Getting Bogged Down in your Hobby

Posted on 18/04/2015 by dccrossley

As yesterday’s Blog post was a touch serious I thought I’d allow this site to sink to new depths – this is all about toilets so look away now…actually it’s about toilet walls (do you see where this is going?).

Wine can be a simple case of drinking. As a friend once said, the best tasting note is “gets you pissed”. But those of us who seem to enjoy more than the mere inebriation factor can extend our hobby in seemingly endless ways.

You have the collectors, of course, those who, er, surreptitiously enter their cellars to stroke the bottles and look at the labels. Some merely keep a cellar book,  read a wine book a month, keep their best corks in a goldfish bowl, have vineyard maps on the wall, keep a few cherished empties on a shelf, have photo frames with champagne capsules in them, stick wine labels into scrap books, own too many different wine glasses, have vines in the garden and collect antique corkscrews. Sadly I do all of these except one (the last).

But there’s another level to the wine obsession, one I discovered on moving into my current home many years ago, when I realised I hated the wallpaper in our upstairs toilet. I can’t remember where I got the idea but I’m sure I’ve seen literature lovers paper their loos with words of mercury, or photo fanatics cover them with prints of old daguerreotypes. In any case, no one in the family seemed to object so off I went.

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It actually took a few years to complete the project. Sometimes, when wine friends ask to see it, they are mildly disappointed. Perhaps they expect to see a roll call of France’s finest. Well some of those are there, but the walls reflect more modest drinking too. I don’t hide the supermarket wines which occasionally appear, nor the merchant blends from the likes of Moillard which may have been a last minute purchase at the Calais duty free. The Champagne labels are largely Grande Marque NV as well. Yet I’m pleased my long love for the wines of the Jura region is betrayed, as also Piemonte in all forms. Some wines are sadly no longer made (Conterno Printanié), nor affordable (I’m proud of all the Chave Hermitage and Vernay Condrieu labels).

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The walls don’t really reflect my current passions all that well (grower Champagne, natural wine, Austria and Beaujolais are pretty much absent in any number), but I still enjoy reflecting on what I used to drink…when I remember to take my glasses…and forget to take a wine magazine…

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The Doors of Perception or a Stairway to Heaven?

Posted on 17/04/2015 by dccrossley

Charles Taylor (World of Fine Wine 47) writes a fine article on contemplation and fine wine. The article, though wide in compass, addresses the contemplation of ideas. I don’t have the background in philosophy to comment on Professor Taylor’s article, except to say that it’s both an enjoyable and an instructive read, but I do have the temerity to suggest that there is another way of looking at, and experiencing  wine, one which does not require any conscious thought, but is “of the moment”.

“Perception” is as much an extra sense as “umami” is an additional taste. By Perception, I mean a moment in wine that comes out of the blue, but provides an instant of revelation, requiring no contemplative effort. Does such a thing exist, or have I just drunk too much?

Perception leads to understanding, but not in the intellectual sense. What do I mean? Such a thing is not restricted to wine appreciation. It can happen with art, food and other things. Indeed, for some it is applicable to philosophy or religion and it’s more akin to Archimedes’ “eureka” moment of sudden realisation, or perhaps Saint Paul’s Damascene moment for those of a more religious persuasion.

Some reach perception through meditation; I think, when swirling a glass of wine and losing ourselves in its aroma and taste, we can, even if only for a fleeting moment, enter a near-perfect meditative state. It doesn’t always happen, perhaps it doesn’t often happen. We need to be receptive. But sometimes, when that moment arises we are hit with a profound identification both with, and of, what is in the glass.

The wine professional, and maybe the obsessive amateur, find it difficult not to analyse wine, to judge and critique, even those who shudder at the thought of giving points will do this. When our concentration is transferred to writing a tasting note it feels a bit like when we take the camera out and start viewing our holiday through the lens, and cease to see it with our own eyes.

But when we allow the wine to take over (do we “allow” it, or does it wrest control from us?) so that we stop thinking, then we have a chance to perceive. Something more is revealed – not merely fruits and tannins, acidity, sweetness, but something deeper.

All such experiences are naturally subjective. You will not have the same experience as I do, and I will have a different experience with the same wine on a different day. That’s no different to what will happen with analytical tasting. But I still reckon I’m not the only one who has these revelatory moments where you can’t put into words what the wine is saying, nor even into coherent thoughts perhaps.

Professor Taylor takes us back to Kant and Schopenhauer, but he could just as well take us right back to Buddhism. There is relative and absolute truth in all things, so why should wine be an exception? Everything is impermanent, as in Buddhism so in quantum mechanics/physics, so in that respect our interpretation of reality is both perfect and flawed. In our perception of some inner truth within a wine, we see something of necessity impermanent. Yet that doesn’t mean we have a lesser experience.

So, here we are, perhaps somewhat inebriated, and we start to imagine something more in the glass than the mere physical properties this slurry of particles presents. We have a host of data before us to make the wine something concrete – its back story, its terroir, and the science of its winemaking, alongside our WSET-led analysis of sight, smell and taste. All this enhances our personal relationship with the wine, and yet it doesn’t mean the wine will let us in.

