Confessions of a Wino

As I stare at the bottle and write this, I have no idea how much the wine costs, nor how well reputed it is.  I have not read the label on the back and I have no record where I got it from (presumably a present then).

It is always interesting to attempt to not be swayed by a label, but given a Château Lafite 1787 and an Echo Falls Merlot in each other’s bottles would I notice?  I might rate the sickly lifestyle brand, with almost certainly the British & Commonwealth record for slowest and most annoying website ever, the best wine.  Maybe I am a Label Mabel.  A brand junkie.  Or just a marketing and packaging enthusiast?

My prejudices say this wine is cheap.  The colour is dark and much too purple.  The taste is jammy.  Specifically blackcurrant with a wipe of strawberry.  There is also something tangy and sharp.  But actually I quite like it.  At 13.5% not as blockbusting super-jammo as I feared.  Yes, quite tasty.  I think it would compare favourably to a £7.50 Chilean Cabernet.

So how much is it then?  Off to Google.  Tesco.com have it for £6.17 a bottle (in cases of 6).  That sounds fair.  Bit better than a cheapy, not in the same class as a 10 quider but drinkable with the right food – in this case Marmite on white toast is the perfect match.

I was going to title this post “Give me a Thai five”.  There are at least that many restaurants of the genre in Manchester.  I love Chaopharaya, the offshoot of the Leeds original.  But that only opened recently.  The longest serving Thai dates from 1985.

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At some point in your life, birthdays stop being beacons shining light on a promising future and instead become lamp posts illuminating yesterday’s gloomy streets.  A time to look back longingly at your youth and wonder what might have happened if you hadn’t bought that Ford Escort with the faulty brakes, or kissed that fat bird with dentures behind the bike sheds at school.

But the lacerations eventually healed and I was able once again to enjoy eating the sweets of my generation without the nightmare of that mousetrap snog to haunt my tongue.

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It seems that people haven’t stopped spending after all.  January 2009 retail sales in the UK were actually 0.7% higher than last month and a whopping 3.6% higher than Jan 08.  Analysts (who are these anonymous experts?  It’s like reading about comments from “community leaders” after a local riot) suggest that deep discounting in the January sales was the cause.  Whatever.  It shows that if you can get your value proposition right, people will still buy.

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There is no shortage of choice in West Yorkshire when it comes to Italian restaurants.  But they are known to change hands occasionally.

I recently wrote up a posthumous review of Marco’s Ristorante in Hightown, Liversedge and a correspondent advised that this place has morphed into Don Luigi’s, run by Marco’s former head waiter, Fabrizio.  Having eaten there recently, I was delighted to agree with MG that several improvements have been made.  The cooking, decor and even wine list are all superior.

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Have you ever been haunted?  The name Teyssier has been my stalker recently.  It has bought out the best of Virgin Wines and contemporaneously the reason why they often ever so slightly under-achieve.  Well, nobody can please everybody every day!

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I have some empathy with John Major and his propensity to give her a pubic service.  Edwina Currie, in her prime, was almost certainly a foxy chick, and she sure has the personality to entertain a Minister of State.  However, her period of public service is not remembered fondly by the British egg trade.

Now though, it seems eggs are safe after all – hoorah!  Boiled eggs are one of my staple dishes and I eat far more than the three a week that most of the public (including me) used to think was safe.

But is there a wine that matches my eggy soldiers?  Will two bell towers stand proud to the challenge?

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I wonder what went through Claudio’s mind when I asked how warm the wine was.  I reached out my hand to touch the bottle.  Claudio winced.  Another stupid and ignorant Englishman?  Even worse than an ignorant Scotsman.  I grinned.  The bottle was cool.  Claudio nodded approvingly.  He had served the Primitivo Da Castello di Puglia at the recommended 16-18 degrees.  Probably even cooler actually, which suited the wine rather well.  Sweet flavours of cherries, cherry lips and bubble gum collided with the not unexpected tannic youth of the Italian stallion.

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I’ve had a couple of marketing lessons recently.

The first was pulling into a service station with my iPhone flashing a “10% power” warning.  A FoneBitz franchise saw me coming (and presumably had the pictures).  It was more than irony that they stiffed me for £24.95 for an in-car charger.  When the assistant saw me laugh out loud (LOL), she didn’t.  The iPhone cost less than that, I giggled.  “Do you want the item, sir?” said the straight-faced lady.  I had 20 phone calls to make and 200 miles to drive, so I handed over the dirty ransom.

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On a day when a small flurry of snow brought chaos to most of the UK, and notably the South East, one has to look for small pleasures.  My amuse-bouche du jour arrived in the form of a quote from our capital’s Lord Mayor.  Not one red (or bendy) bus was used in anger today.

Parodying British Rail excuses from days of yore (when us Northerners dug ourselves out of a snow drift most Januaries just to escape our beds) and sporting a cheeky smirk, Boris Johnson reflected on how well Londoners had faced up to the snow.  “This is the right kind of snow, it’s just the wrong kind of quantities”.

Ever said that about a bottle of wine – red or bendy?