Confessions of a Wino

More from my latest virtual world tour – Riesling.  A grape I know little about, but grown up winos tell me is one of the most important in the wine world.  So I better start cramming.

And when I say cramming, I probably mean squeezing every last drop into my capacious gastrointestinal wine canal.

This wine is not like the German Rieslings I have tasted recently.  Quite dry and a touch of sherbet in the taste with possibly some peach and grapefruit.  Zingy and refreshing.  Hints of a NZ Sauvignon Blanc?

Whisper it in case the purists hear.  I find Aussie Rieslings rather good, and generally better priced than the statuesque Germans that have so far been cleansed by my kidneys.

I got this one from Virgin Wines at £7.07.

It’s amazing what you can find through Google.  I typed in Ivy Gestapo and found my website top of the list!  Freixenet pronunciation is another phrase that puts me top, Prezzo Thame is not bad, neither is Cloudy Bay 2007.  Finally, if you are truly bored, try wine combine harvester, another everyday search string that finds my site.

Finding good wine, however, sometimes takes a little more effort.  I made a trip out to Majestic in Leeds and picked up this Tasmanian devil for £14.99.

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I was kindly invited by the Queen’s Hotel to the Let’s Eat Leeds Leeds Restaurant Awards on 10 November, where I feel the awards counted on public or members’ votes were more representative of my views than those awards chosen by judges and “experts”.  But then again, I am probably a little out of touch with the Leeds scene and really ought to go out more often in this fine city.

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When my flat was constructed in 2006, at the peak of the city centre building boom in Manchester, decent workmen were hard to find, or so it seems.  One employee of venerable but notorious subcontractors, Boddgit and Scarper, found a new use for 4 inch nails:  Namely to use them not only to station a roughly fitted cupboard shelf but also to make an elegant, if unnecessary, belly button piercing in the hot water pipe that feeds the kitchen tap.

It is a miracle that this did not result in a visible leak until late summer of 2008.  The nail finally rusted away and now most of the hall floor, skirting and cupboard wall has been temporarily removed, whilst a dehumidifier is valiantly trying to soak up the excess “moisture” like a digital sponge.

I often find that Aussie Shirai (I assume that is the plural of Shiraz) are a bit drying in the mouth, so I don’t drink anywhere near the amount of down under wines that I should.  I am not about to launch a flood of reviews but let’s try to redress the balance one drip at a time eh?  A drop of Eden Valley “The Saviours” 2003 had been sitting in my rack for a while.  I needed something to take my mind off things.

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We met Jeffo and (pregnant) Michele in Didsbury (Manchester) for Sunday lunch.  Jeffo knows these parts well and had tasted his “best lamb ever” at a place on Burton Road - Rhubarb.

It was small and well packed with tables, but pretty full of happy looking customers.  A bistro type atmosphere but with the warming sense that you are visiting old friends.

We rejected the Sunday lunch special menu in favour of the à la carte.  We were only there for one dish, “is the rump of spring lamb on?” Jeff enquired and was advised that we could order anything from the menu.  So we ordered lamb all round.

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It is no secret that I am one of the remaining few who still enjoys a glass of Cloudy Bay, the “iconic”, yet some say over-priced, fire-starter of the Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc phenomenon, even though they “sold out” to LVMH and revered founder, David Hohnen, left in 2003.

Strange then that I have never tried any of the wines of Hohnen’s other famous former enterprise, Cape Mentelle, from Australia’s Margaret River.

Being a blend of Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc, as opposed to the pure SB of Cloudy Bay adds a softness to the wine.  Less of the gooseberry and rhubarb of Cloudy Bay and just a touch of honey and pear thrown into the mix.  Less acidic and therefore perhaps suited to a range of foods.

I really like it but like Cloudy Bay, it is not so cheap.  I got this from Majestic at £11.99.

Boiled eggs.

Still reading?

It is sometimes the simple, apparently yawningly boring, plain and ugly things in life that give the most pleasure.

I regularly eat boiled eggs at the flat because they are:
1. Cheap;
2. Easy to prepare;
3. Easy to consume; and
4. Tasty

Giving fair exception to the last horseman of my ovate apocalyptic quartet, many people allege that Chenin Blanc welcomes only the first three riders onto its lazy back.

Accused of blandness, and being a Jack of all trades but master of none, how does Chenin Blanc stand in the dock against horseman number 4′s indictment?  It is a grape I largely ignore, but I am not entirely sure why.

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I met Rob McIntosh in Manchester, the night before the UEFA Cup Final (Rangers lost 2-0).  Piccadilly Gardens was packed and all the pubs were overflowing with friendly but very pissed Glaswegians.  Fortunately, the Scots had not found the Northern Quarter, an eclectic mix of trendy, funky, bohemian bars, clubs, clothes shops and arty establishments.  Rob had spotted the old fish market earlier and a bar/resto on the other side of High Street confusingly named The Northern Quarter.

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Have you heard that large consumer services organisations (banks, telcos, utilities etc) classify and rank their customers into odd categories, like fruits, to determine their profitability?  A prime juicy customer might be an orange or an apple or a mango.  A customer clinging to the organisation like a piece of wet toilet tissue is invariably a lemon and is regularly encouraged to leave for a competitor, although a customer in this state is unlikely to be intelligent enough to take the hint.

I tried two wines from Virgin and I want to see how it works in the other direction.  The prime juicy apple in this case was the excellent Stone House Barossa Valley 2005 and the lemon, a Monastrell Albacea 2006.

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In the world of Australian Wine I bow to my insomniac mate Dr Edward, who I hope will comment on this post to put me straight.

I understand that Richard Bailey was an Aussie pioneer which, to an English Gent like me, roughly translates as a base criminal, or an opportunistic, albeit war weary, £10 Pom.  In fairness, the guy came from Manchester so was almost certainly a Man City fan and for that alone I respect him, crim or not.

I have never been to Van Diemen’s Land, a fact I regret.  But I did hear of one Pommie who arrived by air recently and, when asked by an Aussie customs official “Do you have a criminal record?”, could have selected a more diplomatic answer than “Sorry, no, do you still need one?”

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