St Claire and the notes from the dregs

Descent into la dive

2012-01-31T04:07:00.001-08:00

Dinner

2012-01-31T01:55:00.000-08:00

Montescano Refugio Pinot Noir 2010

2012-01-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

Made by Andre Ostertag in his Casablanca bolt hole of winery. In contrast to the much more conventional Pinot Noir (see previous post) this is the funky one. Vinified in concrete eggs (buy one here), which allow a better circulation of wine through the tank, as opposed to more traditional tanks. I'm guessing that the vinification is much closer to the French natural school than the fuller bodied Pinot.

On the nose it is a riot of wild brambly berries, floral notes and scented cherries, on the palette it has that zippy drinkable acidity and sinuous tannins that spell drinkability.

I would happily drink a case of this.

Available from via Vin du Monde in France and FMV in the UK (I didn't bother to check the price but I don't think it's that much)

Global Pinot Noirs with Lavinia

2012-01-26T05:31:00.000-08:00

Paris des Chefs : Wine tastings

My afternoon at Paris des chefs was spentrather contentedly tasting wines through the varied afternoon degustationsessions;

I’m going to write these us as and when,however the first I’m going to look at in the Lavinia Pinots Noir from roundthe world session.

They opened with the 08 Momo Pinot Noirfrom Marlborough NZ. Momo is the second label from the Seresin estate. Thefruit all comes from Seresins own vineyards, which means that it is probablyyounger vines, or parcels that don’t quite make the grade for Seresin’s ownwines.

Seresin have a mixture of Pinot clones, UCDavis (5,6), Burgundy (113, 114, 115, 667, 777) and the better-established 10/5Waedenswil (Swiss) clone.

Marlborough (geology) as a region is characterized bya succession of north/south(ish) river valleys running towards the Wairau rivervalley. The Wairau river also traces the lines of the Wairau fault, north ofwhich one finds much Greywacke (a hard sandstone found across much of NZ), inthe river valley itself the land is flatter but covered in well drainingalluvial deposits. The southern valleys such as Awatere are also home to Greywackedeposits.

The Momo Pinot was a nice example ofyouthful Pinot Noir from NZ, showing good varietal characteristics, an ever soslight chalky note initially on the nose, but this gave way to bright raspberryand jammy cherry notes and a lovely delicately spiced bramblyness on thepalette. Structurally the wine sat more on the soft and juicy side of Pinot.

With a neat synchronicity we then moved toSwitzerland, home to the oldest of the Kiwi Pinot clones, the Waedenswill 10/5.Though it would be a leap to far to say that there was any clonal overlapbetween the two wines, as Switzerland has some very old plantings and almostcertainly boasts a unique heritage of Pinot Noir genotypes. Commonly referredto as Blauburgunder or Spatburgunder (as per the German).

Domaine La Colombe are from the La Cote AOCin the Vaud, which is on the northern shore of Lake Geneva, steep alpine slopesare planted with 35 year plus vines. The wine then sees a 14-20 month period intank, before another year or so in wooden cask.

As befitting much older vines, and I’mcertain a much lower yield, the 07 La Colmbe Noir was much more powerful withnoticeable oak notes, licorice, dark earthy berry fruit, coffee, chocolate.This was clearly a wine designed to show well. I wasn’t quite certain thatthere was enough fruit weight to fully work with the elevage, but none the lessthis was a dark and brooding sort of Pinot, indeed I would have probablystruggled to place it blind.

Moving to Chile we had the 09 MontsecanoPinot Noir. Made by Andre Ostertag, an exceptional Alsatian producer. Pinot wasplanted in 04 (115, 777 and some massal, all ungrafted) in Las Dichas in the southwesterncorner of the Casablanca valley.

Casablanca is one of the newer Chileanwinegrowing regions, and it was planted as a cool climate area. There is a lotof cooling air that comes in off the Pacific, including quite a lot of fog.

Like his Alsatian estate, Montsecano isfully biodynamic, and is making wines on a properly handcrafted scale(something Chile can often lack). I was impressed with this, a powerful noseshowing a lot of fruit, however there were some nice slightly vegetal notes,which I think is the result of a decent percent of whole bunch vinification.This certainly helped with the wines structure (along with a little bit ofoak). My only slight gripe was that it felt a little lacking in acidity.However I was most impressed by both the Montsecano wines I tried.

The final wine was 09 Hubert LignierNorey-St-Denis, frustratingly as always seems to happen when these sorts ofcomparisons are made, the Burgundian examples are much too young. Still HubertLignier is an excellent domaine making quite traditional red Burgundy, not toomuch new oak (20-30%) and no truck with over extraction or excessive cold soaksand such like.

The nose was a bit closed, with the tightgreenish tannins that I associate with very young cote de nuits. On the palettethere was a lovely craquant acitidy and the expected bracing spritz of tanninsthat accompanied a good amount of aromatic dark fruits. I’m sure it’ll belovely in a few years.

So a nice selection of global Pinot Noirs,I’m not sure what the flyby comparison showed as the wines were all of vastlydiffering vine age/terroir/styles. However they were all very different, fromthe juicy approachable fruit of the Marlborough, to the brooding dark berriesof the Vaud, intense deep reddish fruit from Casablanca, and stubbornly closedaromatic dark berries from Burgundy.

Sylvie Spielman 08 Alsace Riesling

2012-01-25T13:07:00.000-08:00

Domaine Sylvie Spielmann is based just west of Bergheim, about half way up Alsace (well the chain of vineyards). The domaine is based around an old gypsum mine, with heavyish clay, marl and limestone soils.

The domaine is entirely biodynamic and the winemaking is relatively non interventionist (stopping short of the natural line).

Mineral nose with a touch of exotic lime notes, it's flirting with it's secondary characters. At getting on four 4 years old there is a little bit of bottle age. It's got the directness of acidity that I'd expect, and in contrast to Bergheim's most famous son (Marcel Deiss) it's pretty much totally dry.

Win all round really (in the context of a 11 euro wednesday evening wine)

Gourmet Powder

2012-01-21T08:50:00.001-08:00

Admit it, you'd have bought it too, if only for the tin. MSG, shortly to be played with as a secret weapon in soups and such like.

Probably thoroughly unnecessary but it appeals to my sense of curiosity.

Le Chateaubriand

2012-01-20T02:43:00.000-08:00

So the 9th best restaurant in the world, it's hard not to be both attracted and repelled by labels such as these. I understand it's difficult to get a table, like most of the trendy Parisian places the first sitting is booked out, but if you come about 10ish you can probably get a seat. I sat in the corner at the bar, some people would have disliked the table, but I quite like have the whole room to look at, and I was on my own.

There's one menu it's 55 euros or 115 with wine (quite a lot of wine).

Obviously I went with wine.

I started with a glass of sparkling Gamay (though they did tell me it was a Cab Franc) called Moisson Rouge, this was a little bit of an error, because from then on the glasses and dishes came pretty thick and fast.

