Confessions of a Wino

Why keep an online diary?  I am not Samuel Pepys.  I don’t have a burning desire to share my (albeit valuable) thoughts with the world.  I have no reason to create an alibi, or lay a false trail for the police.  I don’t have much spare time in my life, so I have to write quickly and from the gut (well, bladder to be precise).  So why do I do it?

The answer is as simple as the various thoughts that meander through my sponge-like brain.  I am exploring the world of wine and I wanted to keep a record for myself because my memory is patchy.  But even I would be bored by reading bland tasting notes, or wine ratings (no, no, no, no, no, please, wine is subjective!).  So I wrap my thoughts in inane claptrap…for some reason.  And I know it’s bad form, but when I do look back at my various posts, I sometimes laugh at my own jokes (someone has to).  Above all I recall happy things that simply would have fallen through my colandar like memory otherwise.

The imaginatively titled “102T” is not a name likely to hang around my hippocampus.  It came from the Chilean Pinot Noir case I ordered from the Wine Society for about £82 recently.

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In the restaurant world, turning a great local eaterie into a “concept” that can be rolled out across the world is a great danger.  New branches often lack the authenticity, the passion of the owners, the attention to detail and the personal service.  I have just discovered a text book example of failure at Sam’s Chop House in Leeds.

Sam’s Chop House in Manchester is one of my favourite places to eat in the whole world.  After 130 years of success, of which, before you ask, I have only contributed to 20 or so, why the owners felt the time was right to dilute their brand is a complete mystery.  Sams’ in Leeds is as far away an experience from the Manchester parent, as a wet weekend in Cleethorpes compares to a Caribbean cruise.

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Blimey what a title!  As an alternative to, say, “Pol Roger Champagne” it certainly wins the verbosity battle, but is this a sparkler or a damp squib?

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My tour of the Pinot Noirs of the world is a long way from completion and getting more and more interesting by the minute.  This one, from the Wine Society mixed case Chile Pinot Noirs (£82 for twelve bottles) is earthy and earthy.

An earthy smell with compost and wet leaves is not the greatest compliment to a wine.  The taste was sharp at first but it mellowed over time.  Mixed berries, carrot, grapefruit skin and mushroom – nice? You judge…..

14% alcohol is not too much really, but it is a bit new world. Then again Chile is in the New World so maybe this is a great wine, just not to my taste.

Life is a box of chocolates according to Forrest Gump’s mama, which probably suits my moody temperament.  My current mood in respect of grapes is, as ever, two faced.  One old school tie, one new kid on the block (to me anyway).  I am currently on a virtual world tour of Pinot Noirs which I described as the Brigitte Bardot of grapes.  The other varietal that has piqued my interest recently is Carmenère, which is the James Dean of grapes.  A rebel without a cause that lives on the edge, smokes a lot, and whilst externally attractive, lacks substance.  Scratch under the surface, and often you will simply find more surface.

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I’ve been sent to Coventry. Not in the metaphorical, but literal sense. On business to be precise. I have a 9:0am meeting in the morning with Barclays Bank and to travel down to get there reliably from Leeds would require me to rise and shine at 5:0am. No self-respecting wino does that.

The marvels of modern technology mean that my laptop simply connects via a 3G card to the internet, and using something called “VPN” (nothing to do with panty lines, no) I can work as if in the office, from anywhere in the world, although at 10% of the speed.  All of this means that instead of finishing work at about 7pm, I am still at it at 9:30.  Fortunately, La Cucina is still open on a Monday night and most of the remaining customers are Italian, which is encouraging.

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After my review of Sam’s Chop House raised a bit of a storm about people’s privacy, I was reticent about reviewing the sibling, Mr Thomas’s.  After waiting for about 243 minutes behind a twitcher’s tent, I finally found a moment when the coast was clear and grabbed a quick snap (below).  If only the atmosphere inside was as interesting….

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Do you know what a Pot Lyonnais is?  If you have been to the Beaujolais region you do.  A pot (pronounced poe) Lyonnais (lee-on-ay) is a 46cl bundle of fun in the form of a wine carafe.  Whilst dining in Fleurie once, I was told that the history of the pot was that it was considered the suitable amount for agricultural workers to drink on their lunchtime break.  Yes, I know what you are thinking.  Imagine if the same rules applied to the munitions factories!  Ka-boom!!

The French are often copied, especially when it comes to wine, and the word on the street is that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  The Greeks must love the French very much judging by the amount of pointless and deliberately misleading French language on an average bottle of Greek wine.  But apart from the French language this is no average bottle of Greek wine.

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Packaging says a lot about a product.  Marketing people really understand that differentiating (demanding a higher price for) a high quality product requires an associated buying and unwrapping experience.  Nowhere is this more true than the world of wine.  The ceremony afforded to opening a bottle of wine is a marketing man’s dream.  I feel short changed if a wine is not “wrapped” according to its value.

The foil on the cap of this wine was reassuringly thick, I’ve seen lead flashing with less substance.  This is a good quality wine already…

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It used to snow more often in the north of England.  One childhood memory of Cheadle Hulme in the 1970s, had us creating a roadblock from several snowballs as big as a medium sized Yeti monster, only to get caught by one of the parents.  It took so much more effort to deconstruct the abominable frozen white barrier without the adrenalin filled laughter that drove and inspired us through the construction phase.

On Easter Sunday 2008, we looked out of the window at 7am – whiteout – awesome….let’s off to the hills for a walk!  I have one life rule on walking – I’ll do anything as long as there is a pub at the end.  And so we found ourselves at Barley, Lancashire, and the Pendle Inn.

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