonnay (we were yet again reminded in this World Cup year, on the day that Fabio named his final 23, that form is temporary), this Domaine William Fevre is perfect with the noble spring vegetable.  The flintiness perfectly offsets the buttery, almost yeasty flavour of the asparagus.

* Other dressings are available.

This one does exactly what it says on the tin:  black cherries, spice, mint, plums.  It’s like chewing gum and walking….through a French orchard on a wet autumn day.

It cost me £9.99 from Virgin and is one of the better ten quid bottles from their stable.

Serve cool (not cold).  It accentuates the mint.  The perfect antidote for drab football matches, and a great partner for pizza.

Blimey!  I didn’t mean to start World War III with my cast aside comment that Mark Hughes might not be the right manager for Man City.  Even though I regularly tell anyone who will listen that I never approved of his appointment in the first place, even I, the Bathsheba Everdene to Mr Hughes’ Gabriel Oak, acknowledged that the least worst option was to give him more time to prove himself.  Instead the Man City hierarchy (and I smell the ruthlessly inept Garry Cook behind this one) make us look fools again, executing a manager change with the dexterity, care and good intentions of Fred West laying a new patio.

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I’ve held my tongue with remarkable virtue on the subject of Man City this season.  Although I never favoured Mark Hughes’ appointment, neither do I support chopping and changing every five minutes.  So I have been inclined to give him more time.  After tonight’s abject 3-0 defeat at Spurs, I admit my patience is being stretched like a City banker’s tax return.

More time is something I ought to devote to US wines, largely ignored on this site – only 14 of Big Sam’s offerings ever receiving the courtesy of a mention.  So here is a little redress.

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