tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72503750300811453872024-02-19T00:32:27.857-08:00St. Claire and The Notes from The Dregs(wine, what I'm tasting and what I'm thinking about)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-63231432225768680702018-05-28T11:05:00.003-07:002018-05-28T11:05:41.535-07:00Wine lists part oneI've not really posted anything for the last couple of years on account of my being really quite lazy. Also, I've had one or two other job related things to occupy my time.<br />
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However, over the last couple of years I've had some time to think about what it is that we do as sommeliers. Why it is that no one really cares what we think, well save from those people that sell to us, and why no one knows who we are (seriously, I've worked as a somm for a long time and I think I can only name about two other people who are somms (kidding, it's more like four)).<br />
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Basically it comes down to the difference between being a curator (yes, I understand you've read various critics complaining about the idea of curated lists but really if you agree with them and not me you can fuck right off an stop reading now) and a creator.<br />
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Most sommeliers in reality create nothing, in reality most of us pick and choose things off wine lists that have already been laboriously created by our wine merchant friends. We, under pressure from our bosses, aim to buy from as few different suppliers as possible. This, I can assure you, makes our lives as easy as possible. We then, post hoc justify most of our decisions (again, another thing I can assure you I'm excellent at) as being in service of the food, the style of the restaurant, the phase of the moon or any other handy reason we might have found.<br />
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I'm not trying to do my profession a disservice, I'm honestly not, I'm merely trying to enunciate the multiple hurdles that come between a sommelier and their ideal list. I like to think we've all got ideal lists knocking about in us, we just need to find the right place to show them.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-59249945071950536322016-01-13T15:01:00.002-08:002016-01-13T15:01:27.426-08:00Allocations<div class="p1">
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I like wine. There are some wines that for personal reasons I really like; they might remind me of times gone by, they might just be particularly tasty, but they often seem to fall into the category of wines that are on sodding allocation. </div>
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I called les Caves to enquire about Sorrenberg Chardonnay (a wine which I’m pretty certain I was one of the first people in the UK to buy as I ordered it on the day of their first showing it publicly), it transpired there were 15 bottles left. Obviously I took them (not a whiff of the Gamay though, a wine I seriously regret enthusing about all those years ago), but now being in possession of the wines leaves a slight conundrum. Is it acceptable to be exclusive regarding their sale? Obviously I’m not going to push the wines, they’ll be gone in a fortnight if I start to tell people what I think of them, but what about denying I have them. What about it someone I don’t really like comes in to ask about them? Apologise, I couldn’t get any more, how about this fabulous Tassie example? </div>
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Have I really turned into Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons? Isn’t this pretty much everything I hated about snootiness in the wine trade? </div>
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Anyway, I think I’ve decided to keep 6 bottles back for myself (fuck9ing glichen alright) and then to have the bottles available, but just not to push them (well unless you seem cool and really into wine and in need of tasting iconic cool climate new wave Australian Chardonnay, in which case I’ve got a LOAD of things that you NEED to taste, Sorrenberg included).</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-15880117977320910972015-10-06T05:11:00.005-07:002015-10-08T13:56:42.979-07:00Greece<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fpV80aACu-Qxcu0713wsRAysQMo706h81W9BuXqZcL5rJ_WS2xWteFMZj8auiImNSfANJl_NMB4JKpuwKjwT5Va4JJxgmLYYd21s4C_BdJFpZFM4jHwxSzOemGwDgNbrNyQylg2t-ug/s1600/S0077054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fpV80aACu-Qxcu0713wsRAysQMo706h81W9BuXqZcL5rJ_WS2xWteFMZj8auiImNSfANJl_NMB4JKpuwKjwT5Va4JJxgmLYYd21s4C_BdJFpZFM4jHwxSzOemGwDgNbrNyQylg2t-ug/s400/S0077054.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
It's odd, for a country whose wines I've spent the last three years pursuing and working with I've found it remarkably difficult to write about Greece and her wines.<br />
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Perhaps it's the fact that I've not visited the countries vineyards, not emptied the grit of Amyndeon sand out of my shoes not, at least by my standards, really gotten stuck in. My drafts folder is stuffed to the gills with my attempts to put together a piece on late night Xinomavro tastings or wildly speculative pieces on the aromatic similarity between Moschofilero and Torrrontes (if in doubt between the two Moschofilero is more mineral and slightly fuller bodied on the palate).<br />
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Anyway all that is by the by, the weekend just past was the inaugural Greek Wine Festival as put together by Theodore Kyriakou of the Greek Larder, and though possibly not as packed as he'd have hoped I thought it was a success. More to the point it got me thinking about my own relationship to Greek wines and how it has developed over the past few years.<br />
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When I first started casting my net for Greek bottles, there were a few obvious places to look. <a href="http://www.hdnwines.co.uk/" target="_blank">Hallgarten Druitt</a>, the current home of the esteemed Steve Daniels, ex-Oddbins buyer and the person who introduced pretty much an entire generation to the new(in the 90s)wave of Greek wine. Along with HgD, I had a small deli in Bloomsbury with a pretty fun selection, though little did I realise then quite how much trouble it would be getting any sort of straight answer out of them.<br />
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Thankfully I soon discovered <a href="http://www.eclecticwines.co.uk/" target="_blank">Mary from Eclectic</a> (I think it was <a href="ttps://twitter.com/gusgluck" target="_blank">Gus Gluck</a> who suggested I contact her) and with a neat synchronicity I was back in contact with <a href="http://www.theatreofwine.com/" target="_blank">Theatre of Wine</a>, who dealt with Eclectic's wines for smaller restaurant sized orders.<br />
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Things were falling neatly into place. I could now fill my list up with Alpha Estate, Domaine Gerovasilliou, Thymiopoulos, Hatszidakis, Gaia Estate, soon there would be Economou to flesh out the top end and no end of exciting, fresh and vibrant whites. I was starting to realise that far from being a country defined by her coast line, as far as wine was concerned it was her mountains that set the tone.<br />
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And then, all of a sudden I was sitting at a table this last Saturday, a glass of Thymiopoulos' Earth and Sky 2012 thrumming with earthy, black olive and orange peel aromatics, bawdy almost, like catching up with an old friend in a noisy pub, next to Dalmarra 2011, an estate that was new to me. Apparently the winemakers are good friends and it was obvious why, this was a little more rustic, the fruit toned down a little bit, there was a dustiness, the vineous equivalent of the 6 o clock shadow of someone who is in the fields at 4.30am. It finally felt right. I've still not managed any sodding vineyard visits though.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-88929755121748472022015-06-07T03:00:00.002-07:002015-06-07T03:00:46.659-07:00Eat father eat. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-X9pfR1TaCgNQMrAOitxf4y9pZTK9FugmbLatEKLzw9BsHgmY7Zlj-KcQXdleIuGS37w-ga7LXf7wZAnhvHQ7yQx6yFbx9dbKkbe8oKz-nfbipgDKQEOJcKwa80xorVFIUR95JMMLGk/s1600/13970617346_7595d3d256_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-X9pfR1TaCgNQMrAOitxf4y9pZTK9FugmbLatEKLzw9BsHgmY7Zlj-KcQXdleIuGS37w-ga7LXf7wZAnhvHQ7yQx6yFbx9dbKkbe8oKz-nfbipgDKQEOJcKwa80xorVFIUR95JMMLGk/s400/13970617346_7595d3d256_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
When I was growing up we didn't eat out all that much, well, not unless we were on holiday, but that's a different topic all together. There were a few places that we'd get take aways from, fish and chips after swimming or trampolining of an evening and very occasionally a Chinese from the Golden Coin. However the restaurant that figures strongest in my childhood eating memories is Ye Bambam Ye at Cemetery Junction (nothing at all like the execrable film presents it to be). This was a Turkish place, split between a take away on one side and a smallish traditionally decorated restaurant on the other. Dark carpets, shishas and tapestries were the order of the day as far as decoration was concerned and for us Edwards children it was the nec plus ultra of dining sophistication. It's funny thinking back to the sorts of dishes I remember, platters of rice, grilled meats and vegetables, chilli and garlic dips, flat bread, actually all the things that I love to find in restaurants now.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The restaurant was to the left, what is now sadly the Up The Junction bar</td></tr>
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Moving swiftly through the wilderness years of living in Glasgow where despite BBQ Kings' best efforts, their chicken shish was really only a sideline to their bread winners of large doners and chips'n'cheese (both yellow and orange cheese if memory serves), I found myself travelling to Turkey with my sister to visit various Anatolian Greek sites as part of her degree. This naturally meant we would spend several days in Istanbul, where from a hotel in the Beyoglu we did all of the touristy things and ate quite a few kebabs. Sadly, beyond a couple of slightly disappointing fish dishes I don't have any great recollections of the food, slightly odd given that even at that time I was beginning to pay undue attention to whatever it was I shovelled into my mouth.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh03vKbX2gbMXqEx7ZExG4cz3JNtjYIAtvf8BdMalqMQK5eG4HEK8-EC3gToRW2Ku1wMiyDIPfmriQc6GZz8AMqrOyZVrGablcQU-Byx17aH8ceL5Qy5rDSAcSjw7senPIdoBSqZs0f7SQ/s1600/1927861_8134860359_3487_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh03vKbX2gbMXqEx7ZExG4cz3JNtjYIAtvf8BdMalqMQK5eG4HEK8-EC3gToRW2Ku1wMiyDIPfmriQc6GZz8AMqrOyZVrGablcQU-Byx17aH8ceL5Qy5rDSAcSjw7senPIdoBSqZs0f7SQ/s320/1927861_8134860359_3487_n.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">25th birthday dinner somewhere in Istanbul</td></tr>
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Several years later I was in Izmir for a wine conference, the European wine bloggers conference to be precise, hold oddly in the Asian side of Turkey, but I'll drop my geographic pedantry and get back to the food, which with one exception was pretty awful. Large banqueting style dinners are never the way to get under the skin of a countries eating culture. Thankfully my desire to avoid paying extortionate hotel fees had seen me book a place in the centre of the town some twenty minutes walk from the conference site, a walk that took me down the back lanes of Izmir and right past the lines of outdoor kebab stalls, intoxicating would be one way of describing the smell. Rickety white plastic tables and chairs, seemingly snaffled from a children's party (the only way I could explain their diminutive size) would be swiftly wiped down while I drank sweet black tea. For the record I favour half a sugar cube per glass, yes I concede that over the course of a day one edges into diabetes threatening levels of sugar consumption, but it is only on holiday that this happens. Then the unshaven chap in the filthy white apron would bring me my wrap. The small round flat bread wrapped ice cream cone like round freshly sliced beef (I know it was beef because when I queried what it was he put his hands to the side of his head like horns and proceeded to moo, who needs to speak the language) that had been grilled on a horizontal spit in front of wooden embers. A small amount of lettuce, tomato, cucumber and yoghurt completed the snack. I returned every day of my stay. I was hands down the best food I'd ever eaten in Turkey, smokey, succulent, tantalisingly fatty and just the right size to allow me to eat a modicum of whatever rubbish was going to be put in front of me later in the day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wGfyxmZTbD70noHR3y2xyOwpdZXrPKPeN6-a0RdaO34F_q7Wepdxu28WNrZ5AI4CnAWC-kHxz2t_1PV9BKOqgzOGUJEpoj-b6bQbgChRlFqa1RwdpkY1E18PbqbKMRvxJbbTxAEtz64/s1600/13971275086_d5605cf1cf_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wGfyxmZTbD70noHR3y2xyOwpdZXrPKPeN6-a0RdaO34F_q7Wepdxu28WNrZ5AI4CnAWC-kHxz2t_1PV9BKOqgzOGUJEpoj-b6bQbgChRlFqa1RwdpkY1E18PbqbKMRvxJbbTxAEtz64/s400/13971275086_d5605cf1cf_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How it's done properly</td></tr>
