Confessions of a Wino

So, Naked Wines has launched and as the website quips “Rules:  Nudity Optional” but this looks like a serious undertaking to me.

You may recall that Rowan Gormley described it as the LastFM of wine shopping, but there has been some controversy over the half launch of Naked Wines, the latest project from the former founder and MD of Virgin Wines.  Its aim is to match wine makers to buyers directly (well via Naked Wines to be precise).  True to his irreverent style, Mr Gormley claims that winemakers “would rather be with their vines than in a Travelodge waiting for an appointment with Tesco”.  This is what the internet was invented for.  Look at the effect it has had on auctions, travel agents, banks, electrical stores, estate agents, bookstores.  The internet is the world’s cyber-wholesale Exchange & Mart.

On the other hand, orders still need to be processed, the wine still needs to be shipped, local duty accounted for, customer service delivered, refunds processed.  In this sense, is Naked Wines really so different from other online wine retailers?

I was invited to join the “tasting panel” and three bottles arrived in the post a few days later.  I was expecting some yawningly predictable staples:  a Petit Chablis, an Aussie Shiraz and a NZ Sauvignon for example.  In fact I got a South African Chenin, a Chilean Cabernet/Carmenère and a Spanish erm….thing.  My interest is aroused but I can assure you I was fully clothed as I tasted the first two – both reds.

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US Election night and I am backing Barack.  But not with enough conviction to stay up all night and watch the results.  In fact, not even enough conviction to watch the preamble, since I have just returned from Opera North’s somewhat strange production of Puccini’s Tosca at the Lowry Theatre in Manchester, famed for having the most uncomfortable seats of any modern (or ancient) theatre I know.

I am not much of an opera buff but I do generally love Opera North and I am a sucker for anything live performance – music, theatre, busking, comedy, ballet.  Well maybe ballet is beyond me, in the same way that algebra is beyond a two year old, or an ASBO.

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I hardly dare review a Spanish wine after my admonishment at the hands of Lorenza, but I had already purchased this on my way home from Spain in July.  There is not much to do at Malaga airport other than mooch around the “duty free” shop, and €16.30 doesn’t sound like a lot for a Gran Reserva.

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One weekend in La Rioja is not anywhere near long enough to enjoy the fruits (and tannins) offered up by this part of northern Spain.  I was, therefore, extremely pleased to see a visit to Marqués de Riscal winery, one of my favourites, on the itinerary of the European Wine Bloggers’ Conference.

Riscal is a traditional old winery yet some experimentation is being dared, such as the inclusion of increasing quantities of Cabernet Sauvignon in this Tempranillo dominated region, and talking of innovation (a noun to which Riscal aspires) it is hard to ignore the stunning architecture of the Frank Gehry building.  Although supposedly representative of the wines of Riscal, I suspect Gehry may have been influenced by something more hallucinatory than wine when he sat at his drawing board at the turn of the millennium.  Very impressive though it is, I spat rather than swallowed, the argument that it “blends in” with the surrounding landscape.  I think its very beauty is that it blends in like a spaceship placed next to the Houses of Parliament.  Come to think of it, when is the London Eye scheduled for take off?

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Every now and again, someone leaves a comment on this blog that makes me laugh.  Recently, I nearly wet myself when this comment appeared on my post about the Costa del Crime:

Hola, por si entiendes español, te mando esto, deberias elegir otros vinos en España, los que eliges ( valga la rebundancia ),aquí se utilizan para desatascar el inodoro y el cava freixenet para lavar al perro. Saludos

As it happens, Spanish is a language that avoided me at school, so it is not technically true that I wet myself when Lorenza left the comment.  Fortunately, my mate Paul, who learnt Spanish on a beach near Barcelona whilst variously selling deckchairs, running a water skiing school and generally bumming around for several years, was able to assist.  Here is his translation:

Hello, in the case of you being able to understand Spanish, I am sending you this. You should choose other wines in Spain, the ones you choose, here we use them to get rid of smells and Cava Freixenet is for washing the dog.