Like any relationship, that which we’re having with this glass can remain shallow, casual, at arm’s length. Or it can grow as we sit with it. Sometimes it can be pure love at first sight (for some their first Latour or SQN, maybe for others a Macle Vin Jaune or  just Gut Oggau Winifred Rosé). If anyone has experienced love they well know that the rush of feelings you get cannot easily be comprehended.

Ancient Greek thought describes The Great Chain of Being (the scala naturae or stairway to heaven), and well it might, we believe that Greek philosophers met with Buddhist monks from India and exchanged ideas, and it’s surprising how many ideas in Greek thought seem to have their origins in that philosophical cradle (I love the description, if not the observation, of the atom itself by Democritus – his inability to describe the cause of its motion, criticised by Aristotle, is hardly surprising given what quantum mechanics has discovered) .

Can wine ascend this ladder, along with architecture and the other arts? Can we place the contemplation of wine on this level? Or are we just with the wrong band? The doors of perception, that’s a different thing entirely, a moment of (hopefully not hallucinogenic, it would spoil the wine) clarity which transforms the object in the glass from mere matter to an experience more ethereal, yet not (for me) reaching religious ecstasy. More a profound moment of simple enjoyment. What does it all mean?…apparently there’s a lady who knows! With all our points and tasting notes, that glitter as gold, perhaps just another way to enjoy our passion. Time to stop gibbering and to simply enjoy what’s in the glass.

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Harwood Sangio – A Noble Cause

Posted on 13/04/2015 by dccrossley

As a self-confessed lover of Sangiovese there’s one blind spot I can’t deny, and this is Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. I’ve been there and yes, it’s a lovely place, perhaps one of the nicest Tuscan hill towns in which to sip a glass as the sun goes down and the birds swoop over San Biagio. But when buying the wine for some reason Chianti and Brunello have always won the race.

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(No wild boar on the menu but some of these wines are made for that combo)

So it was, I thought, always going to be educational as well as enjoyable that our next Sangiovese lunch at The Harwood Arms near Fulham Broadway was going to cover these oft-forgotten Tuscan reds, but it didn’t work out to be quite as educational as I’d hoped. The wines were good, no doubt about that. It’s just that we didn’t really pinpoint anything that made the region unique. Not that they tasted like Brunello or Chianti, but some of the younger wines didn’t especially taste of Sangiovese at all.

One of my two Wines of the Day was not a Vino Nobile, nor was it red. It was Livio Felluga Friuli Rosazzo Bianco “Terre Alte” of uncertain vintage (front label said 1997, back label 1996, probably therefore the former). Generously provided in magnum, it had hints of a dry Sauternes, waxy and with a citrus orange not quite reaching marmalade. It grew in complexity. I’d never had one this old, and I’d love to do so again, although doubtless the bottle size had its effect.

 

 

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I should also mention the other white, not in the same league as the Felluga, but a wine I wish I’d bought (it came from nearby Vagabond Wines but I was unaware until later), Rossese Bianco 2012, Josetta Saffiro. I’ve drunk red Rossese but never white, and this was from Castelletto di Monferato and labelled Langhe, not from Liguria. A fresh herby white perfect for a summer seafood lunch.

The reds:

Boscarelli Vino Nobile Riserva 1986 The first bottle was dead but a backup proved really interesting, tenacious of life and very old, its nose was almost sweet like a dessert wine. Maraschino cherry with a good hint of butterscotch sounds odd, but wines like this are fascinating, you can never truly understand what’s going on. So, typically, I liked it.

Poggio alla Sala 1985 More classical, and indeed tasted much more youthful, so much so that we all thought it tasted more 1990s than 1980s. Good but not approaching greatness.

Salcheto 2011 Biodynamic producer whose recent wines have been fabulous according to others at the table. I think this vintage marks a change in bottle and label, but hopefully not in style? This had a lightness and the potential, there is something there. But it wasn’t showing. And there was a tiny hint of volatility, more lipstick than nail varnish, but slightly intrusive. Yet there was a nice lift to it. I would like to sit down with a bottle over an evening rather than write it off here.

Boscarelli 2010  More depth and ripeness from a better vintage I presume, but there’s also wood here and it needs more age, obviously.

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Il Macchione Riserva 2007 This was also too young but shows promise. There’s clearly too much oak right now, but it was well structured with ample fruit to mellow nicely. Sourcing older wines isn’t easy but this is currently available at Uncorked and with seven or eight years age it just needs a few more in the cellar to be drinking nicely.

Salcheto Salco Evoluzione 2000 (in magnum) This was my other Wine of the Day. Richness, poise, everything in perfect harmony in the glass as a fellow diner wrote, and the wonderful thing about a magnum is that you can savour it for longer. This was really in essence what we’d all come for, a mellow and well aged Vino Nobile which truly did live up to its name.

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I’d be doing the chaps at the Harwood Arms a disservice if I didn’t give them a mention. Excellent service as usual, very relaxed and unobtrusive, with ample and good glassware, plus delicious food on my part. The famous Harwood Scotch Eggs are possibly the best pre-starter (or starter) in London and on this occasion we were each presented with two halves, one venison, the other black pudding. My real starter was the game faggots, haunch of fallow deer as a main and English cheeses for dessert. One or two who chose the crab starter were less impressed, but to be fair they were not charged for them. The cheese selection is minimal, but then they have their great strengths – game. The venue is excellent in all respects for a wine-based lunch and seems strangely not very busy at lunchtime each weekday I’ve been there. Anyway, I can heartily recommend it, along with the Salcheto if you do stumble upon a magnum of 2000!