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I now live in South London, disgustingly close to the palace of joy that is FM Mangal and as such have lamb shish and adana wraps mere moments from my door, it's no surprise that they now know me by name.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-85148069465191631192015-06-05T13:46:00.000-07:002015-06-06T01:52:30.325-07:00Ragu and authenticity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezxOGs-ElW7Kq-aqh-s0HFeR_eeERD4nFCZqhmUcyDActK9YsDuH4XbqT0NL2bnaokcZcFzP8KBKOOmsBFAaOeap40BWQ9KR6qz53kCvRETFcLqGzwEJaq0kkTXcWKTTAO72257yqhWM/s1600/DSCF3789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezxOGs-ElW7Kq-aqh-s0HFeR_eeERD4nFCZqhmUcyDActK9YsDuH4XbqT0NL2bnaokcZcFzP8KBKOOmsBFAaOeap40BWQ9KR6qz53kCvRETFcLqGzwEJaq0kkTXcWKTTAO72257yqhWM/s400/DSCF3789.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
I think about authenticity quite a lot. It tends to haunt me when I'm thinking about wine lists, I want the wines I list to speak of the places from which they come. I want to show grapes that belong, made by people that understand them. I feel similarly about cooking, I've been to so many wonderful places and eaten food made by people who've lived there for generations cooking the things that they grew up with. It's while eating food like this that one tastes the authenticity that comes from the marriage of product and place, season and style, and yes I'll accept that much of this may well be entirely of my own imagining it's still very satisfying.<br />
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This tends to cause me concern when cooking at home. How ever can one hope to emulate this on a daily basis? Instead, I fall back on the kinds of dishes I like. No I don't live in the Eastern Med, however I'm quite happy to get very liberal with my sumac application. Nope I'm not in Dhaka (never been, sadly) but that's not going to stop me playing with panch phoron when I'm grilling a chicken, however that lack of authenticity does still linger in the back of my mind.<br />
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Anyway, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/oakfarmhenley?fref=nf" target="_blank">Sam</a>, one of my old friends from Pony Club (yes I did write that, and yes you can fuck right off if you have an issue with it) posted to facebook that they were slaughtering some of their one year old sheep. I was actually slightly slow off the mark as my sister had already bagsied one, needless to say several weeks later we were in possession of about half a hogget and a bag of offal bits because 'I figured you'd find something to do with them'. Nothing quite like a fun challenge based around somewhat unidentifiable frozen bits of sheep in plastic bags.<br />
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Now I'm quite an adventurous cook, though this does come with a degree of worry. I guess I'm consciously torn between my principles and what I've actually had experience cooking with. Suffice to say I didn't really know what I was going to do with several lamb hearts. I've cooked with ox heart before, but I didn't really know to what extent lamb's heart was going to be a) tough, b) gamey, c) tasty. So I went for the easy option and decided (courtesy of a suggestion by @siepert) to make a ragu with it.<br />
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It was here that I hit against the issue of authenticity, ragu is essentially an Italian peasants dish, I'm guessing made from whatever was around with the glut of ripe tomatoes that arrived in the summer. I'm neither Italian, nor is it the height of summer in my groaning kitchen garden (I don't have one) so this left me with several options. I could find the best ragu recipe I knew of and follow it word for word (with obvious offaly substitutions) or I could wing it. Naturally I started with the best intentions, did all sorts of research, then drank half a bottle of cheap white wine, went shopping, forgot to pick up various things and ended up winging it.<br />
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A ragu starts with a good soffritto, that is finely diced onion, carrot and celery, two parts of the first, to one part each of the second and third. I forgot to buy celery so my aromatic base was left to resemble a castrated Toulouse Lautrec. Still, I added a shit load of garlic instead, after all I like garlic and for various reasons there's a sack of it in my hall way. This was left to sweat and turn all tanned and golden while I fortified myself with the remaining half bottle of cheap white and turned my attentions to the lamb offal.<br />
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What I had thought was going to be two lamb hearts turned out to be one lamb heart and a lamb's liver, no harm no foul I figured, liver's got great flavour and will be equally delicious if somewhat more frustrating to dice finely and neatly. The heart was actually quite beautiful, much more human in scale than that of an ox and oddly reminded me of something one might see in a piece of devotional stained glass, the fat around the top appearing almost like mother of pearl or loosely applied cake icing. On slicing it in half I was stuck by the mechanical functionality of it, something you don't really see when cutting more prosaic pieces of meat. Ventricles and atria, muscles stretched at angles ready to pump. I was genuinely quite taken aback by it's elegance. Still it was nothing that a couple of minutes with a sharp blade couldn't reduce to neatish chunks.<br />
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Offal sorted, and by this time my veg base approaching readiness, it was browned off in a hot pan, added to the soffritto, swiftly followed by similarly browned beef and pork mince and five cans of plum tomatoes (aisle three of Morisson's being Camberwell's equivalent of a bounteous tomato crop), several bay leaves, two smallish sprigs of rosemary, some water, some soy sauce and fish sauce for authenticity (to any raised eye brows I counter you with several texts pertaining to garum and its ubiquity in Roman cuisine) and a healthy slug of wine.<br />
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This was then left for a period of time, roughly equivalent to the time it took me to get on a bus to Euston, meet several friends from Manchester to catch up over a few pints before catching a somewhat delayed bus back home.<br />
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Duly fortified with both grape and grain I arrived back at my house to be welcomed by the scent of long slow cooking, whatever it was I'd made had worked to some degree, indeed on tasting it'd acquired the umami richness of long cooked tomatoes and meat and I'd go so far as to say it was delicious. Also, possibly as a result of my hearty fortification I felt able to pronounce on its authenticity. I'd made a version of a classic dish, without any particular adhesion to instruction in a way that I felt at least matched the spirit of someone needing to feed a family whilst faced with a set of basic ingredients and a source of heat. In which I found at least a temporary respite from nagging doubts as to my worthiness to cook/play with other cultures heritages.<br />
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Indeed I'm happy to say that it was magnificent with linguine and a gremolata (@foodstories suggestion, and one that really completed the dish by adding the requisite freshness and top notes that its bass heavy meatiness required). Also, the four tubs that I froze sated my latent desire to attempt some sort of frugality with regards to my food expenditure.<br />
An all round success.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXHddbtJ1U1iiXdQ57MXMqj5HpBXzws-kuTFSddeJOKDvYVCFlM5qEKpzOAo3evDPB2_u-_a2IYcJCk1SEhsDn7eV9O_YeSpl8PJWLULH7XSzx9oVn-Iyta3sZPgHH9lgeljsWqunv2E/s1600/11424514_10153356632817402_1030297280_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXHddbtJ1U1iiXdQ57MXMqj5HpBXzws-kuTFSddeJOKDvYVCFlM5qEKpzOAo3evDPB2_u-_a2IYcJCk1SEhsDn7eV9O_YeSpl8PJWLULH7XSzx9oVn-Iyta3sZPgHH9lgeljsWqunv2E/s320/11424514_10153356632817402_1030297280_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quite possibly the lamb whose heart and liver I cooked, if not then one of its kin.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-15907862621433782202015-02-23T13:00:00.000-08:002015-02-24T02:11:44.519-08:00Pinot Noir masterclass with Sarah Ahmed<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLjycmZbaMYFGoavUWklhrFN3H2Yp4AsXkp-izeNn6n9xFNHlV60gB7kXy4MCWr-626kmFH0wBeVeXIuW8sJuHgT-ygdAKsR6ixAXuWQj5YfqIn7aaHkHQKy34al7qeqAp_7WfWqa7_E/s1600/IMG_2803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLjycmZbaMYFGoavUWklhrFN3H2Yp4AsXkp-izeNn6n9xFNHlV60gB7kXy4MCWr-626kmFH0wBeVeXIuW8sJuHgT-ygdAKsR6ixAXuWQj5YfqIn7aaHkHQKy34al7qeqAp_7WfWqa7_E/s1600/IMG_2803.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GRINGOTT'S BANK (no goblins though only Aussies)</td></tr>
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I visited Australia many moons ago on Tim Wildman's inaugural James Busby tour and properly fell for the place. I was there just after a period of extended drought, a bunch of hot vintages that ended while I was there. Which means I've got memories of flooded fields in Victoria and a Koorong that was unusually very full of water..<br />
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However I digress, the good folk at wine Australia had put on a Pinot Noir masterclass at Australia house to be hosted by Sarah Ahmed, one last minute email and I was there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oGA4vM1YexdQmPkGgWWdTVZUzO18k3WAi0au_HbvRVsvcE2IK_miRulujYO_Cymf_rM1K1w6ODUJ538HPftGhut0tVOdE4RilRGK4VK5p_8EWsMA1ZMYwMlV4hFDNYJ9Xipv6ZqJS2g/s1600/IMG_2806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oGA4vM1YexdQmPkGgWWdTVZUzO18k3WAi0au_HbvRVsvcE2IK_miRulujYO_Cymf_rM1K1w6ODUJ538HPftGhut0tVOdE4RilRGK4VK5p_8EWsMA1ZMYwMlV4hFDNYJ9Xipv6ZqJS2g/s1600/IMG_2806.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>On show were two Yarra Pinots, one from <a href="http://www.innocentbystander.com.au/" target="_blank">Giant Steps</a>, one from <a href="http://www.debortoli.com.au/home.html" target="_blank">De Bortoli</a>, and three from Mornington, respectively <a href="http://www.paringaestate.com.au/" target="_blank">Paringa</a>, <a href="http://www.tenminutesbytractor.com.au/" target="_blank">10X</a> and <a href="http://crittendenwines.com.au//" target="_blank">Crittenden</a>. Now I've visited De Bortoli and Giant Steps and I know 10X pretty well but Paringa and Crittenden were somewhat unknown.<br />
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First up a brilliant comparison of Northern Yarra (Dixon's Creek) all MV4/5 and no whole bunch against Apple Jack vineyard from Giant Steps in Gladystone in the steeper South Eastern part of the region. Filigree dark fruits, delectable acidity and tannin balnace with silken dark/raspberry fruit and delicate perfume was the order of the day for the Apple Jack fruit versus chunkier dried red berries and exotic fruit with some forceful tannin from the Dixon's Creek bottles.<br />
Things I noticed; 11 and 12 were noticeably leaner with more silken tannins and better balanced alcohols, guess this is symptomatic of the vintages following the cessation of drought.<br />
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As for the Mornington wines, the Paringa samples were lovely but lacked the focus of the Yarra single vineyard ones, though the 11 (coolest year) was a very appealing shy prettiness. The 10X seemed to exemplify the cooler up the hill sites perfectly, especially the 12 and 11. The 12 in particular showing a beautiful aromatic herbaceousness. The Crittenden wines, from a Northern down the hill site were noticeably more muscular, much more whole bunch and a lot darker in colour. Oddly I loved the 09, from the vintage with all the bush fires in the Yarra (hot as hell) it showed a shameless opulence of soft fruit and perfume, not the best of the selection but hard not to love.<br />
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Finally we got a little sample of the Crittenden cri de coeur 2013, 100% whole bunch. Filthy tasty, all stalky green edges along with dark ripe fruit. Over the top, but in such an appealing way, it reminded me of the way that some natural wines flirt with shittiness just to the point where it's great and complex and earthy but just stopping before it becomes an issue. Not for everyone, but damn it I loved it.<br />
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A superb way to spend an afternoon reminding myself of why I'm partial to Australian Pinot.<br />
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Post tasting quick and dirty hummus recipe.<br />
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Take a jar of chick peas, wash throughly and pop in the food processor, add 3 large cloves of garlic and about a large table spoon of tahini (you've got a jar sitting in the fridge right?), a generous pinch (about a teaspoon's worth in my house) and blitz. Drizzle in quite a lot of olive oil until it looks nice and creamy. Drizzle with more olive oil then chop some coriander onto it, sprinkle with paprika and eat with torn bits of the flat bread you bought at the shop after you got off the bus. Should take about 3 minutes to sort out and will leave you with plenty for lunch/breakfast etc the net day.<br />
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Oh and I thoroughly amused myself on the bus back by listening to L7 Bricks are heavy.<br />
