Lazio Spring

This was our first al fresco lunch of the year outside at Checchino Dal 1887, a restaurant set into the amphora-made hillside of Testaccio in Rome. It was the old slaughterhouse district and the main gate was opposite us as we tucked into various carnivorous dishes.

Normally you would go for red with meat but although this wine is from a Roscetto grape which has a tint of pink when grown, it is a golden, straw colour in the March sunshine. 

It is a fabulous wine made outside Rome in Lazio. It is crisp and mineral but without the body of a burgundy or the sharpness of a Chablis. But with a much better finish than a Frascati, for example. It is difficult to get outside Italy, although it's not expensive.

Atlantic Civilisation

I'd been reading in Barry Cunliffe's sweeping history of the European Atlantic seaboard how the Loire is one of the great arteries of the continent along with the Rhone and Rhine. It shifted all those good things from the Med like olive oil out to the 'Celtic fringes'. In turn tin, furs and Vikings made their way from Brittany back towards civilisation. Around Nantes at the western mouth of the Loire is the Muscadet wine region.

There are many signs of a good wine, but one rather crude one is to leave it open in the fridge overnight. Muscadets are usually 'bone-dry' but this one emerged from its chilly 20 hours with a range of flavours. Mainly apple but also a whiff of grass and not at all sharp in the mouth. Amazing value at £7.50 from the Wine Society.

Under The Volcano

If we're talking 'terroir' than it doesn't come more distinctive than ash and tufa does it? In fact the vines of the Auvergne don't cascade down the sides of the region's extraordinary volcanoes like lava. Instead they are mainly in the fertile valleys. This rosé was the perfect dish to set us up for the steaks we cooked under the pine trees camping next to the volcanic Lac D'Aydat. It's a bit like a Bordeaux rosé, quite full-bodied and dry. It's produced by a co-operative in the shadow of the long extinct Puy De Dome that towers weirdly above the surrounding landscape. I think I can detect a hint of the old fires in that lovely colour.

In Sancerre

The Sel De Grenier is one of those rather frilly French restaurants which can put you on edge until you realise all the diners are much more relaxed than the staff. And what could be more unstressed than eating in the garden at the heart of the lovely historic quarter of Montlucon in the Bourbonnais. That's close enough to the Loire for me to order a Sancerre. Not the classic steely white of that region, however, but this lovely cherry red. It went beautifully with some classic French food avec une twiste:  beef carpaccio with a basil sorbet, par exemple.

Rustic Romeiko

If you can't be great, at least be local. I drink a fair amount of Greek wine and struggle to find anything particularly good or interesting. Well, this one isn't that good but it was interesting.
The Makrakis family who make it proudly inform us that Virgil (an Italian surely?) said that counting the number of wines was like counting grains of sand. Their particular grain, or rather grape, is Romeiko which packs a reasonable kick alcohol-wise but is a relatively subtle flavour. Even the red has a suggestion of sherry about it. Fruity but with a dry edge.
It went perfectly with the fresh wild greens, smoked pork, spinach pies and rabbit with thyme that formed our diet at Milia, the wonderful traditional holiday village in the midst of the western Cretan mountains, just 30 minutes drive from the idyllic lagoon beaches of Elafonisi.
It's a charming and comfortable rustic spot and like the rest of Crete totally uncrowded at this time of year (early April) before the charter flights start to arrive.
You can stroll around Minoan ruins covered in wonderful spring flowers and take your pick of the restaurant tables in charming ports like Chania. And it's still warm enough to swim.
I didn't want to leave Milia. Partly because of the wood fires, sunny balconies, lovely walks, good food and even this wine. But mainly because to get in and out you have to brave a dizzy-making two kilometres of unmade mountain roads. You will need a drink after that.

Changing Cairanne

Wine really does have a life of its own. Even in the bottle it changes over time. And once released it continues to develop new characteristics. Take this Cairanne.

I really like the various Cote Du Rhone villages. Each has its own personality and they can be better value and more interesting than many of the well-known Rhone appelations. But I have had problems with Cairanne before. To my palette it can be a bit leaden, almost steely combined with a rather jammy, full-blown fruitiness. One of the few times I have ever left a bottle undrunk (apart from it being off) was a Cairanne.

So it was when I first tasted this a couple of years ago. But when opened this week, it had taken on a more velvety, less full-blooded body. And when left open in the bottle and glass for an hour or two, it became a very civilised, quite rich wine. Even one mouthful seemed to have quite a different finish to the first impact on the nose.

I just don't know enough about wine [as you will have gathered from this blog] to work this out. But I am looking forward to opening another bottle of this in a couple of years to find out what happens next.

Better Than Coal

I confess my real wine cellar is nothing like the one in the background of this blog. It's actually a very narrow coal hole that runs under the hallway of our Victorian terrace house. It isn't ideal as the temperature is not constant and the underground tributaries of the Fleet River are just inches below in the London clay. But it holds my collection of wine bought en primeur over the last decade or so that we've lived here. This bottle is something I dragged out in the last week past the tool boxes and the ladder, up the four steps into daylight.

