COUNT THEOTOKY AND OTHER GREEKS…

It was because of a Greek wine tasting, with Richard Congreve, the head of Heartfelt Communications, who kindly allowed me to gatecrash his ‘Wines of Northern Greece’ event during Lent (when I was teetotal and drank not a drop. I swear!) that my brother, Ben, and I decided to spend a week on a Greek island. To be fair, he needed a break more than me, given his work, and it was at his expense, so how could I resist?

Gentle splashes from the pool. Views that go on for ever. Burning sun on the skin cooled down by crystal clear seas. Water that tastes all the sweeter because of the heat. Our island was full of nothing but land and seascapes. Good walking, wonderful swimming and places to muse. I think you get the picture. In the meantime, I enjoyed a mild flirtation in a café with an attractive waitress called Elena and Ben got the careful attention of a waiter at the restaurant we visited a couple of times. Nice to be liked.

Strangely, it was at this harbour side restaurant I went to, that I drank a wine from the same vineyard as one of the exhibitors of the Heartfelt event, in London a few weeks earlier. Ktima Alpha (2006, Amyndeo, Greece) which tasted as good the second time round, if not more so given the context of drinking Greek wine in Greece. Ignore the fact I was slightly ‘heady’ at this stage and cannot read my notes back very well, this excellent plum coloured wine had the nose of cherries and creaminess on the nose coming from the blend of syrah, with merlot and xinomavro grapes. The same cherry creaminess was mixed with a hint of the oak ageing, twelve months, to bring out a spiciness, complimenting the fruitiness of the merlot and the rich mix of acidity and tannins. I hope to see Richard again for another instalment.

A couple of days later we returned (now why did we go back to that restaurant Ben? Oh yes, the waiter) and enjoyed another wine, Ktima Theotoky, Theotoky, Ropa Valley (Corfu) 2007, a white wine blend of 90% Robola and 10% Kakotrigis both of which are local varieties.

Robola is linked to varieties in the Friuli area of Northern Italy (bearing in mind that the island was part of the Venetian Empire for several generations and Count Theotoky one of the oldest producers in Corfu).

In the glass, the colour was light lemon green and as beautifully clear as the water surrounding us. On the nose we got flavours of lemon, lemon pith, flint and cream with a mild hint of melon and pear.

Diving in (to keep with the swimming analogy), the flavours that came with the initial mouthful were of ultra creamy lemons, some flint and minerality and thankfully no metallic elements, which might have cheapened it. As the sunlight dimmed and our senses heightened, interruptions from the arrival of the food, red mullet on a bed of sliced, slightly spiced, potatoes, enabled the flavours of the wine to develop in the glass bringing out its character further. The citrus’s obviousness was overtaken by an altogether smoother cream and melon. A definite melon moment; almost melon sorbet.

A well balanced acid and unctuous finish with a long flavour that gently watered out in the mouth. Even Ben couldn’t fault this, but then again, maybe he was distracted by other company, or maybe just the sheer wonderfulness of the island.

The little difficult return

I spent a very enjoyable evening in London the other week, heading to a favourite stomping ground, Marylebone, to meet one of my more glamorous City friends who had been waiting for me to finish my Lenten purging. We decided to meet for a drink to lubricate our jaws for the gossip ahead and I suggested Providores, a brilliant restaurant and tapas bar for the local chic that has a fantastically sourced wine list. Providores is owned by the New Zealand chef Peter Gordon who is a leading light in the fusion food stakes and is certainly highly admired in ‘foodie’ circles.

Seated at one of the busy long ‘posing’ tables that are in the centre of the room I decided out of curiosity on a glass of Little Rascal Arneis 2007, from Cooper’s Green, Gisbourne. I say ‘curiosity’ because, although I am qualified in wine (and got the badge, the t-shirt, and drank all the bottles), I have never heard of it before. The wine waiter suggested I give it a go describing the glowing and unctuous glass of golden wine as a zesty version of Pinot Gris.