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Oh and I was a bit surprised at how evolved a lot of the wines were colour wise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-1504216950193109512015-02-07T11:08:00.001-08:002015-02-07T11:08:37.582-08:00The thrill of the familiar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg374e0tCnDzsHvVPtjzpixGI1ZdWPmw_PPiq50ifqnpPchzeW8v_egwONTpSNgP2I9tOKVQr9AsT4e7d7X7YnkGhBms-tnhgmpDjB78jAerXzD90-uX3Yu9HxZphjR60HFkhXeMTaasYw/s1600/IMG_2556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg374e0tCnDzsHvVPtjzpixGI1ZdWPmw_PPiq50ifqnpPchzeW8v_egwONTpSNgP2I9tOKVQr9AsT4e7d7X7YnkGhBms-tnhgmpDjB78jAerXzD90-uX3Yu9HxZphjR60HFkhXeMTaasYw/s1600/IMG_2556.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>Some of you who know me may know that the last year or so have been spent throwing myself at the rock face that is Peckham Bazaar. Part of this has been an almost complete immersion in the wines of the Eastern Mediterranean (of which more to come). However it's taking a step back when you realise quite how much you love other things.<br />
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<a href="http://www.marcel-lapierre.com/#/home" target="_blank">Marcel Lapierre</a>. One of the gang of five, an acolyte of Jules Chauvet. If not quite the key stone then one of the pieces of the arch that stands beneath almost everything I love about French wine. Sadly I never met Marcel, I did meet his wife and son at le dive bouteille a few years back, I think I babbled at them for a few minutes before I was dragged away. In my defence I was flirting with hypothermia due to the intense snowy cold. Needless to say I've been a fan of Lapierre's wines for many years now, probably dating back to the days when I used to sell bucket loads of his Chateau Cambon by the glass at le Bouchon Breton.<br />
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As I was in Brixton I popped into <a href="https://twitter.com/marketrowwines" target="_blank">Market Row wines</a> where they had Lapierre's Beaujolais Nouveau 2014 two for twenty quid. I couldn't really pass on that.<br />
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Maybe I was just feeling a bit emotional but the first sip was like diving into a pool of happy recollections. Slightly vegetal, chewy cherries, some bramble fruit. Structure that just makes you want to drink more, a back ground funkiness that's flirting around the line of noticeability and ends up just adding a savoury complexity. Like the vinous red rag to a bull, it just pulls you back, daring you to try and put your finger on exactly what it is that you appreciate quite so much. And oh, god it tastes like so many evenings enjoying Lapierre, Metras, Lapalou, Foillard, the rush of recollection, the thrill of the familiar.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-56432417299901759202015-01-12T02:17:00.000-08:002015-01-12T02:20:49.381-08:00Corner shop blending masterclass 2.0<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIDgvp_0zpke7gRQ2cfZML_KwEiZWoP_CUKH93Drshjgsr9w8VIBq6v156Yu2fvhD0xSPGW6Sjof_-4T7fLfjKBO5-4KtOUl5NZvtXZuUNwH7AF6AiRI8Zu51b0fKUDGiIDcW2HtAwXA/s1600/IMG_2553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIDgvp_0zpke7gRQ2cfZML_KwEiZWoP_CUKH93Drshjgsr9w8VIBq6v156Yu2fvhD0xSPGW6Sjof_-4T7fLfjKBO5-4KtOUl5NZvtXZuUNwH7AF6AiRI8Zu51b0fKUDGiIDcW2HtAwXA/s1600/IMG_2553.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>Round two, this is where shit starts to get real.<br />
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By shit I'm obviously referring to Jacob's Creek 'Classic' Merlot 2013, and by real I'm referring to it getting into my glass.<br />
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I've got ahead of myself, the rationale was fucking on point, the reasoning was spot on. Baroncini, Chianti Riserva 2011 (apparently 100% Sangiovese, though this was something I read on the internet so I'm pinching salt), cheap dirty Chianti, matched with a nice and ripe Aussie Merlot. The only way I could have been more positive about the sheer logic of my blending decision would have been to add a third of Poppers to the blend.<br />
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I figured, flabby, overly fruity Merlot, vegetal and tart Sangiovese, a blend matched by the more internationally orientated Super-Tuscan winemakers. How could I possibly go wrong.<br />
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Well.<br />
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Baroncini, Chianti Riserva 2011. We're a bit beyond wicker baskets, but not all that far. Lifted orange peel, bitter cherries, something unpleasantly metallic about the tannins on the palate, possibly a wink of meatiness just as it's slinking out the back entrance. Poor.<br />
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Jacob's Creek 'Classic' Merlot 2013. As I've already implied, I had high hopes for this combination. However those hopes were dashed, dashed like an ill prepared ship against the rocks. I wasn't so much tasting the wine as mourning the poor conscripted sailors, salt water filling their lungs, the sharp coastal rocks smashing their skulls. Their dreams passing, drowned, just like my hopes for a second week of blending magic.<br />
A sort of fizzy pop bramble fake fruit nose, this barely tastes alcoholic. A simulacrum of wine, it reminds me of the the paintings and carvings of pineapples you find in old churches that were made by people who'd only ever heard of them. Similar but oh so different. On the palate it's as if the wine knows how poor it is as it disappears, vanishing in an embarrassed flash.<br />
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Well onto the evenings blending. I started with a straight 50:50 and you know what it pointed towards a better wine, I could see how a plusher Merlot would have worked a treat, it'd have been like the austere priest straight out of seminary college putting on love handles as he settles down to village life. It wasn't though. The Jacob's Creek was so thin and unprepossessing that it just added nothing, maybe it diluted the Chianti a bit, shit I'm clutching at straws here.<br />
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Result. I've given up, I'm cooking with the Jacob's Creek and saving the rest of the Chianti for when I've got something better to ameliorate it with.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-19139701945886658092015-01-11T04:47:00.000-08:002015-01-11T04:47:36.585-08:00Enira or the benefits of cellaring<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhLtIHMizCSXs3A_-dX3Xakr4QZ8l6TEOtZ3iAIEhLQf1bkJESa0tLteGkwNH4YuR6yZrnP6UjZeIreWJ4DT0xiQEzG-s97l9k6HoAcE4XdXRiORbLbWEgvZtp9fQy3XTTJmo2EtLH0o/s1600/IMG_2544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhLtIHMizCSXs3A_-dX3Xakr4QZ8l6TEOtZ3iAIEhLQf1bkJESa0tLteGkwNH4YuR6yZrnP6UjZeIreWJ4DT0xiQEzG-s97l9k6HoAcE4XdXRiORbLbWEgvZtp9fQy3XTTJmo2EtLH0o/s1600/IMG_2544.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>I'm not the greatest when it comes to placing events correctly in my own personal timeline. I tend to joke that there's been too much wine under the bridge for me to be expected to remember exactly where and when things actually took place. Really, I think I'm just not that great an observer, I tend to enjoy the moment and move on, I think it's the same reason why I'm a terrible photographer, I just don't observe things in that sort of way.<br />
Digression aside, I opened a bottle of 2005 Enira, Stephan Von Niepperg's Bessa Valley, Bulgarian red. It'd been relaxing in my cellar for probably the last five or six years, though to be honest I can't for the life of me remember when I bought it. I can remember where, Caversham Waitrose, it was £15 or £16ish a bottle but on some sort of discount 20% off if one bought 6 or more. I think I bought 6. As always with wines that have aged well, I'm raging that I didn't buy 12 (or 24). Anyway, at the time I knew the mighty Stephan Von Niepperg, the man single handedly rescuing the reputation of cravats and pristinely matched tweed suits. I'm kidding, Clos de L'Oratoire, D'Aguilhue, all the right bank goodness, a bit modern in style but never too garagiste. So seeing a bundle of the man's Bulgarian kit on deal I pounced.<br />
So Enira is resolutely non Bulgarian in its blend, Bordelais varieties, if memory serves a little bit of Syrah, it's firmly Thracian a little way to the East of Plovdiv (Plovdiv, a playground insult if ever there was one) and has classic clay on limestone terroir (or Argilo-Calcaire if you're trying to chat up a French enologiste).<br />
Moving on from recollections and digressions (shit I googled) pertaining to the region etc, the wine itself was showing pretty darn well, sweet clove-spiced jammy fruit, liquorice, beautifully sexy oak integration, a touch of liquorice tinted red fruit. A sort of liquid black forest gateau by way of a Damascene spice market. Being picky it was a touch hot, possibly the 14.5% showed a bit too obviously, but I'm not going to hold it against the wine. Incidentally I remember the early bottles as showing all sorts of dark inkiness and black olive notes married with a fullsome but supple palate.<br />
Anyway, it's a timely reminder of the benefits of cellaring. Now I just need to find the cash to buy a couple of cases of the Zagreus Vinica... Fucking cash flow issues*<br />
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*alluded to in the previous postAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-61935372487020393362015-01-08T15:24:00.001-08:002015-01-08T15:24:05.096-08:00Method and Metaphor: A Special Sort of Pickle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40NDrJtNJ9LIlxPPx4Ij748AbAoRf5IHZEqjVEOhrOJaLqBnBnUclJex-oy1O3vqE_2uhszgH74rt07fFkwDRLMKpCu2TIGOM9K4-qcXP4yXNalYGWmInMoN_b0Olrc6LsLqMAYqopKQ/s1600/cat+narwhal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40NDrJtNJ9LIlxPPx4Ij748AbAoRf5IHZEqjVEOhrOJaLqBnBnUclJex-oy1O3vqE_2uhszgH74rt07fFkwDRLMKpCu2TIGOM9K4-qcXP4yXNalYGWmInMoN_b0Olrc6LsLqMAYqopKQ/s1600/cat+narwhal.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CAT RIDING A NARWHAL (specially for Kerstin xx)</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">What is biodynamics? Over the last ten years or so, anyone with more than a passing interest in wine will have come across wines made from grapes farmed in accordance with Rudolph Steiner’s biodynamic agricultural principles. Delve a little deeper than the standard ‘more than organic' description, and you uncover a bafflingly esoteric world of lunar calendars, homeopathic dilutions of herbal teas, buried horns filled with manure, cosmic energy waves and, in some cases, the etheric Jesus on a journey through the varying levels of the earth and back. What is a rational, educated person to make of all this? A look at the creator of the theory goes some way to providing an answer. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rudolph Steiner was born in 1861 to educated parents in modern-day Croatia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This was a period of enormous upheaval, with new technologies and industrialization sweeping the population off the land and into the cities. In a relatively short period of time, central Europe witnessed the near-dissolution of the rural peasantry and the creation of an urban proletariat. Steiner, growing up amidst this maelstrom, was a talented student and quite conventional in many ways but he was also convinced that he was clairvoyant. His belief that he could commune with spirits and speak with the dead blossomed into a firmly-held belief that there was a deeper, unseen spiritual world underlying this one. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Steiner took this curious brew of ideas to the Technical College in Vienna where he also found the time to attend lectures at the main university, providing himself with an introduction to philosophy, literature, medicine and psychology. He struck up a friendship with Felix Kogutski, who became Steiner’s muse and the inspiration behind his theory of biodynamics. Kogutski was a licensed herb-gatherer and, in Steiner's eyes, had a deep spiritual connection with the earth. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Later in his life, Steiner was to describe how he had sought a philosophy that would touch on and embrace all aspects of peasant life: this was to be one of the central tenants of his concept of biodynamics. The other would emerge from the academic work of his formative years.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Steiner was a renowned scholar of Goethe, and began working on and editing the scientific papers of the German author. Goethe, while most famous for his literature and poetry, had maintained an active interest in science, pursuing detailed studies on the metamorphosis of plants. Goethe’s approach to biological science was holistic: he believed that the standard reductionist approach failed to take into account the complexity of interdependent interactions present in ecosystems. Goethe spent many springs and summers walking in the <i>Hochwald</i>, studying plants, and looking for what he termed the ‘ur’ plant — the plant that would possess elements of all other plants within its form. He gradually came to realize that this plant couldn’t exist but rather that each plant represented both a whole in itself and an element of the greater whole. His final treatise on the subject is a beguilingly poetic piece of work that demonstrates a profound understanding of how plants grow. Steiner seems to have taken from Goethe the idea that a farm is a system of such complexity that a full understanding of its workings is never possible, but is something to be striven towards; that by constantly observing and trying to open oneself up to the subtleties of the natural world, a spiritual understanding can be reached. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So, in Steiner we have an esoteric clairvoyant philosopher who has studied science, yet still feels a deep connection with the peasant traditions of the past: an interesting mix, I’m sure you’ll agree. It was late in life that Steiner was asked to deliver his lectures on agriculture. He looked back to the peasant lore that he had long held dear, and arranged it according to a system that owed much to Goethe’s approach to explaining the natural world. He brought this all together by drawing on his polytheistic spiritual beliefs — and so biodynamics was born.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">What relevance does this have to modern agriculture, and why in God’s name are so many top winemakers adopting biodynamic practices? Firstly, the prevailing, reductionist understanding of agricultural ecosystems has caused an enormous number of problems. The discovery that potassium, nitrogen and phosphorus are the key nutrients for plant growth led to the development of chemical fertilisers. This, in turn, led to a need for more irrigation — </span><span class="s2">a bit like the way you get thirsty after eating lots of salty crisps</span><span class="s1"> — and thus to overgrown plants which, like bloated teenagers full of fast food and fizzy drinks, are more susceptible to pests and diseases (the pursuit of ever-larger monocultures did nothing to assuage the pest issue) and so pesticides and fungicides became a necessity. It didn’t take long before farmers were being told that to successfully cultivate the crops which had been grown in their region for hundreds of years, they needed to purchase a veritable pharmacy of expensive agrochemicals. Understandably, this caused many farmers to wonder about the alternatives. Nicolas Joly, a winemaker in the Loire Valley, is a prime example. He first encountered biodynamics in the 1970s and subsequently embraced its principles on his family’s Savennières estate, </span><span class="s2">Clos de la </span><span class="s3">Coulée de la Serrant. He is now one of the</span><span class="s1"> world’s foremost advocates of biodynamics and has inspired many other winemakers to follow suit. </span><span class="s3">“In biodynamics we are connecting the vine to the frequencies it needs: like tuning a radio, we are tuning the plant to the frequencies that bring it life. Organics permits nature to do its job; biodynamics permit it to do its job more. It is very simple.</span><span class="s1">”</span></div>
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Biodynamic practices can seem mystical and magical but in fact there is often a rational explanation. One of the most mocked practices is the burying of cow's manure in a fresh cow's horn over the winter months, supposedly while the earth is inhaling energy from the cosmos. It sounds less silly when you view it as burying manure in a partially permeable silica container over the cooler half of the year, allowing very slow bacterial decomposition and leaving stable and highly useable concentrated compost. Taking said compost and diluting it to homeopathic levels while stirring a certain number of times anticlockwise so as to energize the water before the preparation is used also seems to be verging on the batty. However, when making compost teas it’s important to ensure the water is hyper-oxygenated, as the anaerobic bacteria that can otherwise proliferate are pathogenic. The biodynamic focus on maintaining a high level of biodiversity in and around the vines does, in fact, lead to a much healthier vineyard. And the lunar planting calendar, while suffused with astrological nonsense, does make a degree of sense when you realise that a peasant would have put the rhythms of the earth at the centre of their routine. Indeed, all else would have been fitted in around these natural cycles. The lunar calendar, then, is a neat corrective to the desire to make the vineyard or farm follow modern human demands and routines.</div>
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<span class="s1">I’m not going to pretend that I have exhaustively justified every practice advocated by Steiner, but there are enough that stand up to scrutiny to persuade me that the others may well do the same. Even if they’re not genuinely effective, at least they’re almost certainly harmless — something that can't be said about many conventional chemical practices. All things considered, the biodynamic method is one of the best currently available ways to look after a plot of land. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">There is an old Chinese proverb that states that the best fertilizer is the gardener’s shadow. It comes as no surprise to me that among my friends, it's the biodynamic growers - who know their vineyards inside out, and who speak of each vine as if it’s a member of their extended family - that make some of the very best wines I know.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-53478727957294002212015-01-08T02:31:00.000-08:002015-01-08T03:39:26.673-08:00Bargain debasementIt's early January and what with being skint and disregarding any sort of stupid dryathalon behaviour one is somewhat on the short side for decent Wednesday evening drinking (I'm justifying all this on the grounds that the en-primeur Burgundy tastings all start in a day or so). Hence Morrisson's finest (actually cheapest) ropey Italian wines being purchased to accompany dinner (steamed sea bream marinated in a ginger/garlic/oaxaca pasilla chilli paste/lime juice, herby brown rice, broccoli and spinach).<br />
I'll level here, I've always been a bit fascinated with the more mass produced side of wine making. Yes I accept that it doesn't have the romance of single sites and uniqueness of terroir, but there's something quite honest about the intentionality of mass produced wines that I appreciate. They're there to be drunk, not savoured, at best they're going to provide a bass line of acid/minor fruit character to accompany whatever it is that you're eating, at worst they're potable liquid which engenders drunkenness (equally something I've never objected to). I think the lack of falseness is quite appealing, all too often there's a whiff of hypocrisy around fine wine where people pretend that the wine is so exquisite and unique that it's somehow divorced from its actual nature. It's not something to drink, it's something to worship, to extoll and to tweet/blog/crow the fuck about to everyone you happen to know who's got the slightest interest in wine. Yeah, trophy wife wines.<br />
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Well tonight, I'm not doing trophy wife wine. I'm going to risk the brick bats of the more righteous side of the internet by doing the opposite (not actually going to continue this metaphor).<br />
Morisson's Italian White Wine. Yep, that's what it's called, 12% alcohol, it's made by C.V.S.C in Ortona, Central-East Italian coast) and that's about all I can tell you about it.<br />
As for taste, it's pretty much a symphony in blandness, on first being opened there's a little CO2 spritz that keeps it a bit sharper than it probably is, the fruit is clean, there's a little bit of residual sugar. Beyond that there's pretty much nothing to say about the wine, hence my score of 9/10*<br />
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Following the not-as-ropey-as-I'd-expected-it-to-be white we come to the Morisson's Chianti. Now this is a bit of an extravagance at £4.49**. Oddly I'm finding this a bit of a personal marmite wine, on the one hand I'm quite impressed at how un-bland it actually is, there are some tarry notes, some slightly dried dark cherry notes, a little bit of raisininess, it's got some sharpness. Honestly it's drinkable and actually tastes of something, however it doesn't quite have the same beige accessibility that the white manages to rock. Also, there's something about the extra character that rather invites extra criticism, the alcohol doesn't really sit right on the palate, there's something a little bit fake about the whole thing. Also the wine apparently goes great with 'tomatoey pasta'***<br />
It's odd, the wine is better, and yet if you're going to force me to debase myself with the bargain wines, it's the cheaper £3.99 Italian White that I'll be going back to (chilled to buggery mind).<br />
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* Score amended for suitability for Wednesday evenings in January when you're skint on account of its £3.99 price.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicokdGcfv_0BusKxVViG19PN3MHhAQiZEh89ogZl06y8gXcyAGUe9GceEeQw5Fp1CUFImhTOknhWjPVJSQAjmnVdIoENUppwqALvADzsq-fMYFmNJZsm0T2B2fOAxR1hFXSQC8L6J5DBM/s1600/IMG_2536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicokdGcfv_0BusKxVViG19PN3MHhAQiZEh89ogZl06y8gXcyAGUe9GceEeQw5Fp1CUFImhTOknhWjPVJSQAjmnVdIoENUppwqALvADzsq-fMYFmNJZsm0T2B2fOAxR1hFXSQC8L6J5DBM/s1600/IMG_2536.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>** Before you all complain, I'm well aware of the amount of wine that actually goes into bottles that cost £3.99/£4.49 on account of duty/tax etc.<br />
*** See label. Be offended.****<br />
**** I accept that there is a slight lack of consistency with my complaining about wine labels using non-words such as 'tomatoey' whilst happily seeding my own text with such atrocities as 'raisininess'. Well, I genuinely don't care at present so few people read this that I'm regarding any small measure of irateness that I may engender in a reader as being akin to a personalised birthday gift.<br />
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(ftr I decided to draw the labels as they were so shit, also it amused me)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-76947128647061388432015-01-05T01:31:00.000-08:002015-01-05T01:48:09.756-08:00Corner shop blending master class 1.0We've all been there, Sunday afternoon 4.10pm, lack of preparedness that has meant that you've nothing to drink and Morisson's has just shut.*<br />
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This leaves one in what I call the corner shop quandary. Obviously the idea of spending a Sunday evening drinking tea and council pop is far too distressing to countenance, so we'll pretend it's was never proposed.<br />
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Any way, here we are, surveying the delights displayed at wherever your local cash and carry reseller's located. If you're anything like me you'll find yourself double flanked by rubbish, over-priced wines to the left and more expensive rubbish over-priced wines to your right. Barring the occasional corner shop gem in the dirt (I tweet them when i see them) you're stuck with it.<br />
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However, I believe I've discovered a solution. One I really ought to have divined far earlier (I'm blaming the ennui that hits upon the realisation that a corner shop wine trip is the only course of action), for this I can only apologise.<br />
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So without further ado I present: Plan of action for dealing with corner shop wine.<br />
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Firstly one has to mentally recontextualise the situation. You are no longer a sap buying cheap corner shop wine. NO. Now you're a flying wine maker. The bottles on offer are now the tools of your trade, the marble from whence your masterpiece'll emerge. See that 'Le Pressoir' Corbieres 2013, previously thin, green, over cropped Carignan. Perhaps best destined for the pot, but no, now it has new purpose. The perfect foil for the Castillo del Diablo Shiraz 2011 (confected black currents and fruit pastille chewiness), now, wed together they combine, shine and dazzle. What was previously green, hard tannin now adds underlying structure and savouriness to the simplistic one dimensional fruit of the Chilean Shiraz. Previously overtly plump fruit now delicately swaddles the pleasant acidity of the underripe Corbieres.<br />
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I may sound over excited, but I kid you not, this is the intellectual challenge of wine making repurposed for the corner shop generation. Whilst one's wary of sounding overly excited, it would be remiss of me not to finish thusly.<br />
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"Wine retail deprived residents of the world unite" "We have nothing to lose but our palates (assuming none of us has any allergies to excessively corrected acidity in our wines)"<br />
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* I appreciate that others may be better endowed with local major retailers but I'm not so you can fuck off with your judging my patronising of the North's favourite supermarket chain (as I'm lead to believe they are).<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-30548153091456636272014-11-21T04:27:00.000-08:002014-11-21T18:38:35.678-08:00BulgariaThe taxi was taking me and the (then) kittens back from the vets while my charmingly (if a trifle unnervingly) loquacious driver was explaining to me the intrinsic fighting qualities of the Thracians. By his reckoning, the Thracians (a sort of pan-Balkan ancient ethnicity) were the greatest and hardest fighters, it was their genetic grit that took Alexander to the edges of the known world, and were it not for their failure to appreciate their obvious fraternity they'd have ruled Europe for millenia to come.<br />