After a decade of rest it's a wonderfully fruity but full and quite subtle wine from that most mixed wine region of France, the south-west. It's a beautiful part of the country, where the hills start to rise away from the Med, heading off into deeper Languedoc.

I am delighted to say that this will happily rest a couple of more years in the coal cellar and, I think, improve. The 2005 and the 2007 also awaits.

Wild Wine

 

Orford is famous for the legend of the 'wild man', a kind of hybrid merman/green man legend. It feels entirely in keeping with the deep historic feel of the place, a strange corner of Suffolk hanging onto the edge of some very watery landscape right next to the north sea. This wine is also a bit of an odd mix, but no monster.

This five year old English white made of German grapes has, perhaps, too much going on. It is quite full-bodied, with all sorts of notes such as a sweet peach, a sharper lemon and when well-chilled, enough minerality to compliment the Butley oysters we were enjoying. Both the wine and seafood were local to within a few miles of Orford.

Tunisia Needs A Red Revolution

Tunisia needs another revolution. Nothing wrong with the democratic developments, but the wine could do with a coup.

There I am with ancient historian son in a bar in El Kef - at the furthest reaches of the Empire (Roman) watching Esperance Tunis FC win the African Champions League while tucking into some rather lovely herby crispy pastries, curried chicken etc.

The mood is liberated in every sense, less than a fortnight after their elections. The drive from the capital out west has taken us past a vast swathe of fertile farmland with vines here and there.

Then the wine. Well the rose was worse which made this red seem adequate. Smooth, rounded, pleasant but entirely characterless. Certainly not Grand Cru.

Still, who's complaining at the price and the setting of the hillside medina and the context of new-found freedom.

Maybe the climate isn't perfect and perhaps the soil doesn't offer much in the way of mineral input. But with the French influence and the Lebanese example surely Tunisia can have a wine to match the glorious evocation of Carthage?

Go to the fabulous mosaics of the Bardo Museum and there's lots of evidence that Bacchus has a fantastic history here, now it needs some investment in the future.

Appalachian Autumn

This was one of the better Virginian wines that I tasted on a very brief trip down the Blue Ridge mountains. Most of the good wine is on the east of the Shenandoah national park, especially around Charlottesville. But this winery is a bit further south near Roanoke.

Their wines are mainly Italian but this one is, of course, a French grape varietal and so not suprisingly it evoked Claret rather than Chianti.

A soft, smokey texture and nose, fruity but not over-powering. 

I actually drank this with a very good dinner at the charming and very hospitable Gristmill Inn in Warm Springs. As the name suggests, this lovely village in a valley of the Appalachian Hills has wonderful bathing in America's oldest spa pool. 

So all round it made for a day of real liquid refreshment.

The cocktail now arriving on platform three

I know this is a wine blog and this is a cocktail but there's sparkling wine in there. Plus Russian vodka, peach schnapps and some 24 carat gold.

We were celebrating with friends over from Australia at 'Europe's Longest Champagne Bar' at the St Pancras Eurostar terminal. Their kids were due back from a visit to Paris with Aunties.

The cocktail looked rather better than it tasted. Much too sweet. But it is a civilised joy to booze in a great modern station set within one of my favourite London buildings.

She's Forever Blowing Bubbles

This is not about the wine, it's about the moment. Champagne is for celebration and what more joy than a good friend who cheats serious illness?
And location and timing helps. In the middle of the Black Mountains near Hay On Wye, in the warm glow of a quite extraordinarily sunny early July weekend. Half way up Tympa.
This was a relatively inexpensive bubbly picked up from the very lovely Corks of Cotham independent wine merchants in Bristol en route to Wales. I am not a huge champagne fan, but this was dryish, with a nice biscuity flavour. Not too sharp or too fizzy.
Cheers to one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Coarse Corse

This is the one you fear. This is the attractively labeled holiday buy lurking at the back of the drinks cabinet. OK, it's not a wine, so it shouldn't even be on this blog. But it's alcoholic and as redolent of terroir as any Claret or Burgundy.

Look at that beautiful label with the lovely calligraphy and that exotic head of the black Corsican. Enjoy the powder pink colour and the inky blue. But note the main ingredients.

'Sucre'. Sugar. Lots of it. This is sweet, but not in the good way that a Sauternes might be.

Corsica is one of my favourite places. Wild. Hills. Family seaside or strange beaches. Odd megalithic circles and a menacing flavour of mafia, pied noir and rich, herby meats and cheeses. Some rather good wine, too. Especially from the northern peninsula.

One of most enjoyable voyages was on the night ferry. We were one of a tiny handful of non-French people in a bateau en voyage to this island that is a mixture of Italian, French and something odd of itself. A bit like this dreadful drink.

And yet. That other ingredient. Myrte. And then you are reminded of the maquis, the dry, haunting smell of the scrub that bakes in the sea-salt sprayed coastal fringes. Plus the bitter fruits of this strange isle.

So what? it's still a rubbish drink. There must be something to have it with, apart from desperation, that makes it palatable, but I don't know what.

Still, it reminds me of Corsica and that's enough.

