Spring wine – a cautionary tale

Mrs K: “Evening, dear!”

PK: “Evening!”

“Oooh, it’s so nice to finish work and have the sun shining. Lovely! Shall we have a glass of wine in the garden?”

“Oh! Er…yes! But…”

“Shall I get glasses?”

“Hang on a minute…I need…We haven’t sorted out the garden furniture yet this year. It’s only April. I just need to put the table up. Needs a bit of a wipe. Bit of bird poo.”

“Will tumblers do?”

“How does this chair go…? No, tumblers will not  do. If we’re going to do this thing…”

“Alright, I’ll get the proper glasses down, then. Is there some white wine in the fridge?”

“Well, there is. It’s the bottle left over from last night, though. We put about a quarter into the poached salmon, and then I drank about half before you took it away. Put  it away. So there’s only about a quarter of a bottle left. I don’t think that’s quite enough…”

“Don’t you have any in your famous ‘cellar’?”

“There’s that gorgeous Pouilly-Fumé I brought back from Paris, the one I was telling you about… But of course, that’s not chilled. And we haven’t started putting ice into the freezer yet. It’s only April.”

“I know! Isn’t it nice to have such lovely sunshine in April?”

“Even if we did have ice, it would take ages to chill now. Should have thought of this earlier. There’s that puffa jacket thing which does chill a bottle faster. But we haven’t got that in the freezer yet either.”

“Oh, well…”

“Really, if we’re drinking in the garden, it should be rosé. That’s your wine for drinking in the sun.”

“Ooh yes, a glass of rosé! That would be lovely. Have you got any of that?”

“Well yes, I have, a really interesting Provencal rosé actually, which we didn’t get around to last summer. But of course that’s not cold, either. And you don’t want warm rosé. And remember, you wouldn’t let me buy an ice bucket. Not that we’ve got any ice, anyway.”

“Well, what about a glass of red, then?”

“Oh I’ve got that alright! Red, yes. Something light, something… Spring-like?”

“A Spring-like  red?”

“Yes, honestly! Like a Beaujolais. You can have that chilled, you know. With ice. Well, not tonight, obviously, but it’ll be cold from the cellar.”

“Basement.”

“From the basement. It’s still quite cold down there. Not cold enough to chill a white or a rosé, but a Beaujolais will be fine. That’s certainly Spring-like. And we could carry on drinking it indoors, with supper.”

“What are we having? Something Spring-like?”

“Sausages.”

“Oh dear. The sun’s gone in…”


 
PK

Wine Night on BBC4

CJ is away this week; but don't forget that to-morrow night on BBC4 is Wine Night - a celebration of all things winetastic - starting with:

7.00 pm: Last of the Summer Wine Special

A one-off return to the much-loved, long-running comedy series - with the main parts being taken by much-loved, long-running wine writers. In this special episode, 'Foggy' Dewhurst finds his taster's notes overrun by ferrets; while Compo attempts to open a case of 1986 Château Beychevelle using a combine harvester.

Norman Clegg - Hugh Johnson

'Foggy' Dewhurst - Andrew Jefford

Compo - Oz Clarke

Nora Batty - Jancis Robinson

7.30: Michael Portillo's Great Wine Journeys of the World

This week, the former Member for Enfield Southgate travels at the TV licence-payer's expense from the Central Valley Region of Chile to the Barossa Valley of Southern Australia, via the Majestic Wine store, Uttoxeter, and the Co-Op in Honiton.

8.30: Phylloxera! The Musical That Wouldn't Die

Documentary about what became known as 'Shaftesbury Avenue's Killer Infestation': the 1990s musical Phylloxera!, based on the great scourge of nineteenth-century European vineyards. The musical proved to be almost as pernicious as the original aphid-like insect, taking seventeen years to eradicate from the West End Stage. Michael Ball - who appeared in the original production - talks to performers, writers and musicians who found themselves unable not to participate in a song-filled spectacular described by The Times as 'Simply excruciating'. Also appearing: Bonnie Langford, Sir David Hare, Esther and Abi Ofarim, Ritchie Blackmore, Professor Sir Roger Penrose, Joan Armatrading.

9.30: Telly Beverage Madness! Your Thirty Greatest Wine Shows!

