Confessions of a Wino

The somewhat entertaining, but supercilious and frequently AWOL Sunday Times restaurant critic, AA Gill, rarely extends his gastronomic tentacles beyond central London.  So I was surprised to see that he had, according to a poster at Piccadilly rail station, nominated San Carlo in MANCHESTER as the best Italian restaurant outside the capital.  Surprised not only because he had ventured so far north as to get the apocryphal nosebleed, but also because San Carlo is far from the best resto of any type anywhere.

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Is wine tasting an art, a science, or just a personal experience?  One of the great things about keeping this online wine diary is the opportunity to look back at what I thought of different wines.  The first time I tried Trinity Hill 2006 Sauvignon Blanc I tasted gooseberry as the prominent flavour with apricots and grapefruit in the background.

 

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By the time you read this, I hope to have made it to Switzerland.  I am making a secret trip to raid my Swiss bank account, buy a big, brash Breitling watch, an army knife, a cuckoo clock and some rosti.

If you are still reading, you must be new to this blog, or you would have laughed out loud and moved onto your favourite sports website.  Just in case any of my investors are reading this, I would just like to clarify that I am indeed taking a humble sojourn, walking around Swiss mountains in nought but sackcloth shoes whilst taking the time out to think through our next business plan.  I will probably take a refreshing dip in mountain lakes, perambulate vigorously and get pissed a lot on the local wine.

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Although he made wines for Lafite and Latour, the Prince of Vines’ heart was allegedly in Calon.  But I wonder what the Marquis de Ségur would think of today’s vintage hype?  I tried a 2002 recently.  Not the most fashionable of recent vintages having been ambushed by 2000, 2003 and 2005 which were all breathtaking vintages of a lifetime.  Well, I guess wine writers, like cats, have nine lives, but limited hyperbolic capacity to describe a Bordeaux vintage.

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A quiet Italian restaurant in Manchester.  Maybe not the best place to expose one’s ignorance.  I mean, how could I possibly confuse a tacky MTV reality show, with a beautiful lake in the north of Italy?

If, like me, you are over 40, and approaching the early stages of senile dementia, you already know where I am going (although you probably won’t remember by the time I reach the end of this sentence).

So for the record, the Lugana wine region is on the southern shores of Lake Garda, and I would also like to say that….er hang on I’ve forgotten again, where did I park my car?

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