Thoughts of massaging Cava into Bonzo’s furry skin got me to wondering whether Spanish dogs are exported to Korea as a canine take on wagyu beef?

On the way home from Banús, and on Sundays many restos are shut.  Our contorted journey this time, for some reason, comprised a bus to Marbella, a taxi to Fuengirola and a train to Malaga airport.  Planes trains and automobiles!  Good job we had the best part of a day to waste.

Apart from the travelling, our first waste of time was stopping at La Tasca de los Niños.  The only excitement drawn from that place resulted from a couple of Spanish piss-heads already warming up for the European Cup Final (Spain were to deservedly beat Germany 1-0).

Fortunately tapas are served on small plates, so after the first two disappointments, we decamped to Cervecería Gambrinus right next door to the rail station.

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I visited Spain for a weekend recently, and tried a few wines with various blends of Viura, Malvasia and Verdejo.  Not many left an impression, to be honest.  I have a friend who doesn’t drink Spanish wine unless from Rioja.  I think that is a bit binary.  For example there are some great Albariños from Galicia, and Ribero del Duero is hardly shy in getting their punters to part with large sums of wonga for their best wines…  But I take his point that Rioja is perhaps more consistent, whereas other areas require discretionary selection.

This bottle, like Don Quixote, came from La Mancha, unless I’m a daydreamer.  I found it in the “Spain and Portugal” section of my wine rack and it was part of a Sunday Times Wine Club (Laithwaites) “Crisp refreshing whites” case (about £60 the dozen).

I am not sure what to conclude.  At the price, it is OK.  As a party wine it would go down a treat if you chilled it to 3°C or below and served it to Sancho Panzas or ASBOs.  As a serious wine compared to any other Sauvignon or so called “crisp dry white”, I found it a little too citric and perhaps best suited to the tartest of lemon dresed shellfish, rather than as an aperitif.  However, if you are a donkey houghty type, wake up and smell the gooseberry.  You never know, you might like it!

At the time of writing it is still available from Laithwaites at £5.67, and as you can probably tell, I have never read any Cervantes.

There is no hiding place for the rich these days.  All the summer High Society events are being gatecrashed by chavs.  Royal Ascot this year even tried to enforce a new dress code that ladies must (amongst other things) wear knickers, and not on display.

We are supposed to be heading fast into the biggest recession since the 1920′s and yet I see no evidence of spending slowing.  As every generation passes, it becomes more affordable to travel to, and participate in, the rich playgrounds of Europe.  You don’t need a yacht to blend in at Puerto Banús, but if you haven’t got one, it helps if you have several tattoos and can chunder at top volume into the early hours, or simply pass out, drunk, on the front of some expensive clothes shop at 4am.

The world famous prostitutes of Puerto Banús draw similar class lines, with prices pitched accordingly, although at both price points there seems to be a massive over-supply problem that is being addressed by aggressive marketing tactics.  A Brazilian, and by this I mean a woman from Brazil, approached me, “You is beautiful” she whispered in my ear.  You are beautiful I corrected.  “Oh thank you!”  No, not at all what I meant, sorry, goodbye…

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Last year, we watched the yachts of the rich and infamous from La Bocana overlooking the harbour entrance.  The food and wine were good enough to warrant a revisit in 2008.

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When in dining mode, I am a grazer.  I like to sample a range of flavours, and try new things as often as possible.  Chinese banquets are great.   I like my Indian food to be served on as many plates as possible so I can play culinary Russian roulette with my taste buds.  A spot of lime pickle on a spoonful of Vindaloo is like walking your tongue across hot coals, but this is far superior to pavement slabs of bland meat.

The ultimate grazer’s delight is a combination of three words:  Spain, seafood and tapas.  I think I may have found my mecca, ironically just to the west of the railway station in Fuengirola, Costa del Sol.  This place is one of the best restaurants I’ve ever eaten in and almost certainly the best value.

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