Now, for obvious reasons, I don't take taxi driver's wisdom as writ, but it did get me to thinking about how I draw arbitrary lines on maps when it comes to thinking about wines and where they come from. In modern times ancient Thracia is split between Greece, Bulgaria and Western (European) Turkey, which puts it firmly in my sights as a wine producing area.<br />
The Greek part of Thrace is known as Drama, and without wanting to be overly dismissive is characterised by far too many people planting international varieties and making dull as dishwater wines for a supposed international market. Something I've precious little interest in. The Western Turkish parts seem to have some interesting things bubbling under, however the few tasting notes I written have been lost in the morass of my terrible hand writing and drunken organisation. So it's left to the Bulgarian representatives to fly the flag for interest, indigenous varieties and all round good drinking.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Pi8OGl0z_AHcVfL5F7Lr-ab0NqI8qrn4gxduFyQSeYhrl24iAq1SouqK89Cjc9whRNQvMlcA7kIPo2KLnGhVukdJlTi7nROVeo6KNfe1ULE8tZsXVTt6EPIeizOgSDPnl0i_JZ-zgsw/s1600/IMG_2350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Pi8OGl0z_AHcVfL5F7Lr-ab0NqI8qrn4gxduFyQSeYhrl24iAq1SouqK89Cjc9whRNQvMlcA7kIPo2KLnGhVukdJlTi7nROVeo6KNfe1ULE8tZsXVTt6EPIeizOgSDPnl0i_JZ-zgsw/s1600/IMG_2350.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>For some time now my house red has been a Mavrud made my the Zagreus winery (St. Dimitar), it's gloriously drinkable, all red fruits, friendly acidity and a little hint of something herbal to tease the palate into thinking another large glug is the most advisable course of action. The rest of the Zagreus family bears consideration as well; their Reserve Mavrud, while possibly possessing just enough new oak to be on friendly terms with deceitful flattery, is none the less a pretty decent wine. While the Amarone style Vinica Mavrud seems entirely content in its capacity to blow most other wines out of whatever water is being paddled in. However I'm going to overlook my tried and tested favourites (I'll elaborate more on them at a later date, probably after I get to learn a bit more about them from their winemaker) in favour of a terribly unprofessional whizz through a selection of sample bottles from Southern Bulgaria (one has to learn somehow).<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSexbQzT10L9pzZjunfcjkiKl-zpTwVGaDqjDAPCNSbj9Cw3sRV2gPhNZ2uBDWYcihZIxGsNp52zxq5NmE38kaQtebZ6mKzVfVeX8g1t6xOXrxu0ZWGmWrtCdmWvkXdp4zfZjEYy32a0/s1600/IMG_2368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSexbQzT10L9pzZjunfcjkiKl-zpTwVGaDqjDAPCNSbj9Cw3sRV2gPhNZ2uBDWYcihZIxGsNp52zxq5NmE38kaQtebZ6mKzVfVeX8g1t6xOXrxu0ZWGmWrtCdmWvkXdp4zfZjEYy32a0/s1600/IMG_2368.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>Villa Yustina, Monogram (Mavrud, Rubin) 2010. A grower, initially I rather dismissed this as being all ripe fruit and cheap painter/decorator new oak, but returning to it made me think I'd been needlessly harsh in my initial criticism. While there is obviously some very modern winemaking afoot betwixt cork and bottle, there is none the less some pretty decent wine here. Darkish berried fruit (still obviously oak ameliorated) a touch of spice and some nicely balanced oak and grape tannins. My initial concerns that there was a spot of brett appear to have receded leaving me with a pretty sext, albeit mannered, dark cherry and black fruit scented red. It's a bit on the hot side, which stops the palate a bit early, but does have a decent lingering finish.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfy8snpkEujO7yBZwoRpJtH_Yj333qQ0g47nVk8d5ZeA_NYO-6GXafOK4jjNjaAZgrSNh4H4k2ZerMBj3OEttfQmEfhPosg0VkZTRQK8iLKVTK7Jh7vAqrmBhvaJAWcqVdS5T-kRGYWo/s1600/IMG_2370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfy8snpkEujO7yBZwoRpJtH_Yj333qQ0g47nVk8d5ZeA_NYO-6GXafOK4jjNjaAZgrSNh4H4k2ZerMBj3OEttfQmEfhPosg0VkZTRQK8iLKVTK7Jh7vAqrmBhvaJAWcqVdS5T-kRGYWo/s1600/IMG_2370.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>Orbelus, Melnik 2011. Also from the Southern Thrace valley this is early Melnik, which is also known as either Melnik 82 or 55 and is not as implied on the back label the same variety that was supposed brought to the region in 200BC by Thracians returning from the middle East, but is in fact a crossing of Shirok Melnishka with pollen from Durif, Jurancon Noir and Valdiguié, much less romantic I think you'll agree. However, ampelographical origins not withstanding this is a pretty decent wine. Slightly tarry with notes reminiscent of broken twigs, there is still a decent amount of dark cherry like fruit, mid weight with some slightly pedestrian tannins.<br />
Aplauz, Melnik 55, 2011. Also from near the village of Melnik (where the crossings were made) which is in the hotter southern part of the country.<br />
Dark, slightly earthy fruit nose, quite international in style. On the palette this is fuller bodied with some quite chewy if rough tannins. There's some big liquorice infused fruit characters and a slight anise like finish.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdYrKsf6tpirn6U4tzYK84clg3sPfAnvqH8qt1AS9_0Qany8FVhJ8MgFsex2MSoagAUT1XtBBW6fxEnufzCKZ0lTfNTYEwmPYWdFo1l21uSqCpG4kllcJBNI9lXObNeeUUuBcDZ5h0PP8/s1600/IMG_2378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdYrKsf6tpirn6U4tzYK84clg3sPfAnvqH8qt1AS9_0Qany8FVhJ8MgFsex2MSoagAUT1XtBBW6fxEnufzCKZ0lTfNTYEwmPYWdFo1l21uSqCpG4kllcJBNI9lXObNeeUUuBcDZ5h0PP8/s1600/IMG_2378.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>Villa Melnik, Bergule, Ruen 2011. Quite apart from very obvious puns about any visit to the winery surely being a road to Ruen, this was an odd one. Ruen is a cross between Sirovska Melnishka and Cabernet Sauvignon, and as with all these wines it's the first time I've come across it. Dark in colour with a nose that initially gave me some Beaujolais like impressions, before opening up to show some quite lovely strawberry characters. My one slight gripe was a very slight metallic note on the palette which made me wonder whether there was a bit of brett obscuring the fruit.<br />
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So Southern Bulgaria. So many crosses of Sirovska Melnishka. I'll be honest and say that I still don't really know what to make of the grape and its progeny. I can't work out whether I've actually tried any of the old original Melnishka (possibly called broad leafed Melnik as well). It seems to work reasonably well with oak (as does Mavrud), and I've certainly enjoyed my little exploration (though I reckon a visit to Thrace is going to be necessary to get properly under then skin of the region and its grapes).<br />
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Wines from Theatre of wine and Pacta Connect.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-1264166243100407622014-10-29T01:57:00.000-07:002014-10-29T01:57:07.257-07:00Macedonia (feel free to insert some sort of pun here)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've had Macedonian wines on my radar for a while now. They're pretty much the heart of the Balkans (everyone has fought over them, and at least 4 countries regard Macedonia as being part of their ancestral lands - an essential part of being Balkan), and they make wine. What more could I want for my list. However, getting my hands on samples and a ready supply has proved harder than I'd hoped (one supplier has now failed to respond to four separate email requests for samples). So it was with some excitement that I reacted to John bringing me a bottle of Bovin Vranec from some North East London deli he'd stumbled across.<br />
Bovin is in Tikves, one of the largest growing regions, it's pretty central and is the driest of the Balkan wine regions, with temperatures hitting 40 degrees in the summer and it being suitably far from the coast to avoid water regulated diurnal cooling I was expecting something pretty ripe and soft.<br />
As it happened I was pleasantly surprised, the nose was elegant, if weighted towards some wild strawberry, creme de myrtle and bramble fruit. Palette wise it seemed a little disjointed, the acidity a little out, the tannins arriving in ever so slightly the wrong places, generally not quite there. That said it was very pleasant. Needless to say, I'll not be confident offering any sort of commentary on the wine and its intrinsic quality until I've had the chance to taste a lot more Vranec.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-83644055527219848572014-10-05T18:11:00.000-07:002014-10-05T18:24:57.919-07:00Sleep (or lack thereof)Saturday night.<br />
It's 9:00 in the evening, I'm sitting in the downstairs office, my hands are shaking and I'm trying to control my breathing because I want to be sick.<br />
Going back a few hours.<br />
7:00 am Saturday morning. Waking up it's like wading through badly made porridge, I can barely string words together, I think H (my partner) has brought me several cups of tea, none of which has had any noticeable effect on my ability to function. I've managed to make a breakfast for us both, I'm quite sure it wasn't exactly what was planned but I maintain that it was for the best that I ate something.<br />
I'm at the restaurant, I'm helping, not as much as I might have hoped but still I'm contributing. Lunch is looking busyish, we've got a decent complement of kitchen staff in for the day, I can hover on the wings of service. I'm liking this, I can watch, satisfied that things are progressing as hoped, talk to the tables that need talking to, absent myself when necessary.<br />
Post lunch service it becomes clear that things are about to change, one of our chefs has to be away that evening. Her brother's 30th, or some other similarly unmissable family occasion.<br />
This evening, I'm crossing the pass.<br />
The pass is like the Rubicon of the restaurant, it delineates two very different worlds. On the one side the graft is primarily physical, non stop food prep and service, yet cut with a need to be mentally acute enough to keep track of a host of different activities and needs. What checks are waiting, what checks are away, what's on the grill, what ought to be on the grill. When it works well it's a model of conservative action. Talk is limited to a minimum, only the most pertinent issues are raised. There's a steady stream of updates and questions. All relating to what is being done and what ought to be being done. No one minds if you're not smiling, so long as the food is coming out, smiling can wait.<br />
On the other, the facade is king. You might be running, juggling several tables and trying to balance multiple guests requests, but thankfully there are far fewer knives.<br />
Front of house fatigue endangers the fingers far less.<br />
The call comes.<br />
We're one down tonight, can you step into the kitchen.<br />
I'm not a chef.<br />
The restaurant is mine and my partner John's. It's John that's asking.<br />
I've worked shifts on the pass quite a few times before, it can be quite fun. It's amazingly satisfying when it all comes together, however it's not something I find easy.<br />
Front of house; I can bang out a shift in all sorts of states. My game face is great; hangovers, fatigue, all the trade's inherent issues are easily navigable. I've got years of practice. While I've never actually done it in my sleep I've come pretty close.<br />
Crossing that fence however. Much less easy. We're pretty busy, the little white printed tickets keep arriving, I don't seem to be brandishing the marker pen. What was originally two tables worth of starters seems to have mushroomed into five. My all day counts are rising, but I can't seem to hold more than one number in my head at any one time. The assertive persona that I try to adopt when at the front of the kitchen is being strip mined of any effectiveness by my almost complete inability to grasp any inertia. I take some plates out of the hot cupboard. Look for garnishes. Ask John whether he has the requisite things on the grill. I put the plates back in the plate warmer. I've got no fucking clue what garnishes I'm supposed to have heating. Christ, I'm having to keep checking the pass to remember what dishes I'm supposed to be serving.<br />
It's 8.45pm. I've gone to look at the iPad till, hoping to see 10.45pm, knowing that's not what I'm going to see. I'm looking at the reservations diary. I can see another wave of tables. I can't do this any more.<br />
I look at John, I try to put my case across that I'm sure I'm being less than useful in my current position, that of being in charge of the flow of food out of the kitchen, it's plating, and generally the organisation of said kitchen's work flow.<br />
He pats me on the shoulder and says 'ok'.<br />
I'm getting changed.<br />
It's 9:00pm.<br />
Getting into a taxi to go home, the only thing I can think is that I've only worked 12 hours straight. At least I'll be ok to be back in for 7am. It's Sunday tomorrow and I need to get the mangal going early for the spit roast.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-62634045164046615912014-06-02T13:18:00.000-07:002014-06-02T13:18:00.382-07:00Liminal Zones<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The question was, what are the main
differences in style between Slovenian, Austrian and Hungarian expressions of
Furmint? It got me thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I’d spent a large part of the day tasting
wines from the Easternmost parts of Slovenia, the North Western European part
of Turkey and form both the Greek and Bulgarian sides of the Thracian lowlands.
