Two Rhone blends to accompany Neil’s excellent steak with Beaujolais reduction. It was supposed to be a Chianti reduction, but after half a bottle of the generic and tedious 2007 Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau – which I might add that I only owned because I bought it for a blind tasting training session that never came to be – I insisted that it meet a fiery end by being burnt away in a dirty pan and poured over a dead cow. While we’re on the subject, I should settle the score on whether it is appropriate to use bad wine in sauces. Of course it is. People often cite the maxim “never cook with something you wouldn’t drink”. Rubbish. That maxim is as wrong as when Maitland said “equity acts in personam”. (For those of you who aren’t equity barristers, that means “very wrong”. As wrong as the UK’s decision to send Daz Sampson to Eurovision last year.) Cooking is the only use for bad wine. When I say “bad”, of course I do not mean “off”. Corked or oxidised wine should never be used in cooking. But mediocre/boring/cheap-but-not-faulty wines are best for cooking. You would be mad to use an expensive wine to cook a dish. It is as foolish and ostentatious as using a $100 bill to light a cigar, and nowhere near as hilarious. To think – on the one hand there are all these magazine articles and “Good Living” columns about precisely how many minutes to let your 11 year old fifth growths breathe, and where you can get bottle thermometers, and why you should spend hundreds of dollars on Riedel “Sommeliers” series crystal glasses and so forth, and then you turn to the recipe column and it says “take a bottle of 1982 Chateau Cos d’Estournel and add it to a jointed chicken and 4 cloves of garlic”. Madness!
Anyway, back to the Rhone blends that accompanied said repast, neither of which are from the Rhone Valley.
The 1999 Charles Melton Nine Popes (Barossa Valley) is flagship Australian in at least two respects. Being a grenache dominant blend, with shiraz and mourvedre in there too, it is obviously modelled on Chateauneuf du Pape, and indeed it is often cited for being the most “Rhonish” of Australian reds. Chateauneuf du Pape, of course, means “Pope’s New Castle” in French, not “Nine Popes Castle”, (“neuf” being often mistaken for “nine” and not “new”). Therein lies the first Australianism – complete misconstrual and/or disregard of tradition and history. Oh yes. Have you ever been to a “black-tie” dinner in Australia? They think it means “collared shirt, please”. Anyway, I shall put that to one side as I think it’s quite a nice name for a wine, despite its Catholic overtones – better than “Thrush Valley” or “Cockburn Ridge” or whatever the latest double entendre to find its way onto an Australian wine label is.
Now, the wine. It is excellent, of course. Not in the least bit Rhonish, but that is probably down to the FUCKLOADS OF AMERICAN OAK that bash you over the head the moment you stick your nose in the glass… Why oh why?? I am just so tired of Australian winemakers trying to emulate the old world in all the wrong ways. Australia used to be really excellent at making Shiraz/Cabernet blends until they realised that nobody else in the world made them. Then they tried to emulate the old world by blending shiraz with grenache etc and cabernet with merlot etc. That’s fine, except that shiraz and cabernet actually blend really well together and make a marvellous wine, and so to at least a small degree we have lost something iconic. (To be fair, there are still plenty of excellent shiraz/cabernet blends kicking around, like Penfold’s St Henri and Bin 389). Yet one thing that apparently few Australian winemakers have noticed is that THEY DON’T USE FUCKING AMERICAN OAK IN FRANCE! Yet do Australian winemakers abandon American Oak? Oh no… And so you have a sniff of Charles Melton Nine Popes and you get hit over the head with sweaty horses and bricks and must and crap that wouldn’t be there if they had use nice old French oak, and then only after that do you gain entry to an otherwise very beautifully integrated wine – coffee bean, sharp cherries, rounded Werther’s caramel, leather, beautiful integration, soft furry tannins. Lovely.
Next was the 2001 Chateau Camplazens (Coteaux du Languedoc), a gift from the lovely Greg whom we had invited to dinner. This wine simply has to be tasted to be believed. My God, it is savoury. Liquid meat. You could sluice this around a lion’s cage. Vegetarians should not go near it with a 10 foot barge pole. Heavy, raw, meat. Then once you get past that, you get to the dried meats. Peppery pastrami, salty bacon, and a thick palate. The wine had thrown a massive deposit, but I actually wouldn’t be surprised if it were pepper grounds added directly to the bottle. Massive.
In summary:
1. Don’t use expensive wine to cook with.
2. Australian winemakers, please stop using American oak.
3. I like meat and anything that exists as an homage to it, which I take savoury wines to be.
PS – Oxford thrashed