“This is a traditional New York Italian family restaurant” said our Pacific Island looking waiter pointing at a huge canoe full of pasta being delivered to the next table. A random walk around the pleasant residential areas of the upper west side had allowed us to use the antiquated predecessor to www.stumbleupon.com to find an eaterie.
A bit of renewed interest (and support) in my campaign to get wines served at the right temperature but I fear I am fighting a losing battle.
I dined at Fino last week, an upmarket tapas place on Charlotte Street, London. I ordered a bottle of Crianza and asked what temperature it would be served at. The Spanish waiter handed me a bottle from the shelf behind that was about 25°C. I volunteered that the people of La Rioja would never serve it so warm and was met with a resigned shrug. “The customers complain if we serve it at the recommended temperature”.
Similar conversations I have had in numerous restaurants across the country always fall into two categories. The first is the Fino example where the waiter points to the ignorance of the British public. The second is where the waiter is one of the ignorami. On more than one occasion I have been told that I cannot have an ice bucket for my red wine.
We Brits have it so drilled into our psyche that red wine should be tropical and white wine arctic that I wonder if we will ever change.
You might ask who the hell I am to determine what temperature a wine should be served at and people should drink to personal taste. I totally agree with that, but it is not me who makes the suggestion, it is the person who made the wine and by listening to them, I have much improved my enjoyment of wine. Furthermore, almost everyone I have forced to try a red in the teens rather than twenties has considered it a revelation. It is a shame to spend so much money on wine and not get maximum enjoyment out of it. But live and let live eh?
So if you run a restaurant, I understand that you have to play to your customer base. Just please don’t look at me like I’m a pig at an H1N1 conference if I ask for an ice bucket when you serve me a red from your wine oven.
I don’t know why it has taken me so long to wander over to Berry Bros & Rudd wine blog.
I found it quite refreshing actually. That sounds condescending because it implies that I expected it to be all stuffy and “establishment”. But it’s a right interesting read, much more in the tone of enthusiast than salesman.
You might want to wander over right now and express your opinion on a hot topic. BBR is running a poll on cork vs Stelvin. We’ve all seen screw caps on our Kiwi Sauvignons for donkeys’ years, but what about top claret?
I’ve added the site to my blogroll. And by the way, I voted for screw cap.
I wonder if they will one day run a poll on my WART campaign?
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.
I was going to review this place next year when I could have titled the post, 4030 2010. But on the 40th floor bar of 30 St Mary’s Axe the view could not wait and, verily, it must be one of the most stunning in the whole of London.
I’ve heard many reports of London Chinatown’s demise. Shame when Manchester’s equivalent is thriving so well. I found myself in The Big Smoke on business with nothing better to do than check out the rumours, so I selected a random place on Lisle Street just behind Leicester Square.
Hotel restaurants always give me a slight sinking feeling. Reminders of 1980s boil in the bag meals; they always smell of stale cooking, probably because breakfast buffets are when they get 90% of their traffic.
The Hotel Russell probably counts early risers 99% of its clientele. It’s easier to get a table at The Ivy than a breakfast table here. Dinner, however, was predictably quiet. A few lonely foreign travellers and one table of two couples from Yorkshire who were asking for more gravy – gravy shortages are punishable by death north of Watford Gap.
La Réserve de Quasimodo is self subtitled: Le plus vieux bistrot en l’ile de la cité. Seven centuries of history. Did Asterix the Gaul possibly eat here?
Cafe de Luna, on boulevard de Clichy is a bustling bistro that caught my eye on a cheeky weekend visit. We were staying round the corner in the ninth and needed a reasonably priced dinner. That is a challenge at the moment for Brits in Paris due to the parity of Euro/Sterling.
I started with Bourgogne escargots in garlic and mopped up every last morceau! Eating snails is always a bit like chewing on rolled up condoms but it is the sauce that makes the strange texture so appealing.
Chez Clément has many branches in Paris and one in Nantes. Is this the French version of Chez Gerard? Je pense que oui!
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