Confessions of a Wino

Our last day in Haute-Nendaz involved a lot of walking.  After a lot of walking, refreshment is essential.  On the way back to Le Déserteur hotel, I wanted to put in a lost property report at the Police Municipale.  Richard had lost a camera and, whilst he didn’t care too much for the money, he was sweating lead bullets over the contents of the digital flash card.  For a man who has recently given up biathlons, still goes bull fighting barefoot, and is rumoured to be The Stig you will understand that he doesn’t sweat – ever.

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Some people claim to learn something new every day.  Poor them!  I make it my point to learn at least 5 new facts every day.  Fact two on September 29th 2007 proved to be a stunna for me.  I can’t count the number of times I have been to Switzerland and drunk Dôle thinking that it was a local grape.  D’Oh!  Marie-Bernard Gillioz Praz was the evil person who gate-crashed my ignorance.

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I’ve got a question for you.  Should one review an establishment when invited there to a party?  When one’s hosts settled the bill?  When the resto had to cope with 36 covers contemporaneously?

The answer is that it’s perfectly acceptable, as long as you have more cheek than a side of pork.

And so, we find ourselves in the 4 Vallées resort of Haute-Nendaz on the occasion of Alan’s 50th birthday party, where the great and the good (and for all I know, the not so great, and the not so good) assembled.  You see, Alan’s friends fall into a number of categories:  business; rugby; golf; parenting; Cobham neighbours; bob sleighing; paragliding; shark bating; interplanetary exploration; and the most fearsome Scottish walkers.  For the record, I fall into the first category, and aspire to be fit enough one day to be measured alongside the latter group.

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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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Greek food, on the whole, is well known to be incredibly healthy, especially when compared to typical English and American diets.  Greek wine by contrast is just not well known at all.  So when I saw a bottle on the wine list of Dimitris in Manchester, I had to give it a try.

Every table had a “reserved” sign, the day we visited Dimitris for Sunday lunch.  Fortunately these were not real reserved signs, but merely little Hellenic white lies, so we sat down.

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Shoe shops are fine places, especially if, like me, you like shoes.  There is nothing like the smell of a shoe shop.  Intoxicating and attractive, but I don’t eat shoes, I wear them.

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