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The Young Ones? Where are they?

Posted on 07/04/2015 by dccrossley

The cliché may be that policemen are looking younger but I’m not sure that’s the case with Bordeaux drinkers. Nor Burgundy drinkers for that matter. A recent remark on Twitter by Jancis Robinson lamented the fact that there seemed to be few young people at the Bordeaux tastings. Is Bordeaux becoming an old person’s drink and what are all the young ones drinking?

At first it might not seem important, the fact that a major disconnect is going on in the world of wine. The great cities of the world have these fantastic new, vibrant wine scenes encompassing new independent wine merchants, new wine bars, and young sommeliers introducing new wines to diners. But I’ve noted before how these places are not pushing the traditional greats any more. In some places you really are more likely to find something praised by Isabelle Legeron than by Hugh Johnson, and whilst that may not please some commentators it is nevertheless a fact of the changing face of wine retailing and drinking. If it’s only in a trendy metropolis that this is the case, what starts in Sydney, San Francisco, London, New York, Paris…

I’m not convinced it’s because no one likes these “traditional” wines. It’s because they are perceived as expensive. When people I know talk about Bordeaux and Burgundy they are usually talking about the investment level wines. For Bordeaux that means the upper tiers of the 1855 Classification, whilst for Burgundy it means almost any wine made by the top producers, plus most of the Premiers and Grands Crus of the rest.

The prices of these wines don’t just put off many wine drinkers now, they are just totally unaffordable to most younger drinkers. This is a shame. I was lucky enough to start my passion for wine when even the Bordeaux First Growths were affordable, if somewhat rarely. Yet a wine lover starting out today might never get the chance to drink, or certainly to buy, wines like Haut-Brion, Latour and Mouton, or wines from Coche, DRC, and Leflaive. Even at the lower (sic) levels, producers like Lynch-Bages, Pontet-Canet, Fourrier and Bruno Clair are now out of reach for many.

But do the new wine lovers care? I’m not so sure they do. The world of wine is so wide now that there’s a greater choice when it comes to satisfying hand-crafted wines, expressive of place, with an interesting back story to them than ever before. Few wine regions now fail to yield wines deserving of the epithet “fine”.

Of course we look at the top producers from the traditional regions of France, Italy and Spain, and they appear to care little about what these new “drinkers” think. As long as these highly sought after wines have a market among the small number of collectors, and the larger number of investors, who purchase these blue chips, then they are not worried…or so it looks. Indeed, what used to be one world of wine has seemingly split in two. Wines for drinking, wines for trading (how prescient was Simon Loftus with “Abe’s Sardines” all those years ago).

But aside from the future of fine wine as an investment vehicle, what about all the other people making wine in Bordeaux and Burgundy? I think Burgundy has a better time of it. It’s the artisanal nature (whether in truth or in the marketing) of many of these wines that attracts new drinkers, whether from once less popular villages (from Pataille in Marsannay to increasingly popular producers in the once forgotten Chalonnaise and Maconnais), or the artisans working on the fringes (Goissot in Saint-Bris, La Cadette in Vézelay etc). They can be readily identified with other artisans from the Beaujolais, Jura, Loire and so on. They are rarely seen in the same light as the big names, just as the growers in Champagne have forged a separate identity to the large houses there, although in both locations the boundaries can sometimes be blurred to the producer’s advantage.

We might be grateful that the old school have not woken up to the potential outside the classic regions. Like the eminent collector, a man with a fine cellar and a very good palate, who commented that Tenerife might be a good place for a cheap holiday but not for wine, surely! Well, the fact that Suertes del Marques are making some of the finest single parcel wines in Spain is best kept a secret, isn’t it?

Yet there are two problems facing the traditional fine wine regions. First, the finest producers do need to encourage younger drinkers to develop a love for these wines, as others have done for generation after generation before them. If we don’t drink them they will slide from the radar of genuine wine lovers, even if their virtues are extolled by the points givers. They will surely otherwise just end up stashed underground in China, Russia, Wiltshire…waiting for someone else to buy them to do exactly the same thing, bury them forever like a work of art in the basement of The Louvre that never sees the light of day, nor gets seen by the viewing public.

Some of you will have read my posts earlier this year from Bordeaux where visits to three Chateaux at different levels (Haut-Marbuzet, Lynch-Bages and Pichon-Longueville where we stayed) certainly reminded to me how excellent the wines are in this region. If I am totally honest, I think I needed reminding. If I buy them less and less it’s not just because the choice is now so much greater, nor because I have a little stash of them already, but because they don’t always scream affordability.

