Yes or No? True or False? Right or Wrong? One or Zero? There are 10 types of people in the world. Those that understand binary and those who don’t.
A new concept has been launched in Manchester close to my flat. It’s a Stealth Bar. Stealth in the sense that nobody knew it was coming and nobody noticed when it arrived. Do the owners know more about base 2 numbers than marketing?
My last (and first) visit to Fortnum & Mason 1707 Wine Bar was such a success, the very next time I was in London I revisited.
This time my flight comprised three Pinot Noirs and I also added a plate of charcuterie to nibble on. At £13 an American would starve on this dish, but the quality soared. The meat was, interestingly, not Italian, the most notable of a good bunch being Gloucester Old Spot Prosciutto which stood up to any Italian prosciutto I have ever tasted.
The Pinot Noirs were all worthy of drinking, for the record:
Fortnum & Mason Bourgogne Rouge Drouhin 2004 - soft and supple, the most subtle of the three with redcurrants and a creamy finish.
Merricks Creek Pinot Noir Victoria 2004 - a powerful strawberry flavour wine, jammy and louder than Ian Paisley in full rhetorical flow.
Pegasus Bay Pinot Noir Waipara 2004 - the most interesting of the bunch. Cherries and some mineral. A bit like the French one but with a bit of kiwi intensity and sharpness.
I couldn’t resist trying one more wine and was pleased to see the Fortnum & Mason Pomerol Clos Rene 2003 served in a Riedel Bordeaux glass from the Vinum range. Black fruits prevailed in contrast to the red fruited Pinots. A bit of cooked cabbage, quite tannic with a long finish. Quite a serious wine as you might expect
I tolerated some rude treatment from the staff because of the excellent pricing policy, £10 corkage being added to the shop price no matter the value of the wine. Clearly the place to go if you fancy a 1961 Latour.
So I award F & M my top prize for least rip-off wine drinking prices in London wine bars or restaurants.
I also enjoy trying the flights of three wines linked by grape and comparing the different treatments. But next time I think up an award, I really must construct a snappier name.
Finally, you don’t have to drink wine, coffee and tea is available. It is also very quiet, so I use it for meetings when I am in Piccadilly/Mayfair. I used to frequent The Wolseley for this purpose but it is nowadays too busy. Oh well, my secret is out. I’ll have to find somewhere new, now. Ciao.
A mate of mine, Grayo, who is also a Man City fan, abhors the colour red because it’s the colour that the team from the dark side of Manchester play in. So what colour is his car then? “Erm. well it’s a sort of cherry colour.” ”It’s bloody red!” I laughed. “But the mileage is really low and it was a real bargain” he proffered in weak defence.
I agree that wherever practicable, one should buy an item based on any colour but red, and I once had a red car re-sprayed to avoid embarrassment. But then there is wine. Ah wine. This life long axiom falls apart at the seams, since I have only ever seen one blue wine and it was grim.
So spotting a bar in Geneva which could have been named after a Man United kit, I approached with trepidation. I am sick of seeing United players out on the town in Manchester whilst the City players sleep soundly preparing for the next game (or maybe just don’t get recognised). Would Le Rouge et le Blanc be crammed with Swiss footballers, winos, or just ordinary folk?
The trouble with some pubs in the Yorkshire Dales is that they can’t quite work out who their customers are. I am not surprised since the Dales attracts everyone from Hell’s Angels, to coaches filled with old dears who can only eat liquidised food through a straw.
A letter arrived. Not an email. Not a text message. Not even a telegram or a greeting card. A letter, hand written, addressed to me, and delivered to the office.
Of course, I remember the days before this eloquent and pulchritudinous form of communication was rudely re-branded snail mail. Nowadays, I have to admit that I cannot recollect the last time I received a hand written letter. This particular letter resulted in an uncommon sequence of events that lead me to Tingewick, a pretty country village in Buckinghamshire.
Tingewick, close to the intersection of the three counties of Bucks, Northants, and Oxon, is an architectural melting pot. 16th century thatched cottages huddle awkwardly next to 1940’s council houses like new kids meeting at school. Grand mansions look down on their tiny peers who appear to doff their tiled roofs in deference. Residents include a well known rock guitarist, a lottery winner, and my estranged Godmother.
Quick shout out for the Giants who beat the Dolphins 13-10 yesterday, in the first ever NFL game played outside North America. As you might expect, I was at Wembley, and sampling the beer and food (the wine available looked very ropey indeed).
Whilst at the counter, the guy in front (American) was asking the server what note he had in his hand. “£20″ replied the server and (trying to be helpful) “that’s about $40 at the current exchange rate”. The American guy did not think that particularly helpful as his brain computed that he had just paid $7 for a beer.
Deep in the heart of the bustling part of Soho, there are a number of back street food places, some cool and trendy, some cheap and snacky, some boring and yucky.
The Mediterranean Café on Berwick Street has been there for yonks and that’s because it’s good. If you are on a date or looking for a romantic meal with a difference you must try this place. Don’t be put off by the slightly shabby exterior. The food is great, the welcome is so spot on, and the value is unbelievable.
Jeff and I were in London for the Challenge Cup Final at Wembley. Those of you not from Perpignan, Australia or the north of England will not understand Rugby League so let’s move on. In any case RL was not the only sporting occasion of interest that day.
August Bank Holiday weekend in the UK and Chelsea FC (lucky home win against Portsmouth - David “Calamity” James to thank) knocks the glorious Man City (unlucky defeat away at the Arse) off the top spot of the English Premier League. So we thought we better nip down to Chelsea and see what all the fuss was about.
Just time for a quick review of a very funky little Albanian owned place in London’s West end. Hidden behind Wyndham’s Theatre on an alley opposite famous fish resto, J Sheekey, it is a wine focussed place with a short but interesting and not over expensive wine list. It also has a decent looking bistro menu. We stopped for a quick glass on the way to buy show tickets.
Taking a bus from Banús, Paul managed to work out that we needed to get off after 11 stops. “This looks very like the centre of Marbella!” I shouted as we passed the 5th bus stop. Paul made us stay on board and was awarded the title of “knob of the holiday” when we finally alighted in the slums, some 2.5 kms past the centre.
On reflection though, I always say if you want to experience the true culture of a place, go into the back streets where the locals live. We found Bar Parquesol on the Avenida Navel Una first - very “local”. The owner of the tabac/newsagent across the street was cheerily drinking his profits at the bar. Overheard voices were unsurprisingly Spanish and I imagined the word mañana being the most common in use. We had a couple of beers then decided to move on to the more touristy part of the port.
Stumble It!