ASDA CARRACCI 2008 SHIRAZ/CABERNET

Three quid. That's what it cost. For a complete, 75cl bottle, entirely filled with red wine. Three quid. It spoke to me at ASDA, not a place I normally find myself in, but I had to get some really cheap pillows and I saw this stuff and the wino in me couldn't take his eyes off it, so I grabbed two bottles, tucked the pillows under my oxter and lumbered off to the check-out looking (quite plainly) as if I were off in search of a park bench, a rain-free day and a homeless friend.

Then I had qualms once I got home with my pauper's treasure. Three quid is not much for anything. The price of a Saturday Guardian is starting to nudge that; likewise a chocolate brownie at a motorway services; a packet of shoe insoles is probably a bit more, a discount CD bought on impulse during a visit to a rotting British seaside resort, maybe a bit less... I mean, three quid is next to nothing. Did I really want to drink this stuff? Anyway, I brooded on it for a bit until I remembered a discussion I'd had with PK.

The gist of which was that he couldn't understand why anyone would dishonour a good wine by serving it in a cheap wine glass; whereas I didn't much care either way, the old Paris goblet having numerous virtues, including near-unbreakability, a comforting fit in the hand, good mouthful-to-contents ratio. But he went on about a good big glass being necessary to let the grog breathe and warm up and open out and tell its story to the drinker. So I invoked a reverse rationale: arguing to myself that a dodgy wine, if served in a decent glass, will be framed so effectively by its container that it'll taste like the Ribena of the gods.

Do we have any of those human-head-sized wineglasses with foot-long stems that smart people drink from nowadays? Of course not. If we ever did have them, they got broken long ago, trashed in the dishwasher or snapped carelessly in two by my delinquent fingers. But I poked around in a forgotten kitchen cupboard and what did I find but some pleasingly weighty Edwardian-looking things in cut glass or crystal, which I can only assume were given to us by someone because we quite obviously neither could nor would buy objects such as these, not in this lifetime.

So I poured ASDA into one of these Mrs. Keppel glasses, while using a regulation Utility goblet as a control (see illustration), let it settle/breathe/decompose for a few minutes, and took a swig.

My standards (see previous posts, and indeed this post) are lamentably low, but I have to say that even served in gleaming cut glass in a well-lit and temperate room, ASDA's Carricci was pretty challenging. Once I'd uncrossed my eyes and taken a reference sip from the Paris goblet - just in case the fancy glass had recently been washed in bleach or had a dead spider in the bottom - I decided that it tasted, essentially, of suede. It was disappointing. It was disappointing because I'd convinced myself that a £3 bottle was the answer to a vulgar prayer; and that even if it wasn't, I could re-invent the stuff, Pygmalion-style by dressing it up and endowing it with a phoney accent. A shabby new world would then be mine for the asking.

But it wasn't. The wine tasted of suede all the way down to the bottom, whichever glass I drank it from. And I'd bought two bottles! Luckily, I palmed at least half of the second bottle off onto No.1 son (who either didn't notice or couldn't be arsed to complain) and that dealt with the problem, such as it was. And the thing is, although this experiment was a bust, I still feel moved to try and find ways to deceive the senses by re-contextualising the drink. Already I am planning to decant the cheapest of beverages into baronial containers, consume it blindfolded, smoke while drinking, eat cheese before during and after, glug straight from the bottle and out of unfamiliar receptacles (tea cups; ink bottles; Tupperware). The mind/body nexus is mutable and capable of being tricked. I will not let this one go.

CJ

Familae Piccini Chianti Riserva 2007

We have two categories of wine in our household. There is The Cellar, which My Affianced believes is protected by trip wires and light beams like something out of Mission Impossible. The Cellar is wine for guests, for special occasions, and for that dim and distant day when some of it might actually come to maturity. (Like sons, that day never seems to be when the calendar predicts, but moves to its own, unfathomable timetable.)

And then there is kitchen wine, so-called because that’s where it’s kept, to be drunk everyday, cooked with, or downed by sons and friends without repercussions. It’s a key tenet of my choice of kitchen wines that (a) they are inexpensive, and so can be used in a carefree fashion, and (b) that everyone will like them. Hence one of the staples of the kitchen wine rack is Chianti.

Chianti has a bit of tradition behind it. The very word classico on a label suggests something more serious than one of those New World attempts at ironic humour, or a gruesome pun on a region of France. (Goats Do Roam, anyone? Languid Duck? Or should that be Long Dog? ) Chianti is also a lighter red, which suits My Affianced more than the heavyweight stuff. (Which, of course, is in The Cellar…)

So when I spot what appears to be a bargain in the Chianti region (as it were), the chance of a kitchen wine with cellar interest is just too good to miss.

When it comes to wine, a little knowledge can be a dangerous (and occasionally expensive) thing. Bear that in mind, CJ. Knowing that riserva means a chianti has been aged for a statutory number of years, and knowing that modern chiantis succeed by blending just a touch of another grape with the traditional sangiovese, I was immediately lured to the Familae Piccini Chianti Riserva, which ticked all those boxes. Plus, it looked like a bargain.