All wine regions where, I’d argue, the wine makers have more in common with
their neighbour’s over the boarder than they do with the rest of the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This got me thinking about the Balkans and
the way that a semi-homogenous group of people was broken up by the early 20<sup>th</sup>
century mania for drawing boarders between nation states. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I guess that in Europe we did marginally
better than in the near East where wars seem to ravage the region with a
disturbing regularity (mind you I did taste quite a bit of Serbian and Croatian
wines and there have certainly been wars in their part of the world in living
memory). But still, growing up in the UK where for better or worse we’ve had a
pretty firm set of boarders for most of our recent history it’s hard to really
understand the mind sets of regions that only partly reflect the nation within
which they’re located. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">So how exactly do I think about and
categorise these liminal zones? Do I keep them within my existing mental
country maps or do I redraw my own map of Europe, boarder free with all the sensible
wine regions existing as their own autonomous states within my mental
geography? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I’ll be honest, it’s the latter, I’ve
always based my geographical understanding of the world on where wine is grown
and really countries have only ever been a small part of it. After all, anyone
who’s ever been to the Sud Tyrol will know that it’s about the least Italian
part of the world you’d ever expect to find within what we understand as Italy.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-20951827010951809542014-04-30T04:52:00.001-07:002014-04-30T04:52:40.285-07:00Beirut
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<!--StartFragment-->
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-YFwf_kvmPJ6YbspzlLWyjGPsLIU4lnddr3ANJVqaYqNQaheg9uvBI8_dBwu0-CqTUK1OZJeP0lfy3mjFcXRo1U__hcwCrmmrScrx0HolKZ4XY4sYV_bJRqO7YIbVq_ao7TB7O23WA4/s1600/DSCF5046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-YFwf_kvmPJ6YbspzlLWyjGPsLIU4lnddr3ANJVqaYqNQaheg9uvBI8_dBwu0-CqTUK1OZJeP0lfy3mjFcXRo1U__hcwCrmmrScrx0HolKZ4XY4sYV_bJRqO7YIbVq_ao7TB7O23WA4/s1600/DSCF5046.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I’m looking at ‘happy cookies’, imported
New Zealand lamb, organic salmon fillets (neatly vacuum packed) and I’m pretty
certain I saw at least one person selling cup cakes. There were definitely chocolate
brownies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.soukeltayeb.com/" target="_blank">Souk el Tayeb</a>, the Beirut farmer’s market
is an oddity. There’s something a bit wrong about the way that the small-scale
agricultural produce of a country that still has a large amount of said small-scale
agriculture is being packaged up and sold back to itself (at a hefty premium of
course).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUmc5wuxFHnOBDs-VYPCHOfsZ4Fp_VamZUdXNlHMncqtiTO1YYOJ0T322aG11xCtYd4ydr2_GpMZWl0nl5hbrk22WOUBUEYDysQYvz1KizgL5maXN4rcujhJy5n2CK4Lxzc3gmbnOSyw/s1600/DSCF5108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEUmc5wuxFHnOBDs-VYPCHOfsZ4Fp_VamZUdXNlHMncqtiTO1YYOJ0T322aG11xCtYd4ydr2_GpMZWl0nl5hbrk22WOUBUEYDysQYvz1KizgL5maXN4rcujhJy5n2CK4Lxzc3gmbnOSyw/s1600/DSCF5108.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">We’re in the main Beirut souk, where marble
walls glisten; well-groomed Arab men partake of oversized cigars whilst
strolling with their families. On display are luxury watches, expensive
fashion, and now, labneh balls preserved in oil, bright turnip pickles, and cheery
Lebanese women rolling out balls of dough to slap on their dome shaped grills;
applying oil and za’atar, pre-sliced white cheese and the occasional dollop of
chilli before rolling up their man ‘ouches. As with so many a sandwich glimpsed
in the wild, the restraint is what first catches the eye; really no more than a
couple of ingredients, the pungent tang of wild oregano providing more than
enough flavour to interest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqb-VnpnCytTz_GsDdc2BH4wMYKTME9BzwUSlbo_T1_K_OGo8piQNXcpZxBWFSacblX3fgvofxgMNG0xtgnK_Ljc7EyzaaAkYwtfEvCPLRaxRr1cjs16uKGzaqftImbARsV6-rPxRSzU/s1600/DSCF5223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqb-VnpnCytTz_GsDdc2BH4wMYKTME9BzwUSlbo_T1_K_OGo8piQNXcpZxBWFSacblX3fgvofxgMNG0xtgnK_Ljc7EyzaaAkYwtfEvCPLRaxRr1cjs16uKGzaqftImbARsV6-rPxRSzU/s1600/DSCF5223.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A gaggle of children are painting plaster
casts of Easter bunnies. Over the road stand soldiers, their rifles lazily
slung over their shoulders, chatting disinterestedly with some members of the
city police*.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This is Beirut. It’s pretty fucking odd. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">You can’t go anywhere unless you’re in a
taxi, though none of the taxi drivers have the faintest clue where anything is.
The constant switching between Arabic, French and English spellings renders
street names next to useless. Drivers will stop two to three times to shout
questions at passers by for even the shortest of journeys. I’m left baffled as
to what anything costs by the need to try and work out parallel exchange rates
between Sterling, Lebanese Pounds and Dollars. Change regularly arriving in
mixed currency format. A $50 note and 14000LP thank you very much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Dusk turns pleasant roads derelict and less
inviting corners terrifying. Cars careen about with little thought to their own
safety. 8 hours in the city and we’d already seen two accidents. It’s as if the
collective memory of civil war has rendered the concept of automotive safety
null and void. Who needs seatbelts when everyone can remember the acrid smoke
of suicide bombs? There’s a Ferrari stopped at the lights on our left, next to
it pulls up a battered Honda motorbike. The Greek Orthodox Christians are
streaming out of their churches candles held votive before them. Chanting
echoes out of the ornate facades, mingling with the amplified wail of the Muezzin
call to prayer and the omnipresent chorus of car horns. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Three hours later and midnight has
transformed the louche atmosphere of the bars from lazy afternoon drinking to a
frenzied Faliraki street sprawl; bad cocktails and bottles of beer, aggressive
posing and pounding Euro pop. I argue with a lingering taxi driver over the
cost of the return to our hotel. Curse that the bar is closed and go instead to
corner shop next door. The owner, smoking at the counter sorts me a quarter
bottle of Arak and some ice. I retreat to my room for bed. Exhausted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VW4WV3lRpE6gZ8SuREh_7TZq2HyAS6Os5RfWjCFa61ICHiv8nN9BRVvy6Kp990wMzHE8wz1VX5SMNP0S8JS-iBMwXT0XqDNrekrTYjxVhdK44EIpQZhGzpHpkYRHX-rV6YST04PcjLs/s1600/IMG_0950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VW4WV3lRpE6gZ8SuREh_7TZq2HyAS6Os5RfWjCFa61ICHiv8nN9BRVvy6Kp990wMzHE8wz1VX5SMNP0S8JS-iBMwXT0XqDNrekrTYjxVhdK44EIpQZhGzpHpkYRHX-rV6YST04PcjLs/s1600/IMG_0950.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
* Sadly I don't have any photos of soldiers or police officers. I'm a bit of a pussy when it comes to potentially pissing off people with assault rifles.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-81801114252602286902013-09-09T16:07:00.000-07:002013-09-10T06:26:26.980-07:00MavrudI'm too young to remember the recent heyday of Bulgarian wines, Australia had already stolen their place in the UK market by the time I started drinking; however I'm assured by many a set text that they were once a force. Bulgarian Merlots and Cabernets offering soft, fruity, easy drinking liquid for the masses were once a common sight on UK shelves. My opinions of Bulgaria however, had been mostly formed by folk I'd worked with an friends. Suffice to say, I didn't have any context with which to place Bulgarian wines, well, apart from a sneaking suspicion that it might be akin to the revelation that getting to know Hungarian wine had been.<br>
<br>
So I was more than a little excited when Daniel from Theatre of Wines started talking about the interesting Bulgarian wines that they'd started importing..<br>
<br>
Zagreus is a winery in the Thracian plains.<br>
<br>
Now if you're lucky enough, you'll find yourself in a taxi with an overly loquacious Romanian taxi driver, who'll explain to you that the countries of Thracia are merely political constructs dividing the original people of Europe, those who created the earliest kingdoms, and those who are still the same people, untouched by the waves of Asian migrations that created the Magyars and blessed of a more contiguous history than the fragmented Italians (yes, you'll probably detect a certain far right sentiment to their spiel, but we'll pass over that), the Thracians who formed the core of Alexander's army, the self same people who fought their way across continents in the name of nothing more than a disregard of death (well that's how my taxi driver put it).<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIQtZeo1F-26-xd971_dTHwk0JF_CIq5ggevjz9SIM5EysW0jtDQVdpkUaCmJH_D9npGC5MjyLgkNU5Akvt7yxQ0_gPQ5CKpTfEIxOrL4cuNTMEwj4BjbclATLbSCL9XpwVuBFxPnnhk/s1600/bulgarianwinemap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIQtZeo1F-26-xd971_dTHwk0JF_CIq5ggevjz9SIM5EysW0jtDQVdpkUaCmJH_D9npGC5MjyLgkNU5Akvt7yxQ0_gPQ5CKpTfEIxOrL4cuNTMEwj4BjbclATLbSCL9XpwVuBFxPnnhk/s640/bulgarianwinemap.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
Ancient Trace, from Albania to the borders of Turkey, conveniently pretty much the geographical scope of Peckham Bazaar's cooking, but I digress. I'm pretty certain that coincidence is merely that, but sometimes there are coincidences that trouble even my, most rational of minds.<br>
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Bulgaria's wine regions are pretty much divided into the Danubian planes and the Tracian lowlands; this I feel is core territory for PBaz (Peckham Bazaar) wines, the Thracian planes, blessed with deep iron rich soil, the kind that when I first saw it in Istria brought on a deep emotional understanding of quite how covetous it must have been to people who needed fertile earth for their livelihood. This was earth that seemed pregnant with potential for growth; the bounteous fields abutting the ploughed areas speaking epic tales of ripe crops and weighty vines. Indeed Zagreus is the Bulgarian name for Dionysus, he of the Bacchae and the far more interesting orgiastic celebrations that were usurped by our own Christian St Valentine's day.<br>
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But, back to the point; Mavrud, described by our own modern day Saint of the vine Jancis Robinson (though credit being due also to Julia Harding and José Vouillamoz) as being an "Indigenous Bulgarian variety producing sturdy reds that can improve with age.", a description sure to induce apathy, and one that I'm certain could do with a little poetry to enliven, something I'll endeavour to provide.<br>
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In it's basic incarnation, steel tanks separating the fermenting must from the oxidative ravages of wood's airy embrace and keeping it's youthful face clear of sun worn blemish, the Zagreus estates basic Mavrud offers a nose of plentiful fruit, fair jovial in it's congenialness, bright and fresh, yet with an underlay of herbal bitterness. A lean vegetal core that seems to speak of profligate herbs and sour spicing, just lying in wait, though still at present sub<br>
