Confessions of a Wino

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.

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The prevailing wealth of rich winter spices is a constant reminder that we are less than a stock market “correction” away from Christmas.  I love seasonal spicy tea blends but this year’s Fortnum & Mason was a bit of a dog compared to last year’s Harvey Nichols’ hot stock.

The wine equivalent may well be Château D’Aiguilhe 2005, Côtes de Castillon.  This Merlot dominated Bordeaux blend is spicier than an investment banker’s underpants the morning after splashing the year end bonus on a (high class) Indian meal.

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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.

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Surely it’s a W?  Why do I seem to disagree with most leading economists, investors and politicians?  In my wine tainted mind, a double dip recession is more certain than ever.  In the UK, at least.

We have temporary low purchase tax, temporary hyper-low interest rates and temporary Bank intervention, pumping money into the economy on a scale not seen since RBS started furnishing Sir Fred Goodwin with his pension.

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Silence please.  There is a time and a place for a little reverence.  I have just opened my first bottle of a very important wine.  Château Lynch-Bages 2005.  A wine that even en-primeur, cost me over £50 per bottle.

The Sunday Times Wine Club advised me to wait until 2010, but I could be dead by then and I am an impatient man….oh and I have 12 bottles so I can afford to experiment early.  So Fred had a placed a fillet steak on the skillet and I released the special one from its enclosure.

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At £17.50, this must one of the bargains of the whole wine world.  The catch is that you have to be a member of the Wine Society.  But don’t worry, they let anyone in these days.  You don’t need to roll up one trouser leg and hop through the door like when I joined.  No entrance exam, you don’t need to know anything about wine.  You can even have an empty bank account, as it is one of the best value (only budgies go cheap) wine retailers in the UK.

With its rich history and extensive storage, frequent offers of interesting, old, and remarkably priced wines regularly appear in my email inbox.  I have neither the storage space, nor stomach capacity, or indeed material wealth to buy them all so I am extremely selective.

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Occasionally I like to take a break from Progressive House and listen to a couple of real “Old Skool” albums.  Tonight I sampled Counting Crows’ “August and Everything After”, Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life” and David Bowie’s experimental and innovative (at the time) “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars”.  Top stuff, and could show those young whippersnapping beat stealers a thing or two.

Not everything old is implicitly good though.  Most old wine goes off sooner or later, so drink it before it does!

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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.

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I’ve just come back from the Amazon.  I couldn’t resist the recommendation they emailed me for a couple of reasonably up to date books on my favourite subject.  Both reference works of some weight, metaphysically as well as in the sense of excess baggage.

So if, like me, you fly on a Ryanair budget (and believe me, I wish I didn’t have to), then you will have to pay a £20 supplement if you want to take them on holiday with any more than your swimming trunks and sun cream.

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Are you a wine magpie?  I can’t resist a tempting offer and, bearing in mind the stellar reputation of 2005 Bordeaux, a Wine Society mixed case from the Côtes was a no-brainer.  My theory that a rising tide lifts all boats (i.e. in a good year even crap winemakers are going to have to work hard to produce awful wine) leads me to try almost any CHEAP 2005.

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