So trying hard not to be put off by the wonderfully tempting smells coming from the plates being served around me (Hey! Is that Laksa!?) I started to take in the new aromas and tastes being offered in this glass.

As we dipped our noses in, there was an amazing sense of lemon and zest with hints of mint. Swirling the glass, aromas mixed with flint merged to produce an exciting fresh smell. Even leaving this to sit for a while (a very short time – we had a table booked at eight), the richness of aromas remained distinct and strong. All perfectly suited to the rich mix of Peter Gordon’s cuisine.

Arneis di roero, (translated from the local dialect, means the little difficult one) has its origins in the Piedmonte region of Northern Italy, from where the grape was ‘pilfered’ by a New Zealand vintner to plant in Gisbourne, on the east coast of the North Island. There the soil is rich alluvial loam (a mixture of sand, clay and decomposing organic matter, but you probably knew that already) producing high yields (the area was previously famous for big commercial production, wine boxes, that sort of thing, rather than boutique wineries. Now the situation is changing rapidly) and fine rich whites including Chardonnay and Gewürztraminers, and now arneis. The warmer climate develops the grape’s flavours and the soils, the richness.

So now you have had the science bit, back to the wine. On the tongue there was a creamy sherbet dip prickliness; lemon pith combined with spice and mint. Did I say mint? It’s minty lemon fresh! Given its spice, it is a creamier version of Gewürztraminer but with an Italian fanfare. More Enrico Caruso than Max Lorenz (although, the latter may have been more frivolous, if you know what I mean). The unctuous element, similar to pinot gris, was wonderfully balanced, bringing the two contrasting elements of cream and citrus together in a well rounded and wholesome flavour. Resting it for a short time, there was also a hint of minerality which was followed by the aftertaste of basils and sweet liquorice. The long finish provided a crisp mineral note with metallic edges and good acidity.

Mouth-wateringly good and a great recommendation from the waiter. Soft and fragrant but with a nice kick to it. Kiri te Kanawa meets Russell Crowe. I have to find this on the web as I want more of it!

A note to the boys on St Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day is looming and in the spirit of romance and adoration of the feminine I always turn to Champagne. It is the perfect and essential part of any romantic evening, and to me, is the essence of woman in a glass. Pink? Actually, I don’t do pink. Not because I am not in touch with my feminine side (I have read Cosmopolitan) and feel that the colour reflects the rosy cheeks, full lips or beating heart of the woman into who’s eyes I am staring on this day of romance. No, I just don’t really like it as much as the pure, straw coloured nectar, so why over do things?

Champagne is special, there is no denying it. A once weak and probably flabby wine is transformed through a heady, complex, time consuming, and in some cases, personal process of production – including the remouillage (the bottle turning, in some houses, by hand) and dégorgement (the removing of the dead lees from the neck) and all the tricks that make it special - into a sparkling golden drink that lends biscuits and cream, almonds, lemons (sometimes grapefruit) and pith, and floral notes to the palate. No wonder that our hero monk Dom Perignon thought the drink with the stars in was a miracle, it really is.

There is something delightfully youthful and feminine about a glass of non-vintage that has the frivolous sparkle, the light lemon zing and the creamy yeastiness. Bubbles tickle the tongue and lift spirits in a way that other wines cannot reach (apologies to Carlsberg). There is a carefree lack of formality that comes with the NV. The pop of the cork (that is meant to sound like a lady sighing in anticipation) and the whoosh of the froth as it races to the rim of the glass, the fun before the taste. Sparkles reflect bejewelled necks; the tickle on the tongue that brings a smile to the face and crinkles to the nose. Young love, hungry need or flirtation, all the anticipation of what might be, all reflected in a glass. This is what the NV is all about.

