Marqués de Riscal is getting older by the day. When I reviewed the 2003 eighteen months ago, the bottle pronounced that the Bodegas was founded in 1860. In this latest 2004 release, two new years have been discovered. It’s a bit like Joan Collins in reverse. Wine must be the only field in which the older you are, the more attractive you become.
I could fall in love with Jane Hunter,
I have never met her, she might be a munter,
But if I could turn back the callous hands of time,
Her success, her money and wines would be mine.
After all, if her wines are a personification of her true self, then surely she must be gorgeous, tasty, exciting, full-bodied and just a little tarty (in a nice discreet way)?
But, probably, I would not ask her to hurry the wines to my cellar because, having tried her Sauvignon Blanc for the last few vintages, I think it tastes much better after a year or more of ageing. I know this flouts convention, that NZ Sauvignon Blancs should be drunk within a year.
There is much competition amongst Kiwi winemakers these days. Since the success of Cloudy Bay, ten thousand maniac (give or take a few thousand) imitators have gradually eroded the price of Marlborough gooseberry cat-pissers. I got my 2009 Hunter’s from the Wine Society (£10.50) at barely a gnat’s fart more than the price of the 2006 (£9.95).
The 2009 is a bit two dimensional. Gooseberry and sugar. It is zingy but bland, if that is not too much of an oenological oxymoron.
Nonetheless, from previous experience, I suggest you buy a few bottles and lay them down for, oh I don’t know, twelve to twenty four months and I am sure you will see massive improvement.
It’s Christmas Eve and I am enjoying some rump. But that is enough about the wife.
I dug out a 2005 St. Emilion that looked like it might go with a bit of bully.
I am Legend. Well, not so much me as Will Smith. Yes, I’ve just watched the film about the British scientist who inadvertently cures cancer with a virus that mutates into a killer strand that genocidinates the humans of the world (and for the purposes of the film, the World is New York). One American male and a dog are the sole survivors charged with finding a cure. I thought I could guess the ending but actually it finished rather suddenly, which was a shame as the plot was hugely promising and I was just starting to crap myself.
The last time I was genuinely scared at a horror movie was a David Cronenberg double bill of Rabid and Shivers at the Manchester Odeon in 1979.
Have you ever placed a bet you can’t lose? Cast iron guaranteed?
Just prior to the start of the season I wagered the considerable sum of £10 with fellow Man City fan, Jamie Goode.
Signs of ageing are mostly self generated and excepting wrinkles, are usually related to the people you socialise with, the places you go, and the material goods you consume. I discovered what seems like yonks ago that BBC Radio 2 plays better music than Radio 1. In fact it plays much the same music as Radio 1 did in the years when I used to listen in to Simon Bates and Noel Edmunds. I swapped my exciting Toyota sports coupé for a boring Mercedes Saloon about the same time (and yes, the interior was beige). Two cars later I have accelerated through an automatic gearbox, which took me a while to get used to, into full-on middle age – yes, a diesel automatic.
I like to think I have taken all this in my stride, but today I realised that I have just passed an altogether much more serious milestone. I have never seen anyone under 50 wear Ralph Lauren but I looked in my wardrobe today and found five shirts by this venerable, if ageing, New York designer. And what is worse, I actually like wearing them.
Beans on toast. One of life’s staple meals. So simple, so healthy, so cheap, so erm, studenty? Of course there are only two types of baked bean, Heinz and shite. And there are only two types of toast, the type that sets my smoke alarm off, and the type that is undercooked and flabby. The absolute secret to beans on is to make sure the toast is as crispy as possible before you soggify it with the beans. Also helps if you cook the beans over a low heat for a decent amount of time to reduce the sauce.
So sitting in the flat to the tuneful, albeit duotonous, harmonies of Manchester Fire Brigade’s finest, my mind inevitably wanders. My challenge over the last couple of years has been to find the perfect wine match for this honourable meal, and I think I may have just succeeded in Spades.
I am always looking for awkward wine/food matches like boiled eggs, beans on toast, and chicken massalla. I’ve just hit the jackpot with the latter having grabbed this Tannat based wine on a rare visit to Nicolas.
At only 10.5% alcohol and a mere 25cl bottle (a large glass of wine at most British pubs) this wine had to live up to a £11.44 price tag. Yes, I know, only Costco could come up with this odd valuation.
I assured some French friends who visited recently, that ignorant southerners who claimed that it rained in Manchester 24 hours a day were plain wrong. In my experience the average precipitation is a considerably more modest 23. I am looking forwards to tomorrow between 8 and 9am when we are promised a refreshing spot of light cloud.
Stumble It!