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sumed by the the cheery enthusiasm of youth. It's elder brother the Vinica 2010, an Amarone style take on the grape, pushes the boundaies yet further still. Fresh peas and summer vegetables, a touch of tarragon, all those herbs and spices that retain a touch of the animal about them. Peppermint and maybe eucalypt (I'm certain there's a herb I don't yet know that fits the aromatic profile better and more understandably), though not in an Antipodean way, grippy sweet tannins, though with minimal residual sugar. A puckering character to the wine that seems to invoke conflict; with what ought one drink this wine? Because this is self evidently a wine with which things out to be eaten. It's a wine that makes me think of rabbit stew, of all spice berries, bay leaves and thyme. One to accompany the stew pot to the table, and to be there to help those who struggle with rabbit hind quarters and the like. Bold and proud of its own place in the world.<br>
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Suffice to say I bought a case for the restaurant :)<br>
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<br>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-29218963558118823672013-09-08T14:34:00.000-07:002013-09-08T14:34:09.453-07:00SamplesApologies for what has been, even by my standards, an extended absence. I accidentally opened a restaurant. Yes, I was drunk when I said I was going to get involved. Yes, I did swear I'd never work in restaurants again. And yes, I'm loving it.<br />
So, <a href="http://peckhambazaar.com/" target="_blank">Peckham Bazaar</a>, my new venture, is built around the cooking of my friend and now business partner <a href="https://twitter.com/JGionleka" target="_blank">John Gionleka</a>; Albanian by birth and possessed of a deep love and affinity for all things Balkan and near Eastern. This has influenced the cooking in a profound way, so we're now serving a weekly changing menu of Balkan and near Eastern accented dishes cooked mostly on an open charcoal grill. So now we get to wine. Obviously, as it's a place I'm running, I get to decide what wines we're going to be serving, and with this in mind I decided to match John's influences and focus (read restrict) my wines on the Eastern Mediterranean (with occasional forays inland). So, this has meant that I'm now in the process of trying to learn as much as possible in as short a time as possible about Greece, Croatia, Slovenia, Albania, Turkey, Israel, Bulgaria and the Lebanon. I'll be honest, it's fucking brilliant. It reminds me of starting out with wine, poring over maps of France and Spain, trying to mentally place regions and tastes within a somewhat empty conceptual map of the territory. So, yes, I'm back at that again, scouring maps (printed off from Jancis, obvs.) of Greece looking for Drama, Pangeon (surely Pangeon is like VDT and applicable everywhere?) and all the other previously overlooked regions.<br />
Any way I digress. I was going to write about the best word in the English language. Sample. Obviously, if you're an haematologist, or work in genitourinary medicine you may have different views regarding samples, but I fucking love them. They make their way home with me, clinking in my bag like musical triangles of joy, each one possessed of the potential to wow, each one something I've almost certainly not tasted before, and, each one carrying with them a faint glow of left over hope from the merchant for whom they're really vinous lures, each one a different line with which to tempt me, the fish (I like to think I'm a noble brown trout), to bite.<br />
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To whit; I'm back tasting things properly again, I'm writing notes, I'm reading books, I'm sticking maps on my wall (actually a cast iron guarantee that I'll never actually look at said map again) and generally throwing myself wholeheartedly at the task of putting together the most awesome Eastern Mediterranean wine list in Peckham.<br />
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p.s. I intend to follow this with pieces on producers, their wines and other more prosaic issues.<br />
p.p.s I may also rant about people with children not spending anywhere near enough money in my restaurant whilst torturing my hangover strained mental capacities.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-58996023320864696932013-06-21T04:12:00.002-07:002013-06-21T04:12:43.400-07:00Poverty, both intellectual and actual.I'm slightly ashamed that one of my favourite things to do is laugh at the French. I have lots of Friends there and love the country and yet their foibles amuse me no end.<br />
At present, I'm not laughing. In 1991 anti alcohol fundamentalists managed to get a law called <a href="http://jimsloire.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/vinocamp-loire-loi-evin.html" target="_blank">EVIN</a> passed. This basically made all advertising of alcohol illegal in an attempt to reduce alcoholism. In the years that followed the law was upheld quite aggressively, famously an article in Le Parisiene entitled Le Triomphe de Champagne was deemed to be too positive and therefor was considered advertising and thus illegal. Many publications and journalists were warned that articles were overstepping the mark (though rarely was this contested in court).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michel Reynaud </td></tr>
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Things may be about to get worse. <a href="http://www.carnetsdesante.fr/Reynaud-Michel" target="_blank">Michel Reynaud</a>, the author of a proposed revision to the law, wants to ban pretty much all internet based wine sites. Stating 'We need to formally ensure that no media about alcohol can be aimed at young people, or potentially seen by young people, including the internet (except producer sites) and social networks.’<br />
His <a href="http://www.decanter.com/news/wine-news/583988/total-crackdown-on-online-alcohol-promotion-in-france-health-lobby-report-will-recommend" target="_blank">justification</a> cites a supposed finding that 13 to 17 year olds who have access to smart phones, the internet, social networks and the like are three times more likely to have consumed wine than those that don't.<br />
Exactly. I'm pretty certain that I made the same face too.<br />
France, as of 2012 has a <a href="http://www.internetworldstats.com/europa.htm" target="_blank">79.6% Internet penetration</a>, so we're looking at one in five teenagers (I'm assuming for the moment that distribution across the population is even, despite my guess being that there is a bias towards the elderly segments of the population within the non connected) being three times less likely than the other four to have consumed wine.<br />
Right now lets think about what might cause this quite significant difference in consumption behaviour. Access to web based wine criticism, or poverty? Does France have a large North African Muslim population? Are they generally at the lower end of the income scale? Does Msnr Reynaud take this into account? To be honest, I don't know for certain, all I see is what looks like a spurious statistic being shoehorned into furthering an oddly fundamentalist approach to dismantling one of France's best known industries.<br />
I really don't want to shout correlation not causation because it would make me sound like a twatty first year student. But I'm going to none the less. Mnsr Reynaud, sod off.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-81521370583699512922013-06-13T07:22:00.001-07:002013-06-13T07:37:55.547-07:00Tokaj food campTokaj is a wine region in the North East of Hungary. A couple of years back I rather fell in lover with the place.<br />
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The meandering Bodrog river, all early morning mists and darting dragon flies. Winding your way around the Zemplen foot hills, admiring the patchwork of vineyards that adorn the slopes, the multifold shades of green that turn an intoxicating mahogany and gold come harvest time in the autumn.<br />
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As a wine region it's just watching the second modern (post Soviet) generation really get their teeth stuck into the perennial questions of terroir. This for me makes it a wonderfully exciting place to explore. On the one hand you have the established large wineries who set about rewriting the quality rules twenty odd years ago. Then on the other you have people like Istvan Szepsy and wine growers of Mád who decided to ask different questions. Disregarding the iconic sweet wines that had defined the region for hundreds of years, they instead focused on single vineyard dry wines, each one offering a different spyglass look into the multifaceted geology of the region (it rivals Alsace for geological complexity). Subsequent visits saw me falling further for the energy of this younger generation. Each time I went back, my new friends would foist bottles with new names on me, their wild eyed enthusiasm testament to the degree to which the Hungarian's are proud of their countries gift to the world of wine.<br />
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Back in the UK I managed to fall in with the sort of crowd who thought it'd be a good idea to spend a weekend butchering a whole pig and eating it. While this was not only great fun it pitched me into the orbit of Florian Siepert (the inspiration behind our <a href="http://felicitycloake.com/2011/07/02/pig-day/" target="_blank">pig day</a>), Florian fast became a good friend and I ended up going with him on one of his food camps, to Essouaria as it happened, late one night (almost certainly after a lot of beer) I suggested that we should do the same thing but to Tokaj.<br />
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So the <a href="http://www.opentrips.co.uk/trips/25" target="_blank">Tokaj food (and wine) camp</a> was born. With much help from another friend Gergely Szabo (a fellow night of Tokaji) we harangued, pestered and generally annoyed the good folk of Mád (the iconic village of the region) until we came up with what we think is a pretty awesome itinerary.<br />
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So without further ado: I give you, hunting trips for wild boar and moufflon (like wild sheep) with the town's mayor (he's president of the hunting club), foraging in the hills, fishing in the hill streams, fishing in old fashioned style wicker traps in the rivers, visits to some of our favourite wineries (of which more later) including the best Sherry style wine you'll ever taste (yes, I rank it as being better than anything from Jerez) from Samuel Tinon, vegetable shopping from the villages market gardens, fresh geese, a mangaliza pig slaughter and traditional butchery/preservation. Basically, everything you've ever wanted to do in an idyllic wine region. With communal dinners every evening where more of our winemaker friends will come to join us.<br />
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The main wineries we'll be off to are <a href="http://www.szenttamas.hu/" target="_blank">Szent Tamas</a> (wines made by Istvan Szepsy junior), Orosz Gabor the genial genius from Mád and Samuel Tinon, French born perfectionist who also, in his Szaraz Samorodni, makes the most incredible Sherry style (aged for six years under flor yeast) that you'll taste outside of Jerez (or Vin Jaune).<br />