First was a dry Vouvray, which was apparently a mistake by the (very beautiful) Spanish bartender, so it was swiftly joined by a glass of natural sparkling Vouvray - the 'You are happy' C. Chaussard, and a glass of slightly oxidative Assyrtiko (Pyrgos 06, H. Hatzidakis).

The bouches with which I was amused were three little cheesy bread thingies.

A mini bowl of ceviche with a rather fab chunk of mackerel (I think) hidden within.

Tempura Shrimp dusted with tamarind powder, there was an amusingly Proustian moment with the shrimp as the first thing they brought to mind was Scampi fries, though to my mind that's far from a bad thing.

A thin slice of (a very large) beetroot with powdered goats cheese and little splodges of chicken liver parfait. At this point I actually asked what the variety of beetroot was as it was larger than any beetroot I'd seen before, however the waiter assured me that it was just a normal beetroot. Evidently French beetroot grow much larger than English ones. When I get round to it I'm going to look into the possible implications of beetroot envy.

The last bouche was a bouillon de courge (squash), though it was actually very meaty, with two pieces of raw? turnip? and a couple of slivers of very intensely flavoured meat in the bottom.

Onto the actual dishes, mackerel with cauliflower, celery and lychee, was RAW, very sexy raw mind, the florets having been rolled in finely chopped parsley and celery tops, the mackerel was needless to say stunningly fresh and beautiful. It was served with Yvon Metras, Ultime 2010, Fleurie. One of the gang of five natural Beaujolais boys it was, as expected, all about floral cherry scented lithe crisp Gamay goodness.

John Dory, baby leeks, onions and herbs was a little love letter to the allium family, obviously the herbs were chives, I could have drunk the best part of a pint of the light green sauce. I will leave it at that. Oh and the 09 Puligny-Montrachet from F.Cossart that it came with was great, Normandy apple tart like notes, some lovely biscuit leesiness and what the French would probably call puissance.

Up till this point everything had been outstanding.

Iberico pork with raddichio and citrus. I’ve never really understood the point of kumquats, yes I appreciate the humorous potential of the name, but they always seem to be a bit extraneous. Similarly extraneous was the delicate curry spicing about the pork. (Grotte di alte, Nero d’Avola/Frappato Occhipinti)

If you look at the history of French cuisine, the boldest intellectual leap was to make a break with the pan European middle ages style of spiced and curried dishes. Early luminaries such as Nicolas de Bonnefond stressed that food should taste of its primary ingredient; a soup of leeks for instance should taste of leeks. Prior to this thematic schism the cuisine across Europe had been much closer to what we’d probably identify as Persian. I don’t think that classical French cuisine has ever really re learnt how to deal with curry style spicing, it always seems to stick out like a sore thumb, never being used in a bold enough fashion to actually satisfy, but being there just enough to titillate and annoy.

The first pudding was clementine with a white mushroom and a rum/vanilla cream. The mushroom part was very odd, I really wasn’t sure whether I found it interesting or upsetting. Obviously this is a fascinating dilemma to be confronted with, however I prefer not to wrestle with it at the end of my dinner.

Tocino del Cielo, the classic Spanish dessert, came as a sugar confit egg yolk on top of a mini piece of pastry. I cannot get enough of sugar confit egg yolks, it was properly fab. There was a glass of Fidele, a Blanc de Noir Champagne from Vouette & Sorbee, of which my tasting note was the eloquent and poetic ‘FUCK YES’ read of this what you will.

Le Chateaubriand was excellent, though thinking of it along side meals that I’ve enjoyed at the Ledbury or Roganic I can’t quite justify its acclaim. The wholly natural wine list is fabulous and obviously has been as inspirational and provocative as they probably hoped.

A final Indian note came with the petit four which was a single piece of mango with a few of the little candied fennel seeds that you sometimes find served after meals in India.

A trio of unrelated wines..

2012-01-18T14:19:00.000-08:00

Alexandre Jouveaux (Uchizy)
vdtd France - 08 (on pense qui il et un Pinot Noir)
Initial note of smokey bacon crisps, some raspberry (framboise liquor notes), nice depth of fruit character, some lovely rasping cherry tinged tannins, still the smokey bacon crisp note is a little persuasive through to the back of the palette (hopefully it'll go once food is involved)

Catena Zapata (Nicolas) 08 - 78% Cab S 22% Malbec

Liquorice infused dark cherries and slightly minerally, some buttery edge, not massive oak on the nose (much more present on the palette) pepper, deep liquorice spice infused, lots of cloves, just a hint of smoke finishing - pretty good, I like this, less new oak than I'd expected, still a bit heavy palette wise and quite bruising, decent tannins, and decent acidity.

And then to finish off with something a little it different (sorry I meant unpleasant) Altos Las Hormigas (Vista Flores, Valle de Uco, Mendoza) 06.

Well this is 100% Malbec, 36 months in new French oak and boy does it show - for the record I'm told this is between 35-40 Euros trade so 80 on a shelf, and in it's defence you can see exactly where the money went.

Initially there is a chunk of new oak, an almost confected amount, dark fruit, quite chunky, but weighty tannins, more of a body builder than a sportsman in build. Sorry this left me rather cold, I guess I might be slightly biased but I found it tiring. So much deep dark fruit, so much in the palette.

That said, it's opening up a bit as I'm getting into it, now showing minty herbal notes, but it's just so much like hard work..

L’Homme Cheval..

2011-12-16T02:04:00.000-08:00

Having mostly written about classic American food whilst in Paris I’m going to break with recent tradition and actually talk about a wine.

L’Homme Cheval comes in a Burgundy bottle, it’s a Vin Francais (the lowest possible appellation status). It doesn’t have a vintage. There are clues though.

Vinifie et Recolte par un Girondin. LQY9, the 9 having a little 10 scribbled in biro on it, could we be circumventing labeling regulations relating to Vin Francais not being allowed to show a vintage? Hmmmm.

The wine is a 50/50 Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon from the Cotes de Blaye, the vineyard is 5100 vine density (pretty darn high), cultivation is organic and the ground is worked by horse.

Vinification is in concrete tanks and is pretty simple, there’s no oak related flim flummery and I’m guessing a very low pre bottling sulphur addition, as there was a very natural like funkiness on initial opening.

Initially a slightly muddy earthiness with some Cabernet herbaciousness, there was a definite gravelly old pencil case character, and a nice grittiness to the tannins, I liked this a lot, though stylistically it brought to mind more the earthy complexity of Domaine du Puech in Buzet than much I’ve had from Bordeaux, even Les Cotes.

Appendix relating to double entendres, lesbians and back passages:

On meeting the ex lesbian beauty queen Elena, who’s book launch the evening was in aid of I was momentarily put off guard when she asked where she knew me from.

Also I got to have a poke about in Springs tradesman’s entrance (see also innuendo relating to back passages) fnar fnar.

