Confessions of a Wino

It’s been a while since I slavered over a Dog Point and its Cats’ Piss flavours.  The main reason is that the Wine Society (who I slagged off royally in the same post)  hasn’t stocked it for a while and I have been way too lazy to look elsewhere.

One of the problems of writing about feline urolagnia is where to place the apostrophe.  I mean how many cats do you want to fill your pissoir?  Or is it more pure, and less disgusting, to think of a single cat’s pee as the sole occupant of your bottle?

Actually this is quite tart.  In addition to cats, there is evidence of gooseberry and grapefruit and just a little too much tongue tingling, lip squelching, palate stripping acidity.  Whilst I have since made up with the Society, personally I am a bit disappointed with the wine.  There are much better Kiwi SB’s around at a lower price than the £12.95 that my bank manager credited to the Wine Society.

If you have just scaled England’s third highest mountain via Striding Edge, slipped and nearly died, wished that you owned a pair of crampons, nearly shat yourself, and in the process built up a hunger hole the size of one of Sherpa Tenzing’s footprints, you could do worse than get your scram at one of the poshest hotels in the lake district, the self proclaimed inventor of sticky toffee pudding.  Make sure you take your Amex Black Card, though.  And check you are still in possession of your arms and legs on the way out.

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I’ve been impressed by Café Anglais on a number of occasions but I thought it was famous for roast chicken, and not particularly great for solo diners.  So, ever since they emailed me to say an oyster bar had opened I’ve been itching to try it.

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On a frenzied wine tour through Bordeaux it’s nice to take a relaxing break for a long lunch, and you could do much worse than stop in Pauillac during your Medoc leg.

La Salamandre, looking out directly over the river is charming, top quality, well presented, and has a great wine list.

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I am deeply unfashionable by nature, and may be the last wino on the planet who still finds Cloudy Bay a good slurp and even (gasp), value for money!

Over the last few years, I’ve been experimenting with drinking it at different stages of youth.  I have just opened a 2007 and discovered a wrinkly old fella.  Tastes flat and tired,- no zing or spring in its step.  Notes of cardboard, straw and sour lemon.

Conversely I find baby Cloudy Bay, on release, a bit uninspiring.  Almost too fresh and grassy.

So I have concluded that my favourite time to drink this Kiwi standard is about 12-18 months after release where I find the classic cats’ piss, gooseberries and lots of fresh zingy grapefruit.

Has anyone tried this with other Kiwi Sauvignon Blancs?

I spend far too much of what economists laughingly call my “disposable” income on wine.  I also buy more shoes than I can reasonably polish.  I like to think of it as keeping in touch with my feminine side.

Imagine my delight then, when I discovered that Oliver Sweeney has been bought out of administration!  I haven’t purchased a pair for a couple of years (but still own numerous), so maybe I am in some small way responsible for their near demise.  Mind you my temporary desertion of my favourite footwear brand was not purely for economic reasons.  I thought the designs lost their way.  Brands are about consistency of product, not advertising.  Any clever agency can get you to try a product once but loyalty is expressed in repeat sales and recommendations, which only come from over-delivery of the promise.

You could consider wines to be micro brands and I was not that impressed by the product quality of a 2008 Mahi Pinot Noir.  Will the Sauvignon Blanc resole my trust, or leave me with a hole in my shoe?

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Yet another strange thought troubled my grey matter when I smelt Momo – more cats’ piss than Dog Point!  And that is a compliment.

It is really zingy with balance provided by honeyed apples and pears.  If you like your Sauvignon Blancs tartier than Bet Lynch, you will love this.

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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.

Looking for alcohol to numb the pain of having to watch Strictly Come Dancing, I tangoed across to my wine rack to find something easy drinking, fruity and cheap, like Craig Breville-Toaster

I found this Côtes de Thongue from the Wine Society at a mere £4.95.  Made in the increasingly popular South of France, a region that most wine merchants are pushing as recession friendly gluggers, this stands out as something more sincere.  Cheaper than a budgie’s twitter, but tastier than a topless bird on a St Tropez beach, this smells and tastes of two childhood sweets:  Pear drops and pineapple cubes.  Don’t expect fine wine at this price but I’ve tasted many uglier wines at double the Roubles.  And as for Strictly – is it still on?????

As if it wasn’t hard enough already (no pun intended), blokes everywhere are giving up hope of ever getting another blowjob.

Before Americanisation, I used to think that “head” was the foam on a pint of beer.  As a mature Wino, I now I fully realise that it is the bubbles on top of a Bellini.  And I love a Bellini.

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