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There'll be lots of <a href="http://notesfromthedregs.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/brill-iant-palinka.html" target="_blank">Palinka</a>, probably lots of sausages and only the occasional bone shattering land rover trip across steep hillside vineyards.<br />
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Incidentally if anyone is particularly interested in wine rather than wine and food. We've got a sort of parallel itinerary arranged that will take in visits to your selection out of:<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.szepsy.hu/" target="_blank">Szepsy Istvan</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.lenkeypinceszet.hu/" target="_blank">Geza Lenkey</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.pendits.de/?page_id=268" target="_blank">Pendits</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://disznoko.hu/aggregate/?from=http://disznoko.hu/" target="_blank">Disznoko</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.demeterzoltan.hu/" target="_blank">Demeter</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://patricius.hu/en/patricius_winery/a_timeless_experience/" target="_blank">Patricius</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.tokajoremus.com/" target="_blank">Oremus</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.tokajnobilis.hu/" target="_blank">Tokaji Nobilis</a><br class="kix-line-break" /><a href="http://www.dobogo.hu/" target="_blank">Dobogo</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hetsolu</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-22f5b3b5-3d70-9089-4efb-37df47f6d4b5"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.balassabor.hu/" target="_blank">Balassa</a></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, if you want to join us in Tokaj for the food/wine camp. Go to <a href="http://www.opentrips.co.uk/trips/25" target="_blank">OpenTrips</a> and either book, or register to follow any updates we have on what's happening. </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-47970963719301655222013-06-07T01:22:00.000-07:002013-06-07T01:22:14.165-07:00n gram actionI noticed recently that google had added a facility to search their full corpus of scanned literature and archived web pages for specific search terms.<br />
Known in computer science as n grams these are essentially a natural language searches, they're a core part of machine translation systems and have many other important uses.<br />
I'm not going to be as useful. What I am going to do is plot the relative mentions of various wines/regions in the literature corpus so that we can finally answer some of the more pressing vinous questions.<br />
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<a href="http://books.google.com/ngrams/graph?content=Bordeaux+wine%2C+Burgundy+wine&year_start=1800&year_end=2000&corpus=15&smoothing=3&share=" target="_blank">Bordeaux or Burgundy</a>?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkJetPZzWXlYQB6ul_gStSw8Qlt0Utnc-qWSoaWbDnYPs2I41g7u1nwBgasIsd1uN5WLcZqZF_tdSYnctHDMkM-zcBFuCc0-dzMPzB9vMRre37V7eu0lG-MDAbxeLsI3ahCQXtqJlTqY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-06-07+at+09.02.30.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkJetPZzWXlYQB6ul_gStSw8Qlt0Utnc-qWSoaWbDnYPs2I41g7u1nwBgasIsd1uN5WLcZqZF_tdSYnctHDMkM-zcBFuCc0-dzMPzB9vMRre37V7eu0lG-MDAbxeLsI3ahCQXtqJlTqY/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-06-07+at+09.02.30.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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Which of the <a href="http://books.google.com/ngrams/graph?content=Chateau+Latour%2CChateau+Lafite%2CMouton+Rothschild%2CChateau+Margaux%2CHaut+Brion&year_start=1855&year_end=2008&corpus=15&smoothing=3&share=" target="_blank">First Growths</a> really deserves the accolade of first amongst equals? Obviously taking 1855 as our starting point.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNuXgizaU27cRoxUydPfecU2GgOFyq9ZHXO-fUsHj9_Y691iKycS9-1HLK5ORK4FgQVNWD59Xxs4uVxccQrr55JVFeBp-VayMlRaMcudTKSzlK_WoLE3pEpAmm3huaheipzUMnU9MbNg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-06-07+at+09.17.27.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNuXgizaU27cRoxUydPfecU2GgOFyq9ZHXO-fUsHj9_Y691iKycS9-1HLK5ORK4FgQVNWD59Xxs4uVxccQrr55JVFeBp-VayMlRaMcudTKSzlK_WoLE3pEpAmm3huaheipzUMnU9MbNg/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-06-07+at+09.17.27.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think it makes for a rather beautiful little graph. Almost certainly of no real use what so ever, still. Here's the link to their <a href="http://books.google.com/ngrams" target="_blank">n gram</a> search page, let me know if you come up with any good ones. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-90225522762983361942013-05-28T14:30:00.000-07:002013-05-29T00:45:54.679-07:00£6.99 Anatolian smackdown<div class="p1">
Taking as my inspiration the now defunct MTV Celebrity Deathmatch concept but transposing it to relate to the lower end of the available wine market in SE London (i.e. what I’m prepared to purchase with my own coin). I bring you the £6.99 Eastern Anatolian smackdown. Two wines, evenly matched on price, boasting the same blend..</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bUMGSFpzR5s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Öküzgözü and Bogazkere: The Eastern Anatolian brothers - The ‘Bulls eye’ and The ‘Burns the throat’ (exactly what the wrestling move that ends up burning the opponents throat is I have no wish to imagine) (actually on second thoughts; it could be like a Chinese burn, but more strangly)</div>
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Serious now, Öküzgözü is the softer, juicier and less tannic of the two; Bogazkere bringing the structure, both light in colour with and very often blended. Both varieties are native to Eastern Anatolia and both have a selection of equally difficult to spell siblings and parentage. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_ndTXlYyjxP2MEsOkC3ukWLB0ZBWRpiOiQubvtFXM41YBLyeSJ0yXUOhyphenhyphenX-v2Yn3wYWdvFQf-nMY7s28AOAf08vV5GX6ZTTj69YBW2zVgqK_-FOHHQBzf1wzl5UiO3MjzvYUKP8Kxys/s1600/IMG_1676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_ndTXlYyjxP2MEsOkC3ukWLB0ZBWRpiOiQubvtFXM41YBLyeSJ0yXUOhyphenhyphenX-v2Yn3wYWdvFQf-nMY7s28AOAf08vV5GX6ZTTj69YBW2zVgqK_-FOHHQBzf1wzl5UiO3MjzvYUKP8Kxys/s200/IMG_1676.jpg" width="150" /></a>Yakut 2011 - Eastern Anatolia<br />
<a href="http://www.kavaklidere.com/girisEN.aspx" target="_blank">Kavaklkidere winery</a></div>
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Lightish weight, initially presenting simple bright cherry flavours, light tannins, then a cherry red fruit, dried cherry liquorice finish. Think old school beaujolais.</div>
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Buzbag Klasic 2010 - Elazig - Diyarbakir</div>
<a href="http://www.kayrawinecenter.com/default.aspx" target="_blank">Kayra winery</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIsFVDfrIq84dJpyPNEahFsb1sk3nhngeQew6GndEhJS5qCGhEuRx9l3tIDJn5qhiJQLMnkWScYZ9R-D5g3fK5OMtP41J9W81AHaLi0eQgt6ap_lorri4o7OXvk6MRWMdSew4j6bj56A/s1600/IMG_1677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIsFVDfrIq84dJpyPNEahFsb1sk3nhngeQew6GndEhJS5qCGhEuRx9l3tIDJn5qhiJQLMnkWScYZ9R-D5g3fK5OMtP41J9W81AHaLi0eQgt6ap_lorri4o7OXvk6MRWMdSew4j6bj56A/s200/IMG_1677.jpg" width="150" /></a>Fuller bodied, slight grip to the tannins, dark cherry and some dark fruit, lots of liquorice, like a fuller riper version of the above. Slightly more evolved and complex, though obviously fuller bodied to start with.<br />
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The bell: The Yakut makes a pleasant out of the fridge summer wine, but isn't going to be anything else, the Buzbag, by dint of it's fuller body is probably a bit more versatile though it's hardly the subtlest. Having said that, for £6.99 they're both pretty good value.<br />
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Both wines available from <a href="http://www.tfcsupermarkets.com/" target="_blank">TFC</a> supermarkets (shops that I highly recommend, excellent veg at good prices and all the Turkish goodies you could wish for)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-730097075915110182013-05-21T01:00:00.001-07:002013-05-21T01:00:20.194-07:00London International Wine FairIt's been a couple of years now since I last attended the London International Wine Fair and I'm in two minds. Yesterday was RAWfair, bustling even on the quiet trade Monday, filled with interesting and (without wanting to resort to cliche) unusual wines.<br />
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Not really sure what I'm going to find this afternoon at Exel, but I'm hoping it'll not be quite as moribund as people are suggesting.<br />
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Wine of the day - Wetzer Spern Steiner 11 - Scintillating Kekfrankos, alive with buzzing acidity and a glorious fresh bitter cherry fruit character.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7250375030081145387.post-33604641976698202622013-05-09T13:51:00.000-07:002013-05-09T13:54:31.810-07:00what should we do with a rubbish cider? (to the tune of the drunker sailer sea shanty)My girlfriend <a href="http://helengraves.co.uk/" target="_blank">Helen</a> (@foodstories) gets sent all sorts of stuff on account of her being a much, much better blogger (chef and all round person) than me.<br />
Sometime we don't quite know what to do with said products.<br />
I give you <a href="http://www.brotherscider.co.uk/our-cider" target="_blank">Brothers Cider</a>, all the way from somewhere in Somerset, from a family with cider making traditions dating back to the 1600s (some ancestors possibly spinning in their graves over the crazy fruit flavours) and a nice friendly PR who kindly sent Helen a couple of bottles of their strawberry and wild fruit flavours ciders.<br />
So, we were faced with a dilemma; one not at all disimilar to the one I faced whilst buying a bottle of Appleton's Estate rum from the corner shop at 8.15am (it was for a work function that night I promise) when the proprietor proudly grabbed a large bottle of pink Bacardi Breezer from under the counter and presented it to me whilst informing me that I could have it free with my purchase. How to politely get across the message that it wasn't really the sort of thing we drink?<br />
Then, the idea came like a special sort of heavenly manna lightning cross. What if we made ice lollies from them!?!<br />
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Take one bottle of sweet red fruit flavoured cider.<br />
Pour into four disposable plastic wine glasses.<br />
Freeze with a teaspoon inserted at a jaunty angle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2o9NKalfCoVEqrZxhEMtvVeZEj4DT7VXa8IUOdtPnpl5OTgGSBIJdB6Hg39fCVTN3b1MKMzM856oB_WzyhljXhH4ngLURPh9wlTooQCHGJo1u4VJ31jw3Dq3F8yL0f88KvNaDar_8XI/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2o9NKalfCoVEqrZxhEMtvVeZEj4DT7VXa8IUOdtPnpl5OTgGSBIJdB6Hg39fCVTN3b1MKMzM856oB_WzyhljXhH4ngLURPh9wlTooQCHGJo1u4VJ31jw3Dq3F8yL0f88KvNaDar_8XI/s320/Image.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Remove and enjoy!<br />
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Needless to say the act of freezing the sweet sickly cider goes a very long way to making it palatable (remind me to write a post about FroRosé some time soon).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839832534283491836noreply@blogger.com0