A panoply of Spring related punning

2011-12-16T01:20:00.000-08:00

(also an update on my mini quest to actually track down a proper @lecamionquifume burger)

Dark jacket zipped up to my neck, my very best don’t fuck with me face, I’m in the back of one of the less regulated phone shops on the boulevard Barbes. I’ve handed over my old iphone in return for a scrap of hand written paper.

An hour or so later I’ve been safely reunited with her (she’s always been called the Pirate Jenny) and I’m now on my way to the centre of town to locate a suitable SIM. The guy in Phonehouse has sent me to hell.

I’m assuming that, like me, you know of les Halles from Zola’s Le Ventre de Paris (the belly of Paris), and as such have visions of porters ferrying overloaded carts of vegetables, flues of sea scented ice, hard eyed merchants and charcuterers all liver cheeked in the morning cold.

Well there is another les Halles, this is a subterranean shopping complex, low ceilings, cheap shop fittings, shops selling even cheaper high street fashion knock offs. MacDonalds and Quick burger vie for the fry supremecy, both shoehorned into badly ventilated little corners, the scents of fry grease edging outwards like black rot up a damp wall. No maps and hoards of teenagers gabbling excitedly, I had actually located Hell, thankfully Hell has an Orange shop.

So to Spring, the early night gloom hung heavy in the sky, the oily lacquer of rain and streetlights was glistening on the pebbles of rue Balliol, and there across the road was @LeCamionQuiFume, and several French police officers. No doubt they were doing their civic duty, but I’d be lying if I didn’t momentarily consider civil disobedience, no French police officer was going to deny me my burger for the fourth attempt in a row.

Thankfully it appears that rather like a beautiful girl working at a bar, le Camion has had to get accustomed to the unwanted attention of Paris’ finest, papers were produced and the frying continued.

As it was early I got to introduce myself to Kristin as she was getting into her stride and very lovely she is, she recognized my name as the dope that’s been traipsing around Paris chasing burgers.

Onto the meat of the issue.

I plumped for a Classique, patty medium rare, chedder, lettuce, tomato, dill pickles and mayo (not very much mayo for those who get angsty about these things). In retrospect I could have been more adventurous, the BBQ version looked particularly appealing being put together with an onion ring and sexy as fuck crisp fried streaky bacon.

The bun had been anointed with melted butter and fried to a delicate golden, the patty was pretty spot on and the veg additions all worked well.

Minor quibbles, the chedder wasn’t 100% melted, but it wasn’t really obvious, especially with the juiciness of the meat. The bun did a fine upstanding job of soaking all the juices, but did leave me with an ear of squishy bread to finish up with, however seeing the extra sauce/juice factors in the fancier versions I imaging that it’s pretty essential for them.

@lecamionquifume sorted me an excellent burger, I will be going back in the new year when they’ll have upped their capacity to deliver. Apparently part of the issue at lunches has been people arriving and ordering 8 – 10 burgers to take back to the office, this really hammers their mini kitchen and has seen them run out very early on occasion (see last post).

I don’t score, but if I did it’d be an 8/10.

Oh and within 45 minutes of my being served, the small wine bar was slammed with people queuing for half an hour or more for their fix.

Go, but go early. Oh, and pray that someone else starts doing good burgers otherwise poor Kirstin is going to get destroyed by the huge Parisian demand for good burgers.

And yes it did out a spring in my step J

Le Camion qui fume (pas pour moi)

2011-12-15T02:36:00.000-08:00

So abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, but does delayed gratification make the hype grow stronger?

Last Thursday, when I thought it was Friday I managed to go to entirely the wrong bit of Paris in my attempt to furnish myself with burger goodness. You can read what happened after that.

This Tuesday I took myself down to Place Madelainemy ten euro note gripped in a palm sweaty in anticipation. There was the burger van, there was a small crowd of people by the front but no discernable queue, I worked my way through the waiting people, and stood, quite possibly looking a bit gormless.

No one spoke to me, the people cooking had the dead eyed look of people just finishing a crazy service (I know the look, I’ve had it myself). They were finishing their last 3 patties, it was just before 2pm.

Yesterday, third time lucky?

I set off at 12am for Place Maillot, on the edge of the city, surely there’d be no one that close that’d want burgers, sadly we weren’t that far from La Defense, there was a television crew filming the admittedly huge queue of smartly dressed bankers and diplomats.

Not to be dissuaded I stood and waited, within five minutes there were another ten or so people behind me. Twenty minutes later. ‘Desole, on a plus burgers pour au jour d’hui’.

The less spoken of what I then had for lunch the better. Still it was a short hop back into town for a late second lunch at Racine (2), then I popped into the Spring wine shop, to be reminded that today (the 15^th) they have @lecamionquifume serving burgers for a book signing.

Fourth time lucky? I only hope the delayed gratification won’t have created expectations that the burgers wont be able to match.

In the words of the French/American diplomat I was chatting to in the queue.

‘Oh, yes, they really are worth the wait’

Consolation crab..

Booby prize boudin noir

I did make it to the hallowed van a couple of days later finalment il fume pour moi

The efficacy of the hot toddy and proof thereof

2011-12-12T04:05:00.000-08:00

Oxymel : improved.

When suffering from an excess of cold earthy humours, leading to an excess of phlegm (i.e. a cold) it is suggested that heating drying foods should be consumed, so as to balance the body.

Luckily both lemon and honey neatly fulfill these demands.

Annoyingly my list of where foods sit in the Hippocratic schema is lacking a listing for whisky, however I cannot envisage of it being regarded as anything other than a panacea, especially in how it combines all four of the principal humours. Being at once warming, while still evoking the ancient chill of the Caledonian hills. It’s almost unique ability to slake thirst and yet dry the body out at the same time fulfills the other two humours, thus neatly replacing the vinegar which completes the classic oxymel compound.

Therfor, we can safely say that the hot toddy, or Oxmel to give it it’s medicinal name is proven (so long as you work on a two and a half millennia old, and discredited, theory of medicine) to rebalance the body and cure one of a cold.

33 euros for a fucking burger...

2011-12-08T16:11:00.000-08:00

Many years ago when I was at primary school we visited an old church in (I think) Nothumbria. There was a carving of what looked like an imaginary fruit. On querying this we discovered that it was a carving of a pineapple. However, the carver had only ever read descriptions of pineapples, he’d never actually seen one, and as such it bore no actual resemblance to anything that you or I would recognize as a pineapple.

I was reminded of this today, having had a slight diary related day identification issue. I thought it was Friday (actually it was Thursday) and as such I trotted over to place la Madelaine to try and find @lecamionquifume who, for reasons that ought to be evident wasn’t there.

Still, having set off in search of a burger and being hungry I was looking for somewhere to eat. Wandering the streets of one of the posher bits of Paris I found myself looking at a menu at a place called Bread and Roses.

My eyes were drawn to their 33 euro cheese burger. Yep, 33 fucking euros. I actually returned to the menu three times, as each time I walked away, the rational bit of my brain refused to believe that anywhere that wasn’t on a luxury yacht could have the audacity to sell a burger for 33 euros.

