Confessions of a Wino

The papers here in the UK seem to be turning against Mark Hughes, embattled manager of my beloved Manchester City.  His honeymoon period as “the most promising young English football manager” is over with a lunar bump that lacks any sweetness.

The Sunday Times for example alerts Hughes to the fact he is “skating on thin ice”.  The latest defeat at home by an injury depleted Everton squad has once again placed the media spotlight on him.  After all, a mentally anguished Roy Keane recently fell on his sword at Sunderland because they were languishing in the under-achieving position of bottom quarter of the table - equal on points with Man City.

It gives me only bitterness to gloat that I thought Hughes the wrong choice way back in June (before he had even been appointed).  But like all good Man City fans, I keep sailing the dinghy of naive optimism through the rough and tough waters of the Premiership perfect storm of despair.  One has to make the best of now, look to the future, place the past in perspective, believe that tomorrow will be another day (if it ever comes).  However, silver linings are increasingly less related to football, and more to do with other facets of my life.  My latest glint of sunlight peeped from behind the clouds of the top end of my wine collection, ironically squirrelled away at the bottom of my wine store.

The Charmes-Chambertin came from the Wine Society at an obscure price due to bundling a few Rousseaux together into a Burgundy Dividend offering, but I am advised the retail price (if you can find the wine at all) is about GBP50 - that’s nearly EUR50, or USD25 at current exchange rates, so it is held under lock and key in the Wino household.

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I keep trying to review Rieslings for the next part of my wine education, but I think I may be addicted to Pinot Noir, because I keep regressing.  Just one last biscuit before I put the tin away.  One final mission of Grand Theft Auto before bed.  One more email before I leave work.

This caught my eye whilst mooching around Tesco.  Based on my last positive experience with Louis Max, and more importantly, being a northern bloke who likes a bargain, (Tesco had marked it down from eleven quid to £8.80), the bottle made a gazelle like leap from the shelf to my shopping basket.

My first sniff bought strong memories of coffee grounds to mind, with a small stack of damp chipboard and bowl of greengages (or maybe unripe plums).

It tasted of wild strawberries and chicory leaf.  I love most Pinot Noir to be served at somewhere between 12 and 16° Celsius.  It makes for a most refreshing drink, and this Santenay went excellently with a Sikh kebab from La La’s curry emporium in Batley.

Highly recommended, especially if you can still find it at the price.

It’s always a bit risky reviewing a wine received as a present.  This bottle by Maison Louis Max came from my good mate Tony Atkinson and I know he got it from a specialist wine retailer in Liverpool.  It’s really tough to find online and according the website has a select and very limited (and no doubt highly discerning) customer base.

I love the slightly irreverent labels.  Much more lively than the sombre output of the average French label draughtsman.

I also loved the wine although it would be unfair to call it irreverent.  A herby nose of crushed basil, red berry jam and compost is fairly typical Pinot Noir.  The taste is like strawberry jam with tarragon.  Really delicious cutting a dapper line between refreshing and serious.

Top slurp - I’ll keep an eye out for more by Louis Max.

Confessions of a Wino is sad to announce the passing of the last bottle of Château Gris in my combine harvester.  Specifically it was passed about two hours after I drank it.

This 1999 Pinot Noir was part of the first case of wine I ever bought en primeur.  A 1er cru Nuit St Georges I think it cost about £25 per bottle, which is at the top end of my range and reflective of the sometimes cheeky prices the Bourgogne domaines think they can get away with, for often variable wines.

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I’m making a move for Pinot Noir, the Brigitte Bardot of grapes.  Beguiling, attractive, seductive, fruity, yet inconsistent and possibly a little bonkers.

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If you want to dine in a beautifully preserved piece of British Victorian architecture.  If you want to eat traditional English grub like fish ‘n’ chips, corned beef hash and steak and kidney pudding.  If you want to be served by professional, traditionally dressed, polite and informed waiting staff.  And if you want to do this with a cracking fine wine list to choose from, there is only one place to go.  Sam’s Chop House in Manchester.

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Another mixed bag of news in the last couple of weeks.  I spent several hours in hospital but not as many as Mrs Wino who suffered another miscarriage.  On a much more positive note, Man City completed a glorious double over some lowly team from Stretford.  Throw into the mix a really busy time at work and I almost missed Confessions of a Wino’s first birthday.

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My jury has been deliberating on a verdict for the Costco wine buyers for some time now.  Do they market good wines and sell them at reasonable prices, or do they simply find cheap wines that look expensive?  For example, good names in bad years, second wines from average producers, albeit from good regions.  I mean, why would reputable domaines want to sell their best quality wine at a discount, on a regular basis, in large quantities?  This Puligny Montrachet was from Costco and was not that cheap being £12.75 plus VAT

The only other online price comparator I could find was at Fine Wine Online where it was £14.95 - so Costco is actually £0.03125 more expensive per bottle.

The wine was fine actually.  It had some nice zing from the quince flavour, balanced by the smoothness of butter shortbread.  A fairly long finish and quite enjoyable to quaff.

Not much of a discount though, guys!  Try again.

Chicken or egg?  The long standing debate about which came first will never be resolved by a cartoon depicting one or the other enjoying a post-coital cigarette.  Let’s face it, smoking is banned almost everywhere these days.  So I had to find another way to establish the truth.

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Just down the road from the entrance to the Ritz on Arlington St, just off Piccadilly, you will find Le Caprice, a favourite haunt of the stars for several decades.  This part of London is over-endowed with decent restaurants.  To quaint northerners like me this seems unfair.

The Wolseley is just round the corner, as is Langan’s Brasserie, Claridge’s, Scott’s of Mayfair, and Fortnum & Mason.  Meanwhile in the nearby West End, The Ivy, sister to Le Caprice, is undoubtedly one of the best restos in London despite the nouvellement célèbrés and the nouveaux riche who visit only to be seen rather than to enjoy food and wine.  So was Le Caprice, part of the group that owns The Ivy, as good as its sibling?

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