Count down your favourite wine, or wine-themed, TV shows from the last fifty years - and vote for your number one, the all-time greatest wine show! Among the candidates:

Late Night Wine-Up - classic wine discussion format from the 1960s

The Rockford Oenophiles - starring James Garner as the eponymous Sonoma Valley-based crime-fighting detective

Thunderbirds Are Go! - classic 1960s marionette action series, fortified by the preferred drink of bums and hobos across the generations

Top of the Papes - remember how, every Thursday night, we used to tune in to now-disgraced BBC TV presenters uncorking the latest from a famous French wine-making region?

Whose Wine Is It Anyway? - popular TV improv series (on both sides of the Atlantic) in which comedians dispute the ownership of a glass of wine

The Riojaford Files - spin-off from the American original, starring Javier Bardem as the bodega-based crime-fighting detective

Presented by Phillip Schofield.

11.00: Wine Movie Classic - My Grapes Are Unpalatable (1959)

Legendary winecentric drama starring Anthony Quinn, Sophia Loren, Gert Frobe. Quinn plays Nikos, a Greek wine-maker who sees real export potential in his particular blend of Retsina. Aided by gorgeous love interest Susanna and buffoonish UK wine importer Sir Geoffrey Stirrup, he maps out a five-year business strategy to make Retsina the most popular wine on the British dining-table. But arch-rival Gunther has other ideas... 

Little-known movie facts: Quinn was a secret teetoller in real life; and see if you can spot a very young Robert Parker, playing the part of Kostas, the peasant boy.

Nikos Kyriakou - Anthony Quinn

Susanna - Sophia Loren

Gunther Mannheim - Gert Frobe

SIr Geoffrey Stirrup - Thorley Walters

Police Chief - Thanassis Vengos

Army Officer - Ernest Borgnine

Interrogator - Telly Savalas

Chief Torturer - Martin Balsam

Director: John Ford

1.00 am: Wine News and Weather

Tonight from Puligny-Montrachet.

Top glass

All too often I visit IKEA. Or to rephrase, to visit IKEA at all is too often. But once in a while you encounter an IKEA product which is well designed, well made and, well, cheap. And here is one such: the Hederlig red wine glass.

This is a lovely, large wineglass, as you might expect in a classy restaurant. As IKEA rightly states in its description, “The glass has a large round bowl which helps the wine’s aromas and flavours to develop better, enhancing your experience of the drink.” It’s big enough to sniff and swirl to your heart’s content, it has a balanced shape, and the glass feels good in both hand and mouth. And… it’s only £1 !

Perhaps there are horrible, exploitative reasons why this glass is so cheap. Perhaps it is shaped around balls stolen from the hands of small children. I don’t think I want to know. What I do know is that I no longer need worry about the cost of breakages, when this lovely, big wineglass costs just £1.

It’s not drinking itself which seems to break wineglasses. I can count on the fingers of a hand the number of times a wineglass has actually fallen from the fingers of a hand. No, it’s the washing up afterwards which sees wineglasses knocked over on the draining board, bashed into the tap, falling into the sink or slipping, detergent-lubricated, on to the floor.

Frankly, at £1 a glass, I no longer care. This is surely the answer to all those fellow wine drinkers whose connoisseurship must be tempered with their cackhandedness.
 
Whatever you do, don’t confuse it with the other Hederlig red wine glass. Which has a completely different, tapered shape – but the same name. And confusion is easy, not only because it has the same name, but because despite its tapered shape, it has the same description: “a large round bowl which helps the wine’s aromas and flavours to develop better…”etc.

As indeed does the Svalka red wine glass, only half the size (with a modest 30cl bowl) and therefore half the price – yet bizarrely also described as having “a large round bowl”, despite its bowl not being very large at all.

You might even confuse it with the Rattvik red wine glass, with its steeply sloping goblet shape fundamentally different to the others, neither large nor round nor indeed even a bowl… and yet – you guessed it – still described as having “a large round bowl…”

Is that just the default IKEA description of any red wine glass? I don't imagine they similarly describe as “large round tables” items which are actually “small square tables”.