Piccini’s regular, bog-standard Orange Label chianti was in Sainsbury’s at £6.59; but the better Superiore, normally £7.99, was reduced to £5.32; and the top of the range Riserva, normally £10.99, was reduced a staggering 50% to just £5.49. For the top of the range! An eleven quid wine for half price! And – here was the clincher – it had a security tag!!

Now call me miserly, call me mad, but I have never bought a wine from Sainsbury’s bearing a security tag. Frankly, if I was spending enough on a bottle to merit a security tag, it wouldn’t come from Sainsbury’s. So this was confirmation that I had spotted a real bargain. Along with the luxury condoms and the Mach 3 razorblades, this was clearly a shoplifter’s favourite.

And was it my imagination, or did the woman on the check-out give the label an appraising look as she removed the tag. And give me an admiring glance, too? Clearly a man, as Damon Albarn would say, who knows his claret from his Beaujolais.

Well. Once I got home, I did some research, as we who have a little knowledge of wine are wont to do. Am I in good company amongst the reviewers?

And here, in November 2008, is Jane McQuitty in The Times recommending the Piccini Riserva 2005, a “a bright, beefy, leather, truffle and spice-laden chianti” – reduced to £4.99.

In December 09, here’s the York student website recommending the 2006 Familae Piccini Chianti Reserva: "Rich and fruity. Good with lamb. A bottle for that Sunday roast with the housemates, perhaps?" – £5.49 was £10.99, Sainsbury’s.

And in April 2010, here’s Tim Curran in the Mirror : "Sainsbury's has superior Italian red Familae Piccini Chianti Riserva DOCG 2007 with its cherry flavours that go with red meat and game (half-price at £5.49 until Tuesday)."

So, what we are actually talking about here is a five quid wine. Not a security-protected, £10.99 bottle, unless you are unfortunate or stupid enough to buy it during the rare periods when it is not reduced. A wine which every year sells for £5, or thereabouts. A little knowledge which, frankly, changed my whole perspective.

As a five quid kitchen wine, this is perfectly good; fresh, light, inoffensive, moderately fruity and with a slight spiciness on the palate to give it some grip.

But as an eleven quid cellar wine, it is shallow, lacking in depth or complexity, with no richness or depth. It disappears in the mouth, with too little aftertaste.

Take your choice as to which is an appropriate response. The wine’s the same, it’s the expectations which are different – driven by price, and a little knowledge. Oh, and a security tag.

PK

Tesco California Red - Barbera, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon and a load of others...

It's been so long since I drank this wine, I'll be frank with you, I can't really remember much about it. I've been away a bit, you know how it is, things get disorganised and...I can remember buying it (Tesco Metro, £4.15, got some sandwiches at the same time, it's etched in my mind) and I can remember sitting at the kitchen table and staring at it for a while, preparatory to drinking it, and then: it was red; it was wine; I was left with an empty bottle.

This, of course, makes it sound like a Ray Milland/Lost Weekend blackout, but, honestly, it wasn't. I didn't even drink it in one. No, the problem is that I have a poorly-developed sense of taste and an equally immature capacity for taste recollection. Which makes me hugely unsuited, clearly, for a job as say, a wine-taster, but well-suited to write for Sediment, provided we make room for certain observations:

1) Sediment is only partly about wine as such. Naturally I don't want to drink any fermented grape beverage that blinds me/makes me sick/is likely to prompt spontaneous combustion at home or in a public place. At the same time, I exist in a netherworld in which price point is King, with palate considerations down among the level of Rook (screwtop fastening and attractiveness of label coming in round about Queen and Knight). My ideal is never to spend more than £5 on a bottle, and that's it, that's my ethos. Now, PK, my oppo, takes a different view. Not only does he know his Merlot from his Pinot Noir, he is quite capable of spending £8 or even £10 on a bottle if he considers it a good deal (see his last, fiendishly clever, post). He even has a small cellar, which he maintains assiduously. In this scenario, I become Igor to his Baron Frankenstein, but there's nothing I can do about it. I aim low, and hope to undercut even that. One of the greatest of all book titles is Reach For The Ground, by the late Jeffrey Bernard. Says it all.

2) How much does a novel provenance matter? Another underlying Sediment objective: get the stuff from somewhere you don't expect. Mace and Tesco have already been name-checked in Sediment reports, but how far do we take it? I am looking forward to spending quality time in Lidl, Aldi, Costcutter and the rest, but this is only the start. France and Spain have yielded happy past encounters with stuff that comes in unmarked plastic flagons and recycled Badoit bottles, and I am keen to bring back those good times, just as I am keen to have a go at all manner of home-brewed filth and Drinks That Cannot Be Named. Let's have a poke around the back of the garage! Just to see.

3) Contexts and evasions. Is it really true that a cheap red wine, properly decanted, is indistinguishable in quality from a decent red served from the bottle? Can you reliably serve the decent stuff at the start of a dinner party before covertly switching to gutrot (round about the arrival of a fatty, pungent, main course) without your guests noticing? Does wine taste better if you drink it greedily and selfishly on your own, or convivially with another person? Hugh Johnson's World Atlas Of Wine: aid to understanding, or the wiring diagram for a ham radio you will never build?

There are more questions. In the interim? Tesco Calfornia red? I think I liked it. In fact, I'm almost certain I did. It was red, wasn't it?

CJ