And what of all the many smaller producers in Bordeaux? Yes, the second problem. The Petits Chateaux, the Crus Bourgeois’, the Graves, Saint-Emilions, and for goodness sake the excellent white wines? There’s still so much to enjoy here, and I believe that as genuine wine lovers give up on the great Crus they also give up on these so-called lesser wines, affordable wines potentially every bit as good as a fine Morgon Cote du Py, an amphora-aged Cerasuolo, a Californian Trousseau, or perhaps whatever genuine marvel Sager + Wilde have found this week. Does the future for Bordeaux at least, if perhaps not Burgundy just yet, look bleak, or am I just on the wrong wine planet?

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Oddities (March)

Posted on 30/03/2015 by dccrossley

The latest gathering for lovers of the odd and obscure in wine took place at Rochelle Canteen last Friday, and generally we all felt that these lunches get better and better. As usual, the food was stunningly good and the friendly reception we receive is very much appreciated.

Without writing extensive but dull tasting notes, the list below with a few explanatory words gives an idea of what we drank. Anyone interested in attending future lunches (usually every second month) should keep their eyes on the Winepages forum and associated offline planner (www.wine-pages.com). All wines served blind.

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Bulles de Syrah NV, Limoux, Jean-Louis Denois Delicious and refreshing sparkling Syrah but vinified as a blanc de noirs!

Vin Jaune 1989, Arbois, Jacques Puffeney What can I say, stunning, a shame we now have a finite number of bottles from this amiable master of the Jura.

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Vinochisti E3, Toscana, Tim Manning Erbaluce, vinified dry. Not quite as stunning as the last bottle but a marvellous wine, please do try it if you can.

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Vernaccia di San Gimignano “Tradizzionale” 2011, Montenidoli Vernaccia how it used to be or just a new interpretation, whichever it is, a classy wine.

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Picarana 2013, Bodega Maranones, Madrid Rich white with a chalky finish, from Albillo. Great Spanish whites just keep turning up at these lunches.

Piedi Grandi 2012, Clarine Farm, Sierra Foothills A Californian field blend, old vines (Nebbiolo, Mourvedre, a little Syrah and Semillon), pale and refreshing.

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Fence Panel Block Pinot Noir 2012, Chateau Hambleton, Esher (UK) Chris Hambleton’s hand pressed micro cuvée, around 8% alcohol, a very creditable effort at a refreshing English red, a very rare sighting too! Pretty much unobtainable.

Spirit of London MMXIII, London Cru Gavin Monery’s Cabernet/Barbera blend, made in London’s first urban winery in SW6 and commercialised through Marks & Spencer. Dark, plummy and dark fruits, a creditable effort. Currently £13 (on offer) or cheaper with their 25% off six deal, so no excuse not to try it.

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È Iss 2011, Tenuta San Francesco Pre-phylloxera vines, Tintore di Tramonte (a teinturier variety) from Campania. Fascinating.

Gestad Syrah 2010, Deutscher Landwein, Ziereisen, Baden From southern Baden, towards Basel, any Ziereisen wine is a treat (try the Jaspis) but this experimental trial planting shows genuine potential for this grape in parts of Germany. Very good.

Patras 1947, Achaia Clauss, Greece A bit of a mystery wine but probably made from Mavrodaphne, not in its prime but hanging on in there.

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Gamay 2012, Sorrenberg, Beechworth Probably the best Aussie Gamay I’ve tried and afaik the only pure Gamay from Beechworth. It has that lively Beechworth fruit, very good indeed. Wouldn’t mind grabbing some of this for myself, for sure. Cool retro Chablis-esque/burgundian style label.

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Moscatel “Pico Plata”, Chipiona (Florido Hermanos), Sanlucar de Barrameda This was pre-war (Civil War), 1920s 0r 1930s, a gorgeous nose, mahogany brown, thick, delicious, indeed possibly the wine of the day, though the Puffeney VJ and the Tondonia pink (see below) were also contenders. A wonder! Truly.

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Vermut de Reus Reserva De Muller, Tarragona Served with orange segments and ice, a very fine and pungent vermouth, heavy with the scent of oregano.

The Tawny 22-y-o, Dutschke A fine “Barossa port”, bottled May 2004, butterscotch and rancio and everything you’d expect.

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Vina Tondonia Rosado 2000, Lopez de Heredia, Rioja Pale, almost more orange than pink, that scent of tea, that dry and almost herby palate, I know I’m a LdeH fan but there’s something special about this rosé, certainly one of my favourite dozen still pinks. A lovely end to the lunch.

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As always it is difficult to do justice to the wines without writing a book. I often wish at these lunches that I could just place an order for a mixed case, and that was certainly true of this one.

These lunches serve as a major education. When the best classic wines from the classic regions are getting too expensive for many of us, it’s a revelation to discover star quality in less likely places, and often from varieties we may have never heard of. That world of wine is wide indeed!

Massive thanks to Dave Stenton for taking on 100% of the organising of this one whilst I was swanning around Nepal in search of the most obscure wine on the planet south of the Arctic Circle (see previous post). Here’s to May.

 

 

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It was the best of times, the worst of wines…

Posted on 26/03/2015 by dccrossley

We all make lists of the best wines we’ve drunk, I guess, and it seems a little mean to talk about the worst wines we’ve drunk. But then it has to be said that not since the dark days of Don Cortez and Hirondelle (oh, and that Dutch Auxerrois which tasted and smelt of cheese) have I drunk anything quite so foul as this wine. It smelt of stewed prunes, was a fairly offensive brown colour, and was as cloudy as a bottle of well-shaken crusted port. I managed about three sips, mostly out of politeness.

