When Edgar Sampson wrote Stompin’ At The Savoy, I doubt he had in mind a woman clomping around in vertiginous heels, in serious danger of tripping over her £1000 floor length dress and smashing the glass of Champagne in her hand.
You have to be good in heels, for a start. Or at least use your acting skills to pretend you are. And you would have arranged your designer dress weeks before, instead of selecting the one that fitted, straight off the rail. Read More…
Matching wine with food? That’s SO old school. Apparently.
Now, it’s all about pairing it with music, art, books and (in my case) film.
I thought someone was joking when they said that the bikes were waiting for us at Cono Sur.
But, as we rolled up the driveway to the Santa Elisa estate in Chile’s Colchagua Valley, there they were – a row of black, slightly careworn cycles.
I should have clicked, given that Cono Sur’s entry level range of wine is called Bicicleta. Read More…
You could call the arrival of Carmenere in Chile a happy accident.
It was Merlot the Chileans were after, back in the day. Unbeknown to them, they got Carmenere vines as well. Read More…
It’s late morning on a grey, overcast day and there’s a solitary man sitting between a row of vines near the Hungarian town of Tokaj.
He’s checking every grape and picking only those with the right amount of desiccation and “noble” rot, (botrytis cinerea).
It’s a lengthy, painstaking job that can take weeks of passing up and down the vineyard for those perfect grapes – or aszú berries, as they become known (and first mentioned in the 16th century). Read More…
The first thing you learn on visiting the Sicilian city of Marsala – where the fortified wine hails from – is the phrase Before The British.
There’s a clear diving line between what is legally defined today as Marsala and an older style of wine locally called “vino perpetuo”. Perpetuo is, as the name suggests, is a wine that appears to go on forever. It is kept in a barrel and topped up with new wine each year, when a quantity is removed. This is similar to the solera fractional blending system used for Sherry.
The sweet, fortified wine that most of us know was “invented” in the late 18th century. English merchant John Woodhouse, so the story goes, took shelter from a storm in Marsala, liked the perpetuo wine and wanted to take some home. To preserve the wine for the journey, he fortified it and tah dah! A rival to the highly-fashionable Madeira was created. Read More…
What makes a wine great?
Technically, it’s about attributes such as balance, complexity and ability to age.
But this ignores the part that emotion so often plays. Where you were and what you were doing at the time you pressed the glass to your lips.
That last night of a fabulous holiday, a birthday lunch with your closest friends or, in my case, a little moment of magic in a vineyard by the glimmering Sicilian sea.
It wasn’t the most promising start, bumping along a dirt road to Nino Barraco’s Vignammare vineyard not long after a large, Marsala-fuelled lunch. With each twist and lurch, the sun in the western Sicilian sky slunk a little lower and the sea came no closer. Read More…
The glass of wine in my hand doesn’t smell particularly fruity. Or blossomy. What I am picking up is more dried grass and lemon peel.
I take a sip. Yes, hay, some herbs maybe, raw hazelnuts, lemon peel and fresh bread. It feels dry, rounded but restrained.
Not what I’d expect from a glass of Prosecco.
It’s a glorious early summer evening. I’m 28 floors up at Galvin At Windows in London’s Park Lane, overlooking the Queen’s back garden. And I have a glass of the newly-released Bruno Paillard 2002 Blanc de Blancs Champagne in hand.
In a world where Champagne houses seem to fall over themselves to seduce wine writers around new releases, this feels intimate, stylish and relatively low-key. But then, should I expect anything less from a producer who is seen (or sees itself, according to a friend) as the Chanel of Champagne?
Probably not. Read More…
The grey door to my hotel room didn’t have a number. Instead, a smear of orange paint. But that wasn’t the end to its quirkiness. Inside the vast, stylishly-furnished room was a table filled with figurines of scantily-clad ladies. Pictures on the wall were arty shots of women’s nether regions. And if you looked closely at the print on the headboard, oh my! The face of a woman having um, a good time. Read More…