At the same time, the vintage brings with it a whole new dimension. A lighter sparkle in the glass, a stronger scent of biscuits and nuts from longer development, a more mellow flavour, all give the impression of a more mature woman, sensual and experienced, but with a glint in her eye. Less is definitely more with a vintage (proving there is still so much life in the old girl yet!) No whoosh and no need for giggles. This is serious lovers stuff, where senses, smells and tastes are heightened. Nuances with every glance, every word on the lips, every taste in the mouth. Whereas the NV is the ‘bling’, the party girl, this is the seductress. No need to impress, no anticipation of what might be but a knowledge of what will be, or already is.

Non vintage or vintage love? Diamonds? Stars? Sparkles? Either way, chuck out the chocolates, hold back the flowers, just bring out the Queen of drinks and relax. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Birthday Bordeaux

Birthdays come but once a year, as they say, and all the memories that they bring come with them. So notching up more points on the Eurostar and taking advantage of a lift from my brother, I came back home to celebrate. I admit not being good with birthdays, vanity and lost youth, missing loved ones (you know what I mean), so, thinking of something appropriate which could take me back to places and times, something which will bring a smile to my face rather than the usual scowl, I nestled some bottles of Côtes de Bourg, (Monteberiot 2004, www.monteberiot.com) in my bag, and prepared for a trip down memory lane. This wine was recommended to me by a friend who used to live in Paris many years back, who still has an overt interest in wine and hangover cures.

I saved my notes from when I went to Bordeaux with Dominique, my then girlfriend, and decided to see how it had changed: a more gentle effect on the palate [than the 2003], berries and spice, cream and wood, leaf and earth. This is for taking slowly, letting the flavours develop and draw you in. Taste buds were being teased, if not challenged. So, sitting away from the noise of the kitchen (Ben, my brother, has gone into the kitchen to ‘supervise’, poor dad); creaking floorboards and crackling fire, and awaiting my father’s classic roast of local organic Somerset beef that he does so well, I pour the wine and prepare to taste.

Swirling the glass, the colour has tinges of brown in it now, changing from vibrant ruby to a softer garnet. The smell is spicy berry, with leather and liquorice. The merlot has faded since I first tasted this wine, and the cabernet in the blend has come forward with a heady mix of ‘terroir’, musty leaves (strangely Autumnal in the midst of winter and a freezing January), and tannins which hit the nose as soon as I lean into the glass. This is still a good beefy wine with emphasis on the BEEF given the leather smells and what is for supper. There is almost a medicinal element to the leather (a bit like the witch hazel in TCP but don’t let that put you off – it’s healthy after all!) and a pepperiness from the tannins. Leather thanks in part to the clay based soils that the Bourg has as part of its unique micro climate; pepper from the tannins enriched by the barrels made of Limousin and American oak in which blended wines matured.

On the palate, a reflection of the smell, in the first instance, there is liquorice, real stewed fruits, prunes with cream, and a gentle tickle of pepper on the tongue at the finish. Again, good acidity leaves a long pepper and cream taste on the tongue but also an element of flint. Where before, rich cassis and dark berry hit the tongue, there is a big leather and stew of fruit. But then again, as this wine takes on the warmth of the room, its complexity reveals itself further. A gentle essence of powdery Parma violet reveals itself, there, but really a ghost of flavour, breaking through (all I can think of is Miss Haversham’s wedding cake. Oh Lou, you are so literary!) nodding at the fruitier flavours that tone down the earths and leathers. And then further still, the sleepy sweeter fruits wake up and the original cassis that seemed to have faded comes to the fore. Stronger on the nose and stronger on the tongue.

No one likes to be rushed, and this wine is no exception, needing that warmth and gentle teasing over time to bring out the fullness of her flavour. So, the comparison? In a very human way, and appropriately in the spirit of birthdays, this wine has developed, moved forward, but not necessarily changed. Hearty roasts? Wines that transport you to distant places and times? Log fires and lazy evenings? I should have brought along a few more bottles.

Update: I have been trying to download this on the machine but the power cuts here have been phenomenally frustrating.