But then you’d not expect such a negative assessment from the back label. “A sweet red grapes wine (sic) with full fruity flavours and a soft finish…”

And here’s the good bit: “…has always prided itself on the quality and reliability of its products. This philosophy has been instrumental in the Royal Gate becoming a french (sic) icon”.

Now before the French get upset with me, the wine in question is not French, and I very much doubt it is a French icon either. It’s Royal Gate Western Hill 2012 and it comes from Lamjung in Nepal, made by South Asian Wine Industries.

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To be fair the problem could be down to age and, most likely, storage. Even in March we were experiencing temperatures between 25 and 30 degrees on many days, even in the Kathmandu Valley. And we worry if the cellar gets up to 18! I’d have liked to try it in its prime, but even in its country of origin finding local wines isn’t easy, despite the array of fine looking table grapes available on the streets at this time of year.

Of course we are beginning to see more wine from India. In Nepal, Sula isn’t hard to find, and in its various incarnations (ouch!) it is pretty much what I’d call a decent supermarket wine. Expensive for what it is in Nepal, yet UK duty charges pale at those imposed in much of Asia. It might not top the list of wines to try for many wine lovers, but it is perfectly decent when you want a change from a bottle of Everest beer. Actually, I see that M&S has a couple of Indian wines on the shelves right now, as part of their highly adventurous wine programme. I look forward to trying some, but would love to know if others have, what they think of them?

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As I said, I feel mean speaking badly of this bottle from Nepal. The couple of times I’ve been to this wonderful country I’ve felt blessed. The scenery and the unfailing generosity and friendliness of the people in the face of poverty are remarkable, and you can’t help feeling you’ve glimpsed another world. But I’ve yet to discover whether they can make wine. I hope so. And I hope to be back before the year is out to continue my quest.

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The Silence of the (Wine-Dark) Sea?

Posted on 27/02/2015 by dccrossley

This odd, if not enigmatic, title channels Vercors’ wartime novel of resistance through Homer and Patrick O’Brian’s sixteenth Aubrey-Maturin novel, and I suppose in a round about, and obtuse, way it sums up the silence of this blog for the past couple of weeks, and perhaps for a couple of weeks to come (resistance and travel).

My last bottle of wine was the Julien Labet Chardonnay described in my last post, a delicious bottle drunk at Portland. After that an infection from a minor medical procedure led to a fourteen day course of antibiotics with a recommendation that abstention would be rather beneficial for my liver in these circumstances. Of course for a good week alcohol was a long way from my mind, but as the effects of the antibiotics began to outweigh the fever, it did allow me to ponder a little.

There’s little doubt that I love wine, and that drinking it several, okay most, nights a week is something I consider both pleasurable and civilised. Most of the time the ideal of quality over quantity holds sway, though I admit that occasionally quality and quantity perhaps combine. So having a couple of weeks off does allow me some relief that perhaps I’m not a total addict, and can “go without” (something wine drinkers whisper to each other without usually believing a single word). But at the same time I can’t deny that the pleasure of wine has been sorely missed. The sensuous scents, the texture on the tongue and the sheer diversity of flavours as we drink our way through a cellar far more eclectic than one crammed with posh bottles.

Of course, you can’t expect me to avoid buying wine, and so some Suertes del Marques 7 Fuentes, Domaine de la Cadette Melon, Occhipinti Frappato and Eva Fricke Riesling have somehow crept in, all highly recommended wines, by the way.

The good news is that the last giant tablet was consumed last night, but a period of re-acquainting myself with wine is likely to be short as I’m off to Nepal. Now I’m told that there is indeed Nepalese wine, so it is possible that I might be able to bring news of the powerful reds from the roasted slopes of Nagarkot, or the crisp whites of the Pokhara Valley, but most likely it will be a beer or two, the polite sipping of some dodgy distillation and perhaps, if I’m lucky, a bottle or two of something remarkable more for the fact that it was made at all than that it was made well. But you never know, an opus mirabile factum is not wholly beyond hope, as I’m told that there are bottles one might at least describe as palatable.

But whilst Nepal might offer a Livingstonian opportunity for the determined wine searcher, a chance to discover some autochthonous grape variety completely missed by Robinson, Harding and Vouillamoz, it does not always offer a good internet connection, or even an internet connection at all. So if I find anything worth drinking the secret may not be revealed until I return home. And for those occasionally forced to drink the obscurities I inflict on them, I doubt I shall risk a bottle on the two-legged journey home in my rucksack (phew, I’m hearing, but then that’s a blind tasting success missed for someone!).

So thanks everyone who reads my blog on a fairly regular basis for putting up with my absence. There’s another Oddities lunch at Rochelle on 27 March, and a few interesting wine trips coming up, so (ab)normal vinous verbosity will be resumed in a few weeks.

Cheers!