Pull Over

You are on the E21 about 100+ KM heading north of Lyons when on the left appears the ridge with signposts to some of the best wine villages of Burgundy. You have a car full of kids and unwashed holiday clothes. What you really need is a cool (but not chilled) glass of white.

I have always thought it paradoxical that one of the most reviled and misused grapes - Chardonnay - can reach such heights on those stony slopes just off the motorway.

This is not a particularly outstanding example. It was just a tenner en primeur. But it does have that minerally, slightly acidic quality (imagine sucking a pebble with a slice of lemon - on the other hand don't) but with the oleaginous body of the Chardonnay grape. This one was was slightly oaked with a lovely fresh apple taste (Bramley not Pippin).

This year, I will pull over.

Jordan Red

Mount Nebo is one of those Biblical places where religious history of a number of faiths comes together in a spectacular setting. But I am afraid this is not the Promised Land for wine-lovers, yet.

We were here because our Syrian holiday was put on hold by the forces of democracy sweeping across the region. Jordan was a beautiful, hospitable and fascinating alternative. Safe, comfortable and full of interest. Sadly, this wine was no miracle.

A little sour with an indeterminate flavour that was neither novel nor reassuring. Lebanon shows that even countries with small internal markets can produce excellence but it takes a lot of investment in wine-making skills.

At least it wasn't as sickly sweet as the Chardonnay/Sauvignon Blanc from the same company. 

So go to Jordan for the amazing archeology: the extraordinary city of rock tombs at Petra; Crusader and Muslim Castles, Roman Cities, Byzantine Churches, and Hellenistic Palaces. 

Go for the stunning landscapes from the desert to the Dead Sea, from the green hills of the north to the coral reefs of the Red Sea. 

Go for the cultural mix that included a Christian Easter as well as Islamic and Bedouin music for our delight.

Toast all these delights with some of the local plonk by all means, but perhaps have some water with your wine. 

Dramatic Rasteau

The Rhone is the spinal cord of western European history, linking the civilisations of the Med to the cold, grapeless North. Head south nowadays down the Route de Soleil that follows that river's course and turn left about 100 km before Marseilles and you'll find Rasteau.

It's not actually on the Rhone, but it's one of those wonderful places that make up the superior appelation of Cotes De Rhones Villages. 

I love the words Vacqueyras, Gigondas, Tricastin and Rasteau. I spent a wonderful evening once on a terrace outside a farmhouse in the Ardeche with a top Dutch theatre person supping these fruits of the south. Short, wrinkled, moustache. Great raconteur and lover of the wines of the southern Rhone.

Those sensuous names, when rolled around his gutteral Nederlandish mouth, sounded even more  dramatic and full of flavour.

And at their best, that's what these wines are like.

Very local. Full of the stones and herbs that make up that almost-Provence landscape.

This little number was a relatively modest bottle bought en primeur from the Wine Society that I've had in the coal cellar for five years. Hence, all the dust and cobwebs on the label. 

But it's a lovely drinkable red which given some time in the air, opens up nicely from a very concentrated, deep red, almost sharp, into something quite wonderfully sunny and relatively sweet. 

I dedicate this little blog to the memory of Ric Van Hulst.

Jugendstil Veltliner

This is a lovely Gruner Veltliner from Austria. It's not green at all. Instead it's a lovely thin golden colour.
Like most Veltliner it has a refreshing, sharp, dry but full taste. This one had a slight fizz to it as well.
I confess I chose it for the beautiful label. I adore that Jugendstil type-face and the charming folksy wood-cut illustration. Very Austrian.

Vin De Pays, Suisse

Swiss wine has appeared on this blog before, noting its quirky charm. But this refreshing little white vin de pays consumed on a Swiss Air flight back from Zurich after the Davos meeting proved that they can also do a very sensible and pleasing commercial blended tipple.

Taurasi: the taste of history

Taurasi is one of those little known Italian OCGs tucked away in the Campania region south of Rome. So it is a wine at the cross-roads of history. 

The Aglianico grape probably came from ancient Greece while the founding fathers of the main town were from imperial Rome. A Longobard castle shadows Taurasi which also saw the Allied forces sweep past in the Second World War.

The wine is a classy production that requires a minimum of three years maturation, one of which must be in wood.

This bottle from the Terredora producers has had a decade to reach what I think is near perfection for a moderate Taurasi. Imagine a Barolo heading towards a Montalcino Reserva.

The first taste can have a Burgundian edge but given time to open up it has wonderful flavours of dark red cherry.

Claret not blue

The weather's getting colder, the food is getting more substantial, and we're all getting into a more celebratory mood. In this season of snow, steak and Christmas trees, claret is the ideal wine. 

Claret is French, of course, but it has always been a favourite of the English, going right back to the happy times when we actually ran a large slice of the vineyard-packed south-west of France.

This Haut-Medoc from Chateau Tour Du Haut-Moulin has all the typical characteristics. Not a lot of fruit and the dry slightly mouldy tone may not be to everyone's taste. However, those spicy, woody aromas and the long, grape flavour works for me.

My claret-wearing football team may be bottom of the league this Christmas but after watching their hard-won draw at Blackburn I celebrated with few glasses of this Medoc. It's difficult not to feel things can only get better.