Confessions of a Wino

I’m just back from a week in New York. What to drug me, to confuse my brain, to get me to sleep earlier than 5 a.m. so I can get out of bed at a reasonable hour tomorrow?

I used to buy more wine from The Sunday Times Wine Club but I think it lost its way, or maybe I grew out of it. However, I still subscribe to their President’s Cellar offer which delivers half a dozen thoughtfully selected wines at about £20 per bottle every six months. When one is regularly relied upon by friends and colleagues to divine the best value bottles at restaurants, wine bars and strip clubs, it’s nice to let someone else do the choosing occasionally.

This 2005 Meursault must have been despatched some years ago because the recommended drink by date is 2011. Far from past its best, I love the peachy pears, hives of honey with a buzz of subtle but earthy lavender. Although I wouldn’t recommend it for your one-year old, it makes for a decent adult soother. Good night.

A bizarre encounter with some of York’s finest scummy kids, as we walked from our hotel in leafy Clifton past the glorious Minster, meant that we nearly missed our table at the Blue Bicycle, a place recommended by a friend who used to live here. I had expected a smooth passage (both before and after the meal) but, to be honest, the bottom feeding teenage toe-rags that I almost ended up having to punch away from us, left me wondering whether there is a city in this country that is safe to cross on foot. Where could I have been more surprised to learn this than the twee and ancient Roman city of Eboracum?

By contrast, the interior of the Blue Bicycle is very Bohemian with ultramarine water glasses, Van Gogh sunflower coloured walls, and Lautrec painted mirrors. A little reminiscent of the label of a Hahn Estates Cycles Gladiator wine, and no doubt inspired by the same genre of painting.

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At two separate Wine Society events recently, one wine has stood head and shoulders above the rest for me, and I have been looking for an opportunity to shout it out.

However, it raises a wider issue about wine branding.  When it comes to certain wines (mostly French if I am honest) I like to think that I should be able to choose the original wine over one badged by a retailer.  So am I being immodest to think that I can do better than an institution that has been around since 1874?  Am I <gasps> a “wine snob”?  And worse, an ill-informed one to boot?

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Situated in a lovely part of Amsterdam with a village feel that reminds me of certain parts of New York and London (but with more canals and lower rise buildings), Fred had telephoned ahead to strong-arm them into giving us a good table (on account of it being my birthday).  They delivered on that front, with the best table in the house in the corner of the window.  But did the food and wine follow suit?

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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 just placed my first order with Naked Wines.  Is this news?  Not really, I suppose, but the strange thing is the reason why.  Naked has persistently pestered me, offered free samples, discounts and special offers and I have resisted for over a year.

I attended EWBC 2010 and witnessed something very interesting.  Naked founder, Rowan Gormley,  (fortunately wearing clothes in front of several hundred people) standing side by side with Willi Klinger of the Austrian Wine Marketing Board, a top guy by any standard, running a mass taste-off between 11 Austrian Wines.

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If you are at the intersection of wine and social media, then you were probably at EWBC 2010 in Vienna this October.

It’s a diverse and eclectic group of folk: Wine-makers, journalists, blog authors, wine educators, PR people, sponsors.  All have their own reasons for attending.  Mine are manifold but the two most important are to meet really interesting people and to learn about really interesting wines.

Partly due to my own ignorance, and partly due to the lack of wines available in the UK, Austria has been a bit of a blind spot for me. The best I could say of most Austrian wines is that they broke the spellchecker.  However, in a 3 day blitzkrieg of wine tastings I learnt that Austria has so much more to offer the world than Grüner Veltliner (not that ‘Gruvee’ itself is boring or ubiquitous).

I write this to capture a few favourites and, if I may, offer a few suggestions to the rare few amongst you with even less Austrian wine experience than me. These were some of the wines that torpedoed my subs…

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Lemony smell, bright yellow colour – sounds like a “golden shower”?

Fortunately it tastes of pomodorino tomatoes on toasted ciabatta.  Superb with pan fried salmon and new potatoes.

As ever, don’t mask the fine flavours by over-icing.  Take WART advice and serve at 10-12°C.

Mine came from the Sunday Times Wine Club, President’s Cellar 6 monthly case, which regular readers will know implies about £20 per bottle.  I’d say this one is well worth it, and drinking well now.

On a frenzied wine tour through Bordeaux it’s nice to take a relaxing break for a long lunch, and you could do much worse than stop in Pauillac during your Medoc leg.

La Salamandre, looking out directly over the river is charming, top quality, well presented, and has a great wine list.

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In what turned out to be the fortunate circumstance of a cancelled flight, I found myself in Bordeaux for an unexpected extra night.  This gave me the opportunity to fulfil a bit of a dream.

Entering through the unassuming entrance of Max Wine Gallery you could be forgiven for thinking that you are entering a posh handbag or clothes boutique.  But, inspect further and inside you will find not Chloe or Hermès, but brands a bit closer to my heart, and liver.

Bottles of various top growths from Médoc, St Emilion and Sauternes are imprisoned within glass cases but with tempting little spouts indicating a tad of promiscuity to willing punters.  A wino heaven, although at a price.

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