White in winter?

I got a surprise phone call from my brother the other night saying that he would be in Paris on business and asking if he could he stay a bit longer. (Accountants have all the fun! I have to pay for everything but luckily I have enough savings and an accountant as my brother!)

I decided on Au petit fer à cheval, a place I love in the Marais, a tightly packed back room of a bar with a horseshoe shape (hence the name). This quartier is a bustling and trendy area housing a fantastic array of restaurants, bars, cafés, the heart of truly Gaie Paris (if you get my drift), and the Jewish quarter with some fantastic places to get a lunchtime bite to eat. To me, a hearty onion soup with cheesy croutons in this bleak weather and something like a lamb shank with flageolets, maybe, to finish, would do the trick. Winter warmers to fortify the stomach, all washed down with a spicy and tannic red.

So it was a surprise that, as we decided to catch up in the flat, he brought out a bottle of chilled Menetou Salon (2007 Lasalle). (Brrr! I shouldn’t be ungrateful, but thank goodness the flat had heating). Menetou Salon is a small wine growing area that produces wines just next door to its superior rival Sancerre, and, although the clay soils of Menetou Salon provide different flavours against the contrasting Sancerre chalk base, what it does produce is no less delicious when you think of the commercial advantage that Sancerre has in comparison. So for an old sentimentalist like me, its most superior wines are all the more precious.

The sauvignon blanc has a warm and light straw colour, and light legs as it is turned in the glass, contrasting against the grey and wet picture through my window. Dipping my nose in, the citrus notes of lemon and gooseberry merge with a hint of under ripe apricot, then give way to real grass and herbaceousness; coriander (yes, coriander! I kid you not), and a finish of cream.

Already salivating at the anticipation of the taste (and at this point I have to pause to explain to Ben why a beer just won’t do), there is lemon, again, but with hints of the tropics. Unctuous creaminess balances well with the subtle tones of pineapple, some grapefruit, but citrus acidity overall, and a mineral kick from the flint. The herbs come out as it rests; basil? Tarragon? Either way a slight liquorice tang compliments the mineral and creamy unctuousness, becoming more lemony and creamy as the glass reaches its optimum temperature. The wonderful acidity lingers in the mouth, the sense of steel and flint and lemon really do make your mouth water and thirst for more, but the finish is creamy and wonderfully round.

This is pure, balanced, complex and well made Sauvignon as the French truly make it. Not the gushing exoticism of BIG fruits from the New World. I am pleased by the excellent choice of my brother, but then we do share the same genes!

Hair of the dog

Is it me or does the world seem a more dismal and drearier place after the excitement of Christmas and the New Year parties? My thoughts of alcohol of any variety are definitely in the grim lavatory just down the corridor at the moment as I write this from the Eurostar travelling from St Pancras to Gare du Nord to the empty flat in one of the most bustling parts of Paris itself. It is strange how the echo inside the flat contrasts with the wonderfully busy road outside and the rumbles of the metro, traffic and general chatter that switches off so easily when the window shuts it out? I am looking forward to the peace and solitude while my hangover eases and my stomach goes from acid rebellion to acceptance of food and maybe a little wine later on.

My aim this year is to write a diary on as much wine as I can, not quite a bottle a day, even my liver cannot possibly take that for the full 365 days of the year, but a log of tastings inspired by Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries and with the suggestion of my good friend Werds. Maybe I should keep in the mould and call it my Cellar Diaries (but that would be pretentious if you could see the place I am living in)?

First stop this week is to the barbers for my hair, or lack of it, and a shave. Five days growth means absorbing smells in my beard that would influence my tastebuds (or so they told me at wine school). After that I will dare to go into my off license, Nicolas, for a sample of their wine of the month or suitable alternative.

In the meantime, as I summon up the courage of the first mouthful of wine and keep my stomach from going into spasms of protest, I just wanted to wish all my friends and whoever may see this a very Happy New Year...

Lou