They do have cheaper wine glasses. Forsiktigt is a Paris goblet by any other name, and it’s only unfortunate that of  any other name they chose… Forsiktigt. These are £1.25 for six, just over 20p each which, given the prices of gas and washing-up liquid, means it’s probably economic simply to smash them after use. However, they are Paris goblets, favourite of the hired caterer and the student party, on which my position remains unchanged; too thick and too small to enhance a wine's flavour, too shallow and open to enhance the bouquet, and too mimsy to suggest generosity. A hideous little tennis ball of a glass,

Or at the other end of the IKEA scale, there’s the Stockholm glass. This costs a stonking (by IKEA standards) £4 per glass,  because it “is mouth blown by a skilled craftsperson” (as opposed to someone who has just graduated from bubblegum). Stockholm “has a handmade decor, making each glass unique”. Because, of course, who wants a matching set of glasses?

I’m afraid I cannot recommend many of the other IKEA wine accessories. There is the Vurm  four-bottle wine rack, for the unlikely member of our readership who keeps only four bottles of wine. There is the Vardefull combination foil cutter and corkscrew, suspiciously moderne to those of us wedded to the practicality of the Waiter's Friend. Or the Lonsam carafe which, filled with white wine, would look exactly as if it has just been withdrawn from beneath a patient’s blanket.

But I remain delighted with the Hederlig red wine glass. Which, at the risk of repeating myself, only costs £1.

I am reminded of CJ’s astute observation that in wine writing, the moment you read about something interesting it immediately becomes unobtainable.  But the IKEA website allows you to see how many glasses are in stock; my own local branch had 772, somewhat more than the number of guests I am likely to invite, let alone provide with red wine.

And you will have to visit an IKEA store in order to purchase your wineglasses, as they can’t be purchased online. But visiting IKEA has been made less challenging lately; thanks to their recent diktat that it is forbidden to play hide-and-seek in the stores.  So at least you won’t be startled to open a Pax wardrobe and find someone lurking inside.

Finally, perhaps we should consider whether, given some of the rubbish wines we encounter, we actually want “to develop their aromas and flavours” as opposed to stifling them. Is there perhaps a market for a “bargain wine glass”, which actively suppresses the aromas and flavours of shoddy wine, rendering it more drinkable? Now, that could be a market…

PK

Countdown to Ecstasy: Denbies Surrey Gold

So a week has passed since all the excitement, and it's back to business, here in the parched and seamy banlieue which I call home.

10.10: I read an email from PK in which he talks urgently about storytelling. I have no idea what he means. I go and make a cup of (instant) coffee.

10.25: For no good reason, I decide to get back to basics and investigate those low-level supermarket chains which I haven't already had a brush with, i.e. Costcutter, Londis, Nisa, Mace. These are the real out-of-town, abandoned A-road, padlocked light-industrial, single chiller-cabinet operations, the sort who sell you a top-up for your electricity bill and keep the liquors and spirits in a special unit behind the counter. These are places for the desperate and the feckless. Depressingly, it turns out my nearest Costcutter is less than a mile away. Londis is even nearer.

10.34: Actually, I know why I'm being drawn to Londis, Costcutter et al. I'm punishing myself for an unexpectedly bibulous few days, starting with a Dry Martini on prize night, followed by some impromptu wine-packed dinner invites on subsequent nights, in the course of which I put on four pounds and my wife lost her voice. Oh, and it involved a Costières de Nîmes which somehow took five days to finish, and was great at the start, but tragic, frankly, by the end. Still slightly dizzy with liver fatigue, I know that I must atone for this, somehow, and that somehow means drinking nothing but the least best wine money can buy.

10.52: Yes, but this is fruitless. A moment's thought (eighteen vague minutes by the clock) is enough to remind me that just because the shops are small and charmless, it doesn't mean that the drink is going to be cheaper than anywhere else. Generic reds and whites are going for a fiver plus at Costcutter, and that's on special offer. Convenience stores (for that's what they are, even allowing for the branding) are graveyards of good value. What I need to do, of course, is drag myself to the nearest Asda or Aldi, some inhuman hypermarket, and prowl the bin-ends like a ghoul, picking among shreds of cold cardboard and damaged plastic for something that costs less than two quid if you buy eighty. The thought is too sad for words.

11.14: No! Here's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to lumber myself with yet another pile of low-end grifter's slurry. I'm going to snap out of the impasse by nipping down to the inexpressible Waitrose at the end of the road, and buying the first wine I see which has no resonance for me at all. A wine about which I know nothing, in which I don't even recognise the grapes, let alone the maker's name. I'm talking about a whole new taste sensation. I'm talking about the thrill of the unknown, something to startle me back into life. It's crazy; but it might just work.

