Confessions of a Wino

I am deeply unfashionable by nature, and may be the last wino on the planet who still finds Cloudy Bay a good slurp and even (gasp), value for money!

Over the last few years, I’ve been experimenting with drinking it at different stages of youth.  I have just opened a 2007 and discovered a wrinkly old fella.  Tastes flat and tired,- no zing or spring in its step.  Notes of cardboard, straw and sour lemon.

Conversely I find baby Cloudy Bay, on release, a bit uninspiring.  Almost too fresh and grassy.

So I have concluded that my favourite time to drink this Kiwi standard is about 12-18 months after release where I find the classic cats’ piss, gooseberries and lots of fresh zingy grapefruit.

Has anyone tried this with other Kiwi Sauvignon Blancs?

I am self-flagellating tonight, berating myself for being a man.  Claret coloured sores are starting to appear on my otherwise pale and tender back.  And I’ve never even heard of Opus Dei.  And I am not in the mood to tell you about my 6 ft leather bull whip – maybe another day.

I’ve been waiting a few weeks for the right moment to drink a bottle of Gaston Hochar’s finest.  Tonight, I finally reached into the fridge and yanked the cork.  But, being a man, I didn’t read the instructions before chugging a good glassful.

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A London based PR company sent me this fab bottle of Chablis but I can’t find out where to source it in the UK so you may have to go to France if you want to try it (seems to be readily available in the US, however).

As a WART fan member, I was pleased to see the label recommended serving temperature was 10-12 degrees, about twice the temperature of the average UK fridge.

The wine was grapefruity, tangy and yet with the stainless steel flintiness you expect from a good Chablis.  More zingy than a Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc, and with a finish longer than a David Cameron speech (but without the gaffes).

If you can find it in the UK, do let me know.  I’d like some more.  Oh!  It goes perfectly with Camembert.

If I had grown a micron for every penis extension product I have been offered by email in the last 12 months, I would now have King Dong trembling in flaccid anxiety.

Equally, offers for Viagra, “Rolex” watches, non-study MBAs and Nigerian dollar inheritances are starting to wear a bit thin.

Domæne Gobelsburg, 2008 is made from the “latest grape”, Grüner Veltliner.  Trouble is, I have been hearing this for yonks.  Who cares?

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There is definitely a place in my heart for wines that are a bit bonkers.  A tale of the unexpected.  Something with its own personality.

I recently visited Vivat Bacchus in Farringdon with a colleague.  We sampled two sweet wines – one white, one red – both bonkers.  Sadly the white tasted of wallpaper paste and the red of cherry lips soaked in meths.  And Vivat Bacchus tried to double tip me.  I hate it when service is already added to the bill and then the credit card machine offers me the “opportunity” to add another tip, presumably going straight into the long pockets of short-handed management.  A chilled Valpolicella on the same visit was dreamy, but this is not enough to entice me to visit either branch of Vivat Bacchus again.

I have tried many superb Tokaji dessert wines, almost all of which were not particularly Dizzee Rascal, but nonetheless tasted sweeter than an Armand van Helden megamix.

This Királyudvar was dry and, in a sense, that made it madder than a Tory/Liberal conspiracy.  But mad can be loveable.  It can be intelligent.  It can command respect.  This is the Vivienne Westwood of wines.

I can’t claim that I know whether she tastes of honey and meringue, but, like this wine, I could think of 10,000 worse dinner partners.

I got mine from the Wine Society for £18, so not cheap, but if you want quality like Westwood, then you have to be prepared to pay.  I enjoyed mine with a pork chop with mustard, garlic and thyme.

In England it is asparagus time.  Time to celebrate!  Surely there is no better flavour than some fresh (cut today) asparagus lightly seasoned and simply pan fried in butter.

Well, I am prepared to reveal that the dish can be improved upon.  Adding a glass of Chablis is like adding a spoon of Dijon mustard to a French dressing – sort of essential*.

You could do worse than this William Fevre, which I picked up from the Wine Society for £13.95.  At time of writing the 2008 had replaced the 2007 at the same price.  Not cheap but a solid example of this under-rated genre.

With the zing of Sauvignon Blanc, the smoothness of Albariño and the class of Chardonnay (we were yet again reminded in this World Cup year, on the day that Fabio named his final 23, that form is temporary), this Domaine William Fevre is perfect with the noble spring vegetable.  The flintiness perfectly offsets the buttery, almost yeasty flavour of the asparagus.

* Other dressings are available.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried.  The Riesling grape, to serious winos, is what Der Ring des Nibelungen is to opera buffs.  If you don’t understand it, appreciate it, enjoy it, you are a mere Muggle.  Muggles merely struggle to consume the enormous contents wondering what type of hash cakes the buffs eat for breakfast.

And like The Ring, the natural home of Riesling is the Federal Republic of Engineers.  But at the risk of you thinking I have Teutonic Plague, my favourite Rieslings have come from Australia so far.  Just don’t tell anyone, please.

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I spend far too much of what economists laughingly call my “disposable” income on wine.  I also buy more shoes than I can reasonably polish.  I like to think of it as keeping in touch with my feminine side.

Imagine my delight then, when I discovered that Oliver Sweeney has been bought out of administration!  I haven’t purchased a pair for a couple of years (but still own numerous), so maybe I am in some small way responsible for their near demise.  Mind you my temporary desertion of my favourite footwear brand was not purely for economic reasons.  I thought the designs lost their way.  Brands are about consistency of product, not advertising.  Any clever agency can get you to try a product once but loyalty is expressed in repeat sales and recommendations, which only come from over-delivery of the promise.

You could consider wines to be micro brands and I was not that impressed by the product quality of a 2008 Mahi Pinot Noir.  Will the Sauvignon Blanc resole my trust, or leave me with a hole in my shoe?

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Yet another strange thought troubled my grey matter when I smelt Momo – more cats’ piss than Dog Point!  And that is a compliment.

It is really zingy with balance provided by honeyed apples and pears.  If you like your Sauvignon Blancs tartier than Bet Lynch, you will love this.

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I could fall in love with Jane Hunter,
I have never met her, she might be a munter,
But if I could turn back the callous hands of time,
Her success, her money and wines would be mine.

After all, if her wines are a personification of her true self, then surely she must be gorgeous, tasty, exciting, full-bodied and just a little tarty (in a nice discreet way)?

But, probably, I would not ask her to hurry the wines to my cellar because, having tried her Sauvignon Blanc for the last few vintages, I think it tastes much better after a year or more of ageing.  I know this flouts convention, that NZ Sauvignon Blancs should be drunk within a year.

There is much competition amongst Kiwi winemakers these days.  Since the success of Cloudy Bay, ten thousand maniac (give or take a few thousand) imitators have gradually eroded the price of Marlborough gooseberry cat-pissers.  I got my 2009 Hunter’s from the Wine Society (£10.50) at barely a gnat’s fart more than the price of the 2006 (£9.95).

The 2009 is a bit two dimensional.  Gooseberry and sugar.  It is zingy but bland, if that is not too much of an oenological oxymoron.

Nonetheless, from previous experience, I suggest you buy a few bottles and lay them down for, oh I don’t know, twelve to twenty four months and I am sure you will see massive improvement.