Finally after a short amount of twitter conversing (thank you @eatlikeagirl and @ginanacrumpets) I decided that for shits and giggles it needed sampling.

Inside Bread and Roses was a little like wandering into a luxury boutique run by amateurs, there was a counter at the back selling the sort of couture pastries that plague Paris like a fungal infestation, the front contained a small service bar (zinc topped, of course) and a host of closely spaced tables.

The maître d, sensing that the unshaven n’eer do well with whom he was talking was only interested in eating, sat me at the bar.

One incredibly badly poured bottle of imported Guinness later (the other options were Bud, Corona or Carlsberg) I ordered my burger. To their credit I was asked how I wanted it cooked. Saignant, and that is how it arrived.

There, I’ve said the nice things, now I can get onto the wrongness.

The burger arrived with bun half on, a wooden spear cleaving the toasted topping, the lower half accented with cheddar (of a reddish hue), shredded lettuce, thick tomato slices, then the patty.

The patty was odd, thin and irregularly formed, I got the impression that the beef was probably very good, but fillet or another top end cut (I regard chuck steak as being the burger cut d’excellence, the connective tissue being minced into a mélange of happy tastiness that can then melt under cooking), it was a trifle thin and very under seasoned, adding to this was the fact that it was cooked on a grill/pan that was too cool and as such it had very little maillard/caramel related flavouring.

Above the patty was the most contentious of additions, a sort of creamy oniony mushroomy sauce/duxelle, now I like mushroom sauces as much (possibly more) than the next man, but there is no place for them in a burger (I will return to the issue of things being where they shouldn’t later). A fried egg, actually an excellently fried egg, both yolk and white in the most perfect of fried conditions. Unfortunately they were on a fucking burger not a slice or two of nicely fried back bacon.

An aside:

I fucking hate potato wedges, when dealing with fried potato products it’s a matter of surface area versus volume. The surface area is where the taste (and salt adhesive potential) resides. Potato wedges call to mind ill advised health drives, and sorry but I don’t order burgers when I’m feeling like being healthy, try to reduce the calorific intake of my burger and I will politely tell you where to shove it. Well my (33 euro) came with shitty potato wedges.

Looking around the room, I was far from the only person eating the burger. However I was the only person trying to do so with it in my hands. Queue several repeat requests for more napkins as, first the egg yolk, then the creamy mushroomy oniony imposter started to ooze all over my appendages.

Being in Paris, I couldn’t just fell ill afterwards, I needed to come face to face with the full on nausea of self identification. Well, staring at a bill for £42 quid for a few beers and a bad burger brought it all on. The horrible sensation of needing to look at ones self in a mirror, knowing that you’d delegated decision making to twitter, that you’d contributed to some downright fuckwits take home pay, but even more than that, knowing that ones simple act of purchase had added to some chef/proprietors self belief in his misguided burger mission.

A resounding 2 out of 5, which is particularly galling because all the ingredients were obviously of quite a high quality.

As I mentioned earlier, it brought to mind how I imagine a burger made by someone who’d only ever read about burgers might try to make one.

Oh and 33 euros is wrong (very fucking wrong)

2011-12-08T02:28:00.000-08:00

What do you call a pile of Vietnamese baguettes?

A Bahn Micelle…

Shockingly bad jokes aside, I was at a slight loss as to what to do for lunch yesterday. A week in Paris was leaving me with no great desire for more French food, quite apart from the ease with which 50 or 60 Euros can be dropped on a couple of plates and a glass or two of wine.

One slightly joking suggestion from @LoveLELUU later I was on the Metro to the Vietnamese part of town. I’d seen a review of the Bahn Mi from Hoa Nam on rue de l’Ivry and it looked pretty much exactly what I was after.

The area around rue de l’Ivry is shockingly similar to bits of east London, Vietnamese restaurants and supermarkets, high rise tower blocks and loads of students.

2.80 euros later I had a baguette stuffed with pork belly, lacquered pork, cucumber, shredded marinated carrot, persil Chinoise (Chinese Parsley?) and lots of spicy sauce.

Fuck me it was good, I very nearly was back five minutes later for a second.

I think I want to move to the 13^th district….

An evening in the arse of a chicken

2011-11-30T08:13:00.000-08:00

Sticking to my stated aim of visiting the grottoes and hideouts of the natural wine folk, my second days dinner was at le cul d’un poule, the current home of a chef called Yannig Sabro.

Faintly mushroom inspired doodlings decorated the side wall, with meccano framed pictures on the other, it was a narrow little neighborhood place that nonetheless had a certain swagger.

The menu, when in French is full of puns and joke names for dishes, ‘Bette et Rave’, was far from stupid and didn’t contain any turnips. It was, as one might guess a play on beetroot, diced, sliced and bundled with its leaves, a slick of sweetened puree accenting the side of the plate with salted ricotta cheese providing welcome counterpoint.

I followed this with the cod, vegetable linguine and black rice. This was a good a piece of fish cooking as I’ve had in a while, the cod coming apart in generous flakes, pearlescent in their sheen. However, the whole dish was dressed in a slightly sweet soy sauce based dressing that had the unfortunate effect of reminding me of cheap sweet and sour Chinese takeaway dishes. Not that it wasn’t nice, but it came across as terribly wrong. A la recherché du plats j’essaye a perdu…

A glass of JP Thevenet Morgon 09 with the starters had verve, a lovely acidic dark berry crunch and plenty of character. However the surprise of the meal was the Chilean white I was recommended to go with the fish. I’d discounted it when I ‘d seen it earlier as an aberration. Tiny wine list, all French and natural, surely there was nothing Chilean that could fit with it. Well yes Le Clos Ouverte, Verano Chardonnay 2010 from the Maule Valley, made by tree French men, organic and made naturally with zero Sulphur, it had a certain salty tang to the nose, almost as if someone had marinated ripe peaches in vin jaune. The palette was rich with salt caramel, peach and a lick of autolytic creaminess. The obvious comment here being that I was rather presumptuous to assume I knew all the interesting wines coming from Chile, but this was still a bit of a surprise, and a welcome one at that. My only slight gripe would be that the alcohol level in the wine meant that it finished a little hot and was consequently a bit short on the palette.

Tapiocarambaaaaaa…….

Tapioca in a Carambar fondue with a little bit of whisky topped with whipped cream. Fuck. Yes. This was as good as it sounds, the sort of thing that had I been served it as a child might have gone some way to convincing me that tapioca wasn’t the devils dessert.

Earlier, when I was ordering the waitress made a passing mention that the fish dishes were slightly smaller than the meat one. As I was leaving the table next to me received their starters, I should have taken a photo of paving slab sized steaks, and more impressively the leg of turkey, arriving bone in and whole like a caveman sized version of a chicken drumstick. It dominated the plate calling forth school boy historical images of obese kings feasting with the blood of their enemies still wet on the floor. Sorry I digress, but it was a very impressive piece of meat.

Croissant no.2

2011-11-30T07:36:00.000-08:00

Maison Laurent, following the advice of @mathildecuisine I trekked over to the wrong side of Montmartre to the home of dishy French television chef Gontran Cherrier. The best French pattiseries are like fashion boutiques, their glittering jewels the slices of chocolate and fruit tarts, confections of no small wonder vying for your attention all lined up with couture precision on thick marble slabs.

They leave me cold.

Behind the counter there are baskets of baguettes, proper baguettes, baguettes that taper to an almost needle like point, bread you imagine you could storm a Bastille with. Good bread.

And croissants. Sadly, not hot, but very good, a lovely caramel butter edge to the pastry and the proper crumble of the outer layers, with stray pieces attaching themselves to my lips.

A croissant as a croissant ought to be. 4.5*

Croissant no.1

2011-11-29T09:09:00.000-08:00

Many years ago when I lived in Glasgow I started what was obviously a precursor to a blog, but in a notebook and dedicated to trawling the cafes of Glasgow in search of a decent croissant.

I am now in Paris and thus much better placed to record my travails in the bars and patisseries of the city searching for that ultimate pastry.

Having made inquiries the previous evening I'd been directed to the Rue des Martyrs where I was to find Delmontel - find it I did, however it was closed.

So, needing sustenance I popped over the road to the nearest cafe for my fix.

As an aside, on the platonic ideal of a croissant.

As I see the Croissant.id in my mind there is an almost impossible amount of butteriness within the delicate leaves of the pastry, the interior shouldn't have too much resistance to pressure, in a sense it should almost blush to the touch.

The exterior though should be possessed of an impish desire to nestle fine leaves of golden brown pastry in all the crevices of whatever clothes you're wearing. These leaves though should disappear into a golden caramel butter haze of joy the second they meet the tongue.

Obviously this is not the most possible of mental constructs, but it has suited me well for many years and as such I'm going to stick with it.

Anyway this morning at Le Select Bar:

The atmosphere was convivial with two French workers enjoying a coffee each whilst dressed in what appeared to be a version of a white hazmat suite (not pictured). A nice zinc bar was at a good leaning height, and my request for un cafe et un croissant was met promptly with very little querying of my pronunciation (so far so good).

The coffee was standard French bar, espresso, muddy water dark with a limescale like scum on the top.

The croissant was mediocre, as you'll see in the second photo, the interior architecture is just a little too even, and there isn't quite enough cooking on the outside, however this isn't the end of the world, particularly for croissants that need to sit on a bar, it is better to be a trifle underdone than overdone.

All in all, I enjoyed my breakfast and will probably plump for about a 3* mark (this mark may be subject to later amendment should other Parisian croissants raise the bar more than expected)

A slightly rambling post about natural wines and their adherents

2011-11-29T06:06:00.001-08:00

One of my stated intentions of my trip to France was to really get under the skin of the natural wine movement.

As I see it there are two main thrusts to natural wines.

Firstly there is the ethical and philosophical argument that posits the viticulteur as the guardian of the soil and preserver of the uniqueness of the local terroir. There is a lot to be said for parts of this argument, however from a strictly consumer led point of view it is in a sense less than pointless. Good intentions do not necessarily a good taste make. There may well be a large group of people who argue that the practices involved in organic and biodynamic viticulture contribute to better quality wine, however there are equally those who reject the dogmatic adherence to some faintly ridiculous practices as being unnecessary, so long as there is a proper consideration of the effect of each treatment.

The better end of modern viticulture is a long way from the maligned industrial producers of old pumping their soil full of pesticides and fertilisers. For a start the chemical products are all rather expensive, profligacy really doesn’t pay.

Now, looking from the other side of the fence, that of the consumer brings other issues into play. What if there are certain elements to the natural wine making practices (and here I am now talking almost exclusively about the zero/minimal sulphur end of the spectrum) that influence the final taste of the wine. As a wine drinker, if I’m happy with slightly raised levels of volatile acidity, if I can cope with the low levels of wine-making faults as being symptomatic of a certain type of wine that I happen to like, then surely there is no real problem. The question that follows is how many of these characters are intrinsically linked with organic/biodynamic farming. Could I take conventionally farmed grapes, process them in such a way as to allow a chunk of wild yeast to arrive in the must, then bottle with a small level of dissolved CO2, no added SO2 and simply watch as the wine became ‘natural’. Now many wine makers would argue that conventionally farmed grapes will be lacking in the necessary micro-floral to initiate and sustain fermentation. However I’m of the view that unless their wineries are cleaned to a CDC approved aseptic level then there are going to be wild yeasts present in the winery, merely waiting for the right sugar rich solution for them to fall into and wake up in. As Wayne Stehbens of Katnook estate once pointed out to me, to get a reliable ‘wild’ ferment every year all you need to do is make sure you don’t quite clean your winery after fermentation.

This leads me to another, slightly more disturbing, question. The style of wines that many of us in the UK have come to know and appreciate as being part of the ‘natural’ wine movement, are often (to put it gently) a trifle funky. When I compare these wines with wild ferment examples from wineries with immaculate winery hygene, such as Schiopetto in Fruili, there is a much ‘wilder’ and varied set of aromatics present. Are we in fact fooling ourselves with the idea that the vineyard micro-flora has anything other than a minor role in the very early stages of fermentation? It is at this point worth remembering that there are many different yeast species that are present during a ferment, with different strains having population explosions at different points during the ferment depending on variables such as sugar concentration and alcohol concentration. Also the dormant yeasts in the winery are likely to be the ones that were most successful in the previous years ferment, implying that they are best adapted to the particular environment of the fermenting must, a very different environment than the skin of the unbroken grapes in the vineyard.

So, to recap, how much of the vogue for natural wines is an emotional and philosophical response to the environmental questions posed by monoculture vine viticulture, and how much of it is related to an appreciation of the particular aromatics and flavours that a slightly dirty wild ferment provides?

Kvevri - Romanian Amphora (sorry) wines

2011-11-14T09:59:00.001-08:00

Kvevri:

Some thoughts on Kvevri:

Having been invited to attend an evening in honor of Georgia by the lovely Isabelle Legeron, I was privileged to taste a selection of wines made in the old fashioned Kvevris.

These are some thoughts, based on a small amount of reading and tasting six wines. As such, I’m mostly posing the questions that occurred to me.

How much micro oxidation do the Kvevri enable, they surely can’t be too porous otherwise they’d be a bit shit for winemaking.

How are the kvevri cleaned out, obviously the old grape pomace needs removing, but how much tartaric acid residue is present and what effect does this have.

Is there any leaching of minerals from the clay of the kvevri? And if so, does this affect the resultant wine?

Given the liquid is not moved all that much inside the kvevri (they are buried) how much actual contact is there between the wine and the skins, surely the skins will form some sort of semi solid in the base of the kvevri above which there is no contact.

now some notes on the wines –

Iago, Chinuri (cultivar, non aromatic and mostly used for sparkling production) Kartli (region) 2009 – this is from the east of the country and has had 6 months on skins. The wine was a pale golden colour, it had a slight acetyl note, quite grippy tannins, very full bodied for a white, orange peel, black tea, white flowers, something honeyed. All of this was wrapped around a savoury mildly oxidative sort of core flavor. On the palette there was an intriguing feeling of coating on the finish, rather like I imagine lime scale to feel like.

Nika Antadze, Mtsvane (again the cultivar), Kakheti (region) 2009 – this had 1.5 months of skin ageing and was bottled especially for the tasting. Also a light golden colour, this showed a slightly vegetal and volatile nose with green pea notes, and oddly enough an aroma that really reminded me of sugar beet that’s been soaked overnight. On the palette there was the same weighty tannic presence, as well as the sensation of having a mineral mouthwash.

Aleksi Tsikhelashvili, Rkatsiteli (cultivar) Kakheti 2010 – 6 months skin contact, now the only time that I’ve previously come across aromatics as incredibly redolent of Christmas as this wine was in a Solera aged Maury vin doux naturelle, with wines going back 100yrs in the blend. This was a riot of spiced raisins, currants, cloves and toasted cinnamon, aged mincemeat with an brandy like oxidative tang, it may not have been my favourite wine of the evening but it was vertainly the most distinctive. On the palette it had that cold tea tannin and sugarbeet sweetness of the Antadze that it followed.

Our Wine, Rkatsiteli, Kakheti 2006, a deep burnished orange glowing with browned edges, this had a rich warm earthy sort of aroma, redolent of clay dust, on the palette there was an astringent saltiness that brought to mind what I imagine preserved salted apricot skins would taste like, the finish was wooly, salty and earthy, with a great moreish complexity. This was my wine of the evening.

I’ll come back to the reds at a later date as I felt they were substantially less impressive.

If Irancy had cheekbones like Kate Moss

2011-11-14T06:42:00.001-08:00

Pinot Noir, the cultivar that prompts more poetic flights of fancy than any other, about which there has probably been more chin stroking and idle speculation than all other varieties put together. It is also one of the more planted red grapes in the UK.

English wine has taken no small amount of criticism over the years, despite vigorous fighting back on the bubble front and a nice rear guard action from the aromatic whites the reds have still largely been left to suffer in silence.

It was a morning of twitter discussion that brought the idea of an English Pinot Noir tasting into fruition. Now at this point, I should mention that virtually all the organization was undertaken by the fabulous Dominique and Julia; of the Wine Pantry in Borough Market. They harangued producers into submitting bottles, sorted a glorious spread of nibbles and arranged a room in which we could sup.

I managed to bring along a bottle of ropey Sancerre Pinot, which did at least make everything else look well made and beautiful.

A short aside regarding clonal diversity, nomenclature, influence and language:

Pinot Noir is an incredibly old vine cultivar. As such it is rather plastic with regards to genetic homogeneity, there are multiple clones (often known simply by their nursery numbers, 113, 114 etc). Aficionados will drop these into conversation as a signifier of their elevated knowledge. In the UK there is less of a clonal issue at the moment, except relating to the difference between Early Pinot and Late Pinot. The Germans, who as far as I can gather, have the most that makes it to market call it Fruhburgunder as opposed to Spatburgunder, the French plump for Pinot Noir Precoce. The EC regards the two cultivars as being distinct and thus they need to be labeled as such.

I shall use the term on the label, though I prefer early and late.

Some wines..

Sharpham Estate 2010, Pinot Noir Precoce (Totnes, Devon)

This showed a slightly smoky cherry/raspberry edged nose with vibrant acidity and a spritz of tannins.

Welcombe Hills 2010 Pinot Noir Precoce (Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire)

Minerally strawberry inflected fruit overlaying a definite autolytic leesy like character. Just a hint of clove, with a fresh juicy palette.

Three Choirs 2010 Pinot Noir (Newent, Gloucestershire)

This wine caused a degree of disagreement, there is a very obvious oak influence on the nose, I found this unsettling, though there were comments that it would really help in a dining context.

Chapel Down 2009 Pinot Noir (Tenterden, Kent)

Slightly mute initially on the nose, some meaty bread like characters, again cherry scented fruit and an almost chalkiness to the acidity.

Gusbourne Estate 2010 (Appledore, Kent)

The palest of the wines, almost a schiller wine sort of colour, however this didn’t detract from the aromatics, clove scented cherries, a touch of something floral, this was for me the prettiest of the wines, a steely yet elegant palette made this my favourite wine of the day.

Plumpton College 2010, Sutherland’s Block (Plumpton, East Sussex)

This had a sort of caramel, milk chocolate hobnobs character that I found quite disconcerting, lending the wine an air of confectionary, sharpish acidity and a little short. I’d like to point out that I have in the past raved about this wine.

Bolney 2010 (Bolney, West Sussex)

Strawberries and a lactic sort of note, a touch of orange peel and some swish acidity.

So seven Pinot Noirs, coming across like Irancy but with the cheekbones and steely hauteur of Kate Moss at her prime. As I expected I liked the wines that had the least done to them, as it’s a slight struggle to get the real ripeness to the wines, it’s the growers with the gentlest touches that impressed me the most. As a final thought, I’d love to see these wines in ten to twenty years, as many of the ancient Burgundies were probably of a comparable ripeness and alcohol, so I have an inkling that these wines could age surprisingly well.

There is no place for fruit in cheese

2011-10-31T13:38:00.001-07:00

Somethings are inherently wrong. White Stilton with apricots or cranberries is one such thing.

While I appreciate that some people will like the fruity sweetness of a nice piece of ripe fruit alongside the sharp acidic tang of a good cheese. There is no justification for the blasphemy that is mincing the fruit and then mixing it with low grade unaged pieces of non mould affected Stilton.

I think what gets me most is the faux affectation of quality that seems to come with the novelty value of the fruit addition. One can imagine the marketing wonks who came up with the idea salivating at the thought of people looking longingly at the cheese counter, ‘tonight, how about something special? Ooh what about that cheese with the fruit it it?’

To commit this crime on Stilton just makes it worse, I have no great desire for Wensleydale, as such it doesn’t rankle quite the same, however Stilton is a king amongst cheeses and to see it being debased so foully is where the upset comes.

So I’m proposing that next time we see cheese cut with fruit pieces, or layer cake designs of plastic factory cheddars and cheshires being served in anywhere where we frequent, we let it be know that it’s fucking wrong and shouldn’t have been made in the first place, let a lone purchased by anyone who has any authority of food purchase decisions.

I should (te) Koko

2011-10-26T07:35:00.000-07:00

A potted history;

2000 – I’m working in the call centre at Direct wines, it’s my gap year and Cloudy Bay is still impossibly desirable, there are rumours that sweep the telephones that there is some stock of the Sauvignon available, but it all goes to the fine wine sales staff on the floor above.

2005 – On the restaurant floor at the Hotel du Vin in Brighton we have a healthy allocation, but one that tended to disappear with an alarming rapidity.

2007 – I’m starting to wax lyrical about the other Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc, Te Koko. By now I’ve decided that it’s impossibly trendy to knock Cloudy Bay as merely part of the LVMH stable, as a conscientious sommelier, I can’t really be seen to be recommending something that’s made by a multi-national luxury goods company.

But still there’s something about the Te Koko that meant it held onto its charm. It’s slight mutedness on first release, the sense of walking into a dew slicken arcade of summer white flowers that it soon evoked. I was hooked, and to Te Kokos credit I never found any oaked Sauvignons that tasted quite the same.

2011 – By now cynical and quite a lot older I’ve been invited to a tutored tasting of the Cloudy Bay wines with Nick Lane their head winemaker.

Te Koko began as a small barrel experiment in 96, initially with 10g residual sugar left in, 97 saw very heavy oak being applied, before the current more measured formula was found.

There is no specific selection of parcels or plots, the wine can be part of a normal Cloudy Bay parcel, or as happens occasionally just the next load that arrives into the winery. Before I make this sound terribly slap dash, I should point out that selection criteria for Cloudy Bay starts out very high and that there is a huge amount of work done in the vineyard to ensure the high standards .

However none of this can take away from the fact that this is a winemaker led wine (well in some ways it is and in other ways it’s less so)

The chosen must it allowed to ferment naturally (in contrast to the neutral yeasts favored for the Sauv B) and is then plonked whole sale into old oak (8%) new. Between 50-80% malolactic fermentation takes place, with occasional barrels warmed slightly to encourage it should the vintage seem a trifle acidic. This is then left on lees for 16-18 months. That’s pretty much it.

We had the 2008 to start with, this is the most recent release, white flowers, just a tiny hint of coffee, some honeysuckle, white peach and tropical flavours. On the palette there is that lovely silkiness that Sauvignon in old oak seems to acquire. Due to the slightly oxidative character of the vinification there is substantially less herbaceous (typically Sauvignon type) aromas, something all the wines will show.

The 06 was slightly less floral but had a marked lime and mango character to the nose. There was something of the bottle aged character to this that was slightly revelatory, a sort of lime marmalade and toast impression. Not the same as, but similar to the aged Riesling notes I’d expect of a 5 year old Clare Valley.

The 05 was similarly slightly waxy and Riesling like, the floral notes were still there but accompanied by a delicate caramel note, some interesting waxy tropical fruit notes on the palette and a certain saltiness on the finish.

Finally we were served some of the 2001, now I can’t be certain, but I think this was the wine I first fell for (the dates of releases sort of make sense, also it was stock that didn’t move that fast). A ten year old new world Sauvignon Blanc, by all that is right and good (and French) in the world, this should have been rubbish. It wasn’t. Lime scented salt caramel, a whiff of the elusive sous bois, a hint of something that reminded me of damp cellars, a powerfully silken palette intertwined with aldehydic and autolytic aromas, Nick Lane was suggesting an affinity with youthful Bollinger, but for me there was still just a bit to much floral and ghostly herbaceousness for the comparison.

I’m really glad that I still like Te Koko, yes it’s LVMH, but so is Yquem so sod off. The strength of its showing in the older vintages was very impressive.

Much too much, too much too young

2011-10-26T04:42:00.000-07:00

Bear with me while I think about Hollywood starlets.... I'll get to wine a little later.

Lindsey Lohans youth shone incandescently, showered with plaudits, feted for her precocious charm and ability. It seemed the world was going to be her oyster. Now it’s all expensive meltdowns, insurers refusing to cover her and convictions for driving under the influence. Of course it’s hard to know whether she’d have still had her breakdown if she hadn’t been so successful early, but it’s likely that the pressures of fame at such a young age didn’t help.

Chateau Tahbilk make two Marsannes, their everyday new release Marsanne, made with modern vinification, steel tanks, cool temperatures and protection from the deleterious effects of oxygen. Then there’s their 1927 Vines Marsanne, made in the traditional style, open top fermenters, no temperature control.

In their youth they could hardly be more different, the Marsanne is fresh, clean bursting with lime tinged tropical fruit notes, a beautifully modern wine. The 1927 vines is mute, there is next to no fruit, it seems to stare sullenly at you out of the glass, the effects of the oxygen during vinification showing like dirty smudges on a scrawny kids face. But like the children that get left to their own devices, the dirt and introspection only serve to hide a burgeoning character.

Fast forward five years, the Tahbilk Marsanne is reaching its prime, the lime like fruit turning waxy, salt like secondary charcters ring minerally tones, there is a richness and elegance that is very appealing. The 1927 Vines on the other hand has only just started to wake. Stripped of its overtly fruity phenolics when young, there is much less to oxidise and brown when older. As such the ravages of time that nag at the heart of fresher and fruitier styles leave it comparatively unharmed. Instead, good oxidation, the wonderfully subtle passing of youth works its magic, salt caramel, hazelnuts, glimpses of white flowers and the moreishness of madeira all start to appear. Its lithe marathon runner physique hits its stride, it’s a wine with easily another 20 years of bottle ageing ahead of it.

The contrast in ageability and styles of the two Tahbilk Marsannes is more than of just passing interest. Instead I believe it casts a very interesting light on the issue of Premox in Burgundy, premature oxidation of the finer white wines from the Cote de Beaune has been one of the regions bugbears for the last decade. Undermining the confidence that consumers once had in these princes of the white wine firmament. But looking at tasting notes of recent bottlings and younger vintages I’m struck by just how drinkable they often are, of course I never tasted the twenty year old bottles that I’ve had in their youth, but I can look back at others tasting notes. They regularly allude to the wines being difficult, tight, of the need for bottle age. Notice the word I use is need, not benefit. Time for that good oxidation to fill the gaps, only now those gaps aren’t there, instead we have soft appealing fruitiness, all ready to bruise and brown at the first sign of age.

Cloudy Bay Te Koko + Pinot notes

2011-10-24T09:18:00.001-07:00

I might try and type this up..

Tractatus Logico-Sezuanrestaurantificus

2011-10-18T11:21:00.000-07:00

The Sezuan Chilli is everything that is the case. ^*

What is the case, the fact, is the existence of Sezuan chillis, within the dish.

The logical conclusion is the numbing of thought and sensation.

The lack of sensation is the significant taste-function.

Taste-functions are truth-functions of elementary culinary propositions.

(An elementary culinary proposition is a truth-function of itself.)

The general form of truth/taste-function is:[, ,N()]

This is the general form of culinary proposition.

Whereof one cannot countenance tasting, thereof one must be silent.

Making you jealous....

2011-10-14T05:14:00.000-07:00

11.45 on the terrace of the Breton, Will, my new friend from Goldmans is pulling hard on his cigarette, I’ve still got a residual work related security worry about smoking in the market, but he bats it away. There’s a half bottle of Ducru Beaucaillou 04 on the table between us and tannin smudged glasses in our hands.

6.15 in the bar, I’m looking at a veritable forest of bottles all of which need opening, tasting and for about half, double decanting. All of this would be less of an issue if I wasn’t so hot and sweaty from the dash across London. Lacking a corkscrew of my own I was struggling with the bars orphan, its spiral bent out of shape as if some cork had mortally offended it’s mother. Ten wines, five bottles of each wine, give or take a couple corked and three of the offerings coming in halves and all of a sudden you have a lot of corks to pull. Especially when you’re as out of form Sommelier wise as I was.

Suffice to say, a hectic half hour of fiddling with sticky foils and wine soaked corks later we were ready to welcome the guests.

We started with a large plate of Chaorce and Dom Perignon Rose 1996,.I’ve cast aspersions about the Dom Perignon brand before, but there’s no denying that especially at the upper ends of the brands spectrum, it does deliver. The rose was more a muted amber, with the bubbles taking a rather languid route up the glass, earthy toast and a meaty umami red berry edge rounded out a lengthy palette that seemed to smoulder with intent.

Next was the Loire with Pouligny St Pierre, le Pyramide offset by Didier Daguenau, Silex, Blanc fume de Pouilly 2007 / 2006, a matched pair of vintages that showed how different Didier’s Sauvignon expressions could be, the 06 tight and supremely mineral, an edge of cream like perspiration on slate merely glossing the pebbliness of the wines coiled core. The 07 much more obviously Sauvignon with a taut herbaciousness glaring out of the wine, rather like a prize undergraduate still prickly at the barely visible hint of his regional accent.

Michel Chapoutier, Ermitage de L’Oree 2004. Rousanne and Marsanne in what ought to be their apogee of expression, Chapoutier’s finest vineyard sites for whites and just enough age to let the wine start to open. Except this is Rousanne we’re talking about, and as such ageing doesn’t make sense, this dark moth of a grape, with it’s cocoon like period of oxidative metamorphosis, browning a little early, taking on those slighty madeirised nutty notes, all awry with the honeysuckle and quince notes of the wine, but oddly perfect with the mute creaminess of the Beaufort, the perennial bridesmaid of the alpine cheeses, and such a loyal friend to any caramel notes in a wine.

Epoisses, a cheese to reaffirm ones belief in life, so redolent of microbial decay, yet intensely appealing, somewhat hard to match, but in the absence of some aged tokajis we plumped for Domaine Leflaive, Puligny Montrachet 1er Cru Les Pucelles 2006. A nice little chardonnay from a smallish family winery in Burgundy, ok maybe not. The most highly garlanded of Leflaives Puligny premiere crus, a vintage heralded for the clarity and freshness of its whites, this should have been a doozy, instead it didn’t really connect for me, maybe it was a little young, but then I’d have wanted more of an imperiously tight mineral insouciance, the kind of wine that chastises you for deigning to drink it before it’s ready. There were, hints of hazelnut, some touches of smoke and the umami complexity that one would expect, but frustratingly, at least for me, not quite enough fireworks.

Langres, the wrinkled annatto coloured cheese of the Champenois, so often served with Champagne poured into its indented top, I’ve never approved, it doesn’t help either the cheese or the Champagne, instead for their soft tanins and mature fruit we had Etienne Guigals, Cote Rotie, La Landonne/La mouline 1993. Two of Guigal’s Cote Rotie daughters, both just turned 18, and both, seemingly vying with each other for my favors. La Mouline all spiced earth and dusky charm, La Landonne more structured, with a tannic quiver still running along the palette and an almost coy refusal to completely meet the eye. Cote blonde and cote brunde indeed.

A slight confession here, at this point I’d stopped eating the cheeses and was merely enjoying the wines and chatting with the guests.

Chateau Lascomes, Margaux 2003. In the late 90’s early 00’s Chateau Lascombes was undergoing a wholesale change of identity, money poured in for the new winery, consultants were consulted, and the nice folk that worked at the top tonnelieres were spoken to (at length). 2003 was a very hot year, and as such the wines were less than typical, this along with the change in wine making attitude meant that the 03 Lascombes was, while a great wine, not really one that sang of its origin. Closing in on 8 years old, and out of half bottle, there was a softening of tannins, a degree of integration of the oak, and a sense that somewhere in the wine there was a Margaux trying to get out. Toasted oak aromas glowered and bullied the hints of violet and gravel all cowed and hidden, a wine that I found interesting more than enchanting.

Now Ducru Beaucaillou, Pauillac 2004. I used to open a lot of Bordeaux, it was the staple fine wine of my old restaurant, however, recently I’ve seen a lot less. The first sip of the Ducru was akin to that first drag after six months of abstinence. There was a thrill to the way the tannins caressed flesh of my cheeks, my tongue almost shivered from the charge of acidity, I almost had to close my eyes, this was Claret as I always dreamed it ought to be. Dark fruit notes, were intertwined with a savory complexity, there were inklings of licorice, spice, gravel and greatness, a easy confidence of Medoc perfection.

In 1944 Francis Bacon painted his figures at the base of a crucifix, the three furies contorted and writhing like so much sublimated war torn pain. The next summer the sunken cheeked women and occupation battered vignerons of Pauillac pulled them selves together to bring in the grapes from the Mouton Rothschild vineyards. Over the following 40 years Bacon would blaze a trail of greatness through Soho, pugilism in bedsits with warring lovers, dazzling paintings that blazed with malice and pain. Mouton would finally pull itself into the elite group of first growths and their achievements of 44/45 would grow in stature to take the position of legend. In 89 Bacon reprised the figures at the base of the crucifix, the back ground colours more vivid as reflecting his style at the time, and the Rothschilds would ask him to design the label for the 1990 Mouton Rothschild. 45 years on from the great 1945 wasn’t the best of the decades vintages, but it was still pretty damn good, at 21, ready to take the key to the house it played all undergrowth (what the French call sous bois) autumnal woodland, wet gravel and a sort of tweed like twill, both fine and glossy, yet at the same time textured and dignified.

Rieussec, 1ere Cru Classe Sauternes 2005. There are two ways that I like Sauternes, youthful when there is still the incandescence of fruit and vitality, the vanilla oak and cigar box spice still vital and powerful. Then, maybe ten, fifteen years later when there is a whiff of earth amongst the marmalade and caramel, as if there’s a cloud of fungal spores just lingering at the edge of the bouquet. The Riussec 05 was firmly in the former group, all stone fruits and tropical cocktails, pineapple and amber fire, yet cut through with just enough steeliness to suggest a wine that is going to quietly shed its youthful exuberance to become as scholarly as its terroir demands.

Finally the 1992 Taylor’s Port. Parker, famously gave this 100 points, at the time as much of a gold plated insignia of perfection as was possible. It still looks good, rich licorice and spice swaddled opulent dark cherry fruit all wrapped up in the faintly aristocratic swagger of the Douro baked and aguardiente fortified fruit. Also by this time it was a trifle late, and I was a little drunk.

Which leads neatly to what I was doing on the terrace with Will, another late night in London..