12.03: English wine. A bottle of Denbies Surrey Gold. It's made in Dorking, Surrey, an otherwise charisma-free commuter town! That's about fifteen miles from where I live! This is my local wine, practically. Yes, £7.63 seems a lot to pay for something that I could almost harvest and press myself, but there you are. I can't get beyond Waitrose, I haven't the strength. Handsome label, nice pale straw colour. A mixture of Müller-Thurgau, Ortega and Bacchus, the website informs me. Denbies do reds, as well. And organise tours round the vineyard. Some good reviews. I'm excited.

12.45: It's not without merit. I would query, though, the 'Fragrant nose of peaches' which leads to 'a well structured fruit driven palate with a flinty backbone and hints of ginger', as trumpeted on the packaging. I'm getting almost nothing at the start or finish, but a lot of posturing right in the centre of my mouth, roughly one-third of the way through the encounter - zesty, yes, slightly antiseptic, a kind of palatable rinse if you're suffering from, say, mouth ulcers or thrush, and that's good, we all respond to that. Maybe it's too cold. It does get a bit more articulate over time, and at least it's not a Pinot Grigio, which must now be cultivated on half the planet's land mass, judging by the number of Pinot Grigios filling the shelves.

13.12: And it goes very nicely with a piece of Cambozola which I find in the fridge, or nicely enough, at any rate. Am I going to argue? The day has regained its colour. There are good times ahead. Seriously, that's how they roll in Dorking.

CJ

The (actually) award-winning Sediment

It is rare for both of us to be flabbergasted. Oh, CJ can get aerated, about the prices on the bottom shelf; while I have been left open-mouthed, at Americans calling their wine ‘claret’. But it takes an extraordinary event to flabbergast us both; an event such as that which took place this Tuesday evening.

The André Simon Awards are a legacy of the man Hugh Johnson described as "the charismatic leader of the English wine trade for almost all of the first half of the 20th century, and the grand old man of literate connoisseurship for a further 20 years". It was a delightful surprise and source of pride to us that Sediment was even shortlisted in their 2014 Drinks Books of the Year, among a clutch of serious, heavyweight wine books. But there were, as they say, two chances of us actually winning – fat, and slim.

Still, it did mean that we were invited with our wives to a reception to announce the winners, in the grand surroundings of the Goring Hotel. “Wear a jacket,” I warned CJ. “Don’t get drunk,” Mrs K warned me.

In the event, we had little time to assault the wine before the speech by the Assessor of the drinks books, Julian Barnes. Yes, that's the Booker prizewinning writer Julian Barnes.
And as he summarised the shortlist our prospects seemed to be evaporating further, if such a thing were possible. It was clear that we lacked the scholarship present in some of the other contenders; Sediment has written little and knows even less about “the infamous 1971 German wine law”.

But then Julian Barnes described Sediment as "one of the funniest wine books I have read…up there with Kingsley Amis and Jay McInerney”. It is, he said, “full of sound sense and wry, defeated wine notes”, and he summed it up as “not just laugh aloud funny, but snortingly, choke on your cornflakes funny”.

And finally, he announced that the John Avery Award, in honour of the late, great Bristol wine merchant, went to… Sediment. And we were both duly flabbergasted.

We chatted for some time after the announcement to Julian (as I think we can now call him). He had noted down (noted down!) his favourite passages from Sediment and, despite the fact that the majority seemed to be CJ’s, we were both equally flattered that such a respected writer enjoyed our book.

And we talked a little about maintaining a cellar. “We don’t have a cellar,” interjected Mrs K. “We have a basement. It just happens to be full of wine.”

André Simon himself believed that "a man dies too young if he leaves any wine in his cellar". No, no, said Julian. “You must buy more than you can possibly drink”. It was particularly helpful that this comment was made in earshot of our wives.

We are still reeling a bit from having won this award. And from celebrating having won this award. Even if we are no longer able to describe ourselves as "nearly award-winning". We’re enormously grateful to the judges, to our editor, and our extraordinarily tolerant spouses.  And we hope in the circumstances you will forgive this slightly self-indulgent report of our success.

PK