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Old Man (Take a Look at my Life)

Posted on 17/02/2015 by dccrossley

A vigorous discussion in another place a couple of weeks ago asked whether a former well known advocate for a particular wine region was keeping on top of all the new things happening there. I don’t wish to bring that discussion over here, yet I was intrigued by Hugh Johnson’s column in the current issue of Decanter Magazine, where he rather sportingly admits that he doesn’t drink that widely now, sticking to the classics of his younger days.

Before anyone gets the wrong end of the stick, I will say straight off that far from intending criticism of Hugh, I really can see why this is the case, and where he’s coming from. He must have extremely happy memories of those times when good “claret” and Burgundy was available and affordable to, if not everyone, at least to most people with a steady job and an interest sufficient to slip it into their list of little luxuries. It was also a time when red wine from Austria and white wine from Italy might have proved very risky for cellaring.

The other thing, which was at least the case before Hugh sold his cellar(s), and I’m sure he kept a small stash, is that as we get older we are all victims of what we have bought, our past enthusiasms so to speak. Our tastes may change, leaving us with a lot of one style and not enough of another. Some people’s answer is to sell, although here (not that I’m as well endowed with high octane Barossa Shiraz and Cali-Cabs as some) I’m reluctant to do so. Anyone who is equally passionate about music will know that any wild impulse to shed the record collection of one’s youth, means they only to have to buy again when the nostalgic impulse of later life takes hold (hey, not all that later in my case!), and they will be wary of doing the same with their wine collection. Indeed, as my recent trip to Bordeaux proved, I still like the stuff, but I drank less and less as prices rose and other food-friendly reds caught my eye. Now I can see myself thinking once more about a nice Cru Classé when previously other wines would have winked at me with greater resolve.

But Hugh, and many other slightly less sprightly wine writers, would probably be the first to admit they’ve not got much idea of what’s going on right now in Beaujolais (Sunier, Balagny?), maybe not drunk any (or many) Scholium Project, Anton Klopper or Gut Oggau? Perhaps, even, they are yet to explore the world class wines of Equipo Navazos with any determination? Of course, I could easily be wrong. Then again, I’ve nowhere, nowhere indeed, near the experience Hugh has of the delights of First Growth Bordeaux. I’ve never drunk Le Pin or Pétrus and it’s over ten years since I’ve even drunk Angélus. I could also do with a lot of fingers to list the Burgundy Grand Crus I’ve not drunk.

The world of wine has changed immeasurably in the thirty-plus years since I first drank a bottle of Mouton-Cadet and took home a bin-ended copy of George Rainbird’s “An Illustrated Guide to Wine”. As an avid reader of wine books (and magazines), it’s remarkable how these have changed. You used to look forward to the next book on Burgundy, and Tom Stevenson’s Faber book on Alsace was like Christmas to someone like me. Yet over the past six months I’ve read (among many) a book about California which covers none of Napa’s big hitters, a book about “Natural Wines”, a book about Jura Wines and a book about Riesling which actually covers North America in as much or more detail than Germany.

There is equally no doubt that wine magazines have broadened their content. This month the supposedly conservative Decanter has a very interesting tasting of the world’s best Chardonnays outside of Burgundy. World of Fine Wine manages to stretch that definition as well (imagine my pleasure at reading about Loire star and personal favourite Jacky Blot some issues ago).

The question is, do we see the new blood coming through in these media, the new wine writers who really have a sense of what is happening in the wide world of wine, and does it matter?

There is undoubtedly a feeling that the old hands of the print media are still around and in control. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing at all. They have tremendous experience. The question is, do they still have their fingers on the pulse? Do they still travel widely in their regions of expertise, meeting new stars and tasting new styles? And do they look to new media to see what’s happening as well?

This is where the “does it matter?” bit comes in. The most exciting wine writing (this apart) is via Blogs and Twitter helps dramatically in disseminating these sources . I don’t mean blogs like mine necessarily, occasional words from obsessive amateurs (I think about 80% of my wine friends seem to write wine blogs, many being good, some very good indeed, and I also know people who damned well should be writing one). I mean the pros who do it for (or as part of) a living – Wine Terroirs, Jim Budd, Jamie Goode etc, to name just three. Of course, some cross over to print, but their followers know where to seek out their real knowledge on a regular basis. Here, on their mobile devices!

Yet I still have a yearning that the established wine print media will fully grasp the real revolution happening in wine. The widening of the appeal of wine to younger drinkers via exciting new wine shops and wine bars promoting exciting wines which rarely get a mention (most, never) in the “wine press”. How I long to see Anne Krebiehl writing about German Spatburgunder in Decanter and Wink Lorch about Savoie Gringet in WFW (I could go on). Why, when I can read about such wines and many more on Twitter or on a blog any day of the week? Well, apart from the obvious fact that I like, and rate, such wines, the wine print media needs to attract these new drinkers if they are to survive the era during which the old world classics have become principally wines for successful business people and wealthy collectors.

So my plea – no need to ditch all the old guys (and older ladies). They have plenty to say, and some (people like Jasper Morris) often say it better than anyone else. But understand what is happening in wine out there. See what hundreds of wine lovers are talking about on Twitter and reading on the Web, and try to introduce some more of that into your print alongside the articles on Christian Moueix  and Chilean Chardonnay. You may say “but we are doing that”. I don’t disagree. But when I look at who’s going where for their wine-related literary nourishment, I see a fast moving world of exciting new producers, regions, grape varieties. A world which is truly alive. And a world for which there are a dozen or more new voices, relevant and fresh, waiting to be heard more widely.

Still, I did see someone Tweet the other day that “wine is fashion”, and to an extent that’s true. Blaufrankisch or Nerello Mascalese may have their day, but then Kerner, Sumoll, Listan Negro…;) .

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Portland

Posted on 12/02/2015 by dccrossley

My first job after university was up between Oxford Circus and Regent’s Park, an area not known at that time, at least to me, as a haven for fine dining. Late last year I returned to Great Portland Street for an illuminating evening tasting the Bourgognes of Mark Haisma and the Pinots of Bodega Chacra at Picture restaurant. We were back in the same street on Tuesday with one of the attendees at that dinner to sample the new, and much lauded, Portland.

Portland’s pedigree comes from being under the same ownership as the excellent Quality Chop House on Farringdon Road, though the main similarities seem to be a good wine list and the necessity to get out at somewhere on the Central Line and head north.

Whereas QCH has the sort of old world charm suggesting it has not changed in many decades, Portland is bright and modern, fashionably bare light bulbs and pale wooden furniture.

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(Airy, modern, with an open kitchen)

There’s a tasty snack selection to begin with, and a recommendation for the pickled shitake mushrooms was spot on, not wine friendly but deliciously intense. My starter was described as a salmon confit, but it was effectively salmon in a foam with greens. The greens were delicious, a theme at Portland it seems (and for vegetables in general). K and DS went for scallops, hand dived (of course!) with a Jerusalem artichoke purée.

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(subtle mallard with a far eastern nod )

In a place where fresh ingredients and cooking what’s available are at the centre of what they do, the menu changes regularly. Looking on their web site today I see neither of the two starters we ate are listed, nor my particular main course of mallard (though mallard is there). The others went for the barley, mushroom miso, chestnut and truffle dish, which might be a Portland staple? I’m not always over enthusiastic about desserts, but the bitter chocolate with cep ice cream was excellent, a combination I’d never have thought would work so well.

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(bitter chocolate with cep ice cream, aka Portland Mess, but really good)

Back to the wine list. It’s short but well formed, at least if you are fairly adventurous. There’s an interesting division into Textbook, Leftfield and Special. We typically went Leftfield and ordered Julien Labet’s “Les Varrons” Jura Chardonnay. I remember that one of the first Vin Jaunes I ever bought (after the ubiquitous Henri Maire Chateau-Chalon) came from Julien’s parents, Alain and Josie. That was a very long time ago and Julien is in charge of winemaking at the family domaine now, as well as making his own wines. This is a lovely wine, very much of its origin (Rotalier in the Sud-Revermont, south of Lons). Very complex, slightly exotic. The Portland wine list “on-line” actually suggests they have Labet’s “En Chalasse” Savagnin instead, an equally superb wine, but the Chardonnay went perfectly with my dishes.

Overall impressions here are very positive. The food is good, and inventive (as the large array of jars of pickled vegetables attest), and there is obvious ambition, as you’d expect from a chef called Merlin. The room is bright, and even seated near the open kitchen we were neither overwhelmed by its smells, nor by undue noise from the kitchen staff who work calmly. Copious quantities of water, still or sparkling, are poured without any specific charge, and service is added to the bill at 12.5%.

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(Loo decoration! – a double mag of Cos is from 1950, which I understand may be a significant vintage for the mother of one of the owners?!)

Minor niggles were probably specific to our waitress who seemed not always to understand our requests – K asked for green tea, which was noted without comment, but what came was jasmine, although they changed it without question when the (unusual these days) lack of green tea was acknowledged. The food was served hot, but not my espresso. The rest of the staff we spoke to were very friendly and informative, especially in furnishing detailed information about the 16-seat private room downstairs.

The restaurant do say they may ask for the table back after two hours. I know the place is small and rents are high, yet what I call this English custom always grates a little, especially having spent a leisurely three-and-a-half hours, with three bottles of wine and digestifs, in Saint-Julien just a few days ago. Still, it meant we were home before ten o’clock, which has its plus points at the start of the week. It also meant not experiencing the very uncomfortable chairs for too long. I don’t think anyone tried dining on them before placing the order!

But the above are all minor points. I’d like to go back, for sure. Looking at today’s menu, the fallow deer, game pithivier and suckling pig are all making my late morning stomach rumble a little, and this meal was enough to suggest that there are dishes equally in need of sampling on the ever changing menu. But then I probably have a slightly stronger yearning to return to the Quality Chop House with that old world charm, for the very fine Berkshire pork along with those deliciously wicked confit potatoes, even though an evening up in Farringdon will mean a much later bed time.

Portland is at 113 Great Portland Street, London W1. Open Monday to Saturday for lunch and dinner, the latter usefully from 6pm. Booking advised, though when we arrived on Tuesday evening some clients without a booking were able to find a table without difficulty. There’s a good web site, though the menu on the night may not exactly match the one you peruse in the morning, not a problem on our part.

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Bordeaux Part Two

Posted on 10/02/2015 by dccrossley

You have to feel sorry for your average wine writer, shipped around the world by wine bodies or smart producers. They may not earn a fortune, but the abundant hospitality that is wine will challenge their waistlines and livers, and make staying on a beautiful wine farm almost seem like a commonplace experience.

For the wine obsessive who blogs for pleasure it’s not always like that. Persuading busy producers to give you an hour before Robert Parker arrives, or engaging winemakers who fear you might be just another Brit who will guzzle back the samples and leave without buying anything, can be frustrating.

So it is really special when one is invited for a weekend experience which money literally cannot buy, as we were thanks to the generosity of Anthony Gates, fellow Wine-Pages forumite, and invitee of Chateau Pichon-Longueville. As four of us drove up the D2 towards Pauillac on a cold and misty Friday afternoon we joked that perhaps we’d be in caravans in the car park, but obviously that was not the case.

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We stayed in rooms which were fully commensurate with the grandeur of this most beautiful of Haut-Médoc Chateaux, with the added luxury of the whole ground floor to ourselves – a large dining room (where six of us sat at a table for at least fourteen), three drawing rooms and a billiard room, with more hidden corners beneath the turrets, all connected by a long sweeping stone staircase.

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So this was our base for the weekend. In Part One I recounted our extra-chateau activities, and here I want to talk about the tasting and dinner we were treated to at Pichon-Longueville.

Our main contact at Pichon was Nicolas Santier, Responsable du développement réceptif et tourisme for Chateau owners, AXA Millesimes. AXA, who also own Suduiraut (in Sauternes), Petit-Village (Pomerol), Pibran (also Pauillac) plus famous estates in Burgundy, Tokay, Douro and Languedoc, took over Pichon-Longueville in 1987. At that time the chateau was very run down, but they have completely restored it. Today it’s used for occasional hospitality – important people such as clients and wine writers…and now us.

We had a rendezvous with Nicolas late afternoon for a tour of the Pichon-Longueville winemaking facilities and a tasting. The new facility, which is underground, some beneath the lake which fronts the chateau, is very modern. The tall, cylindrical vat room is breathtaking and one of the barrel halls sits directly beneath the lake with round portholes both bringing in light and showing the water above.

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Winemaking here is pretty traditional, but the investment of a Super Second allows plot-by-plot vinification and micro management of different batches. Unlike Pichon-Lalande over the road, Longueville has one large plot for the Grand Vin directly to the left of the chateau. The grapes are therefore right by the cuverie.

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Our tour was peppered with many stories, some which perhaps one shouldn’t repeat, but Nicolas did tell us how this beautiful chateau is increasingly the backdrop to (Chinese) pirate weddings. A coach arrives, a bunch of people pour out, including bride and groom in their finery, photos are taken, and then they screech away as if they think what they are doing is illegal. Nicolas said they don’t actually mind so long as they don’t cause any disruption. He found their fear of capture quite funny.

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(A few old bottles safely stashed, too safely…had my eye on the ’59s)

The tasting room is as smart as one would expect, and pretty luxurious compared to anywhere we’d been earlier in the day. We settled into our chairs to be treated to a selection of gems including Second Wine “Les Tourelles”, Pibran and the new selection from the Grand Vin vineyard, “Les Griffons” (emphasis on Merlot, small production), all 2012, and three vintages of the Grand Vin (2009, 2010 and 2012). Needless to say, all were exemplary. A couple of us preferred the more fleshy 2009 but I, along with the majority, were knocked out by the 2010, especially its drinkability (whilst obviously having a very long life ahead).

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We were to be treated to dinner at the chateau on Saturday evening, and we had no idea what would happen regarding wine, so we’d purchased a few bottles just in case – a couple of Haut-Marbuzet, a Blanc de Lynch-Bages and a Lynch-Bages 1998. A hint they may not be needed was when Nicolas said we may as well take the newly opened bottles of 2009 and 2010 back as an aperitif! These were consumed watching France beat Scotland.

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(09 on the left, 10 on the right)

As it happened, we were more than well catered for. Canapés accompanied a Jacquesson 737, a super scallop starter by the dry “S” de Suduiraut 2012, local lamb with two more Pichon-Longueville (2003 and 2004) plus the gentle Lynch-Bages 1998. A pineapple cream dessert was accompanied with a really beautiful Suduiraut 2005, lots of freshness and lacking overwhelming botrytis. The chef introduced each course. He looked in his very early twenties, and he did an excellent job.

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The evening finished with billiards, of sorts. It would have finished with Armagnac but a late night search the day before had only yielded up a Lidl. For €10 we could hardly expect the stars. We smelt it and some of us tasted it, but it was perhaps just as well none of us could drink it. It would have been a sorry way to end such a marvellous day.

But nothing could spoil such a weekend, not even the dire holding pens, reminiscent of a cattle market, in the easyJet “shed” at Mérignac as we awaited our flight home. I doubt I’ll ever experience a wine weekend like this again. A very big thanks to Nicolas Santier and the staff at Pichon-Longueville for their hospitality, and, of course, thanks beyond measure to Anthony Gates for inviting my wife and me along. Only one word fit to finish on – Wow! And Thank you!

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Posted in Bordeaux Wine, Dining, Wine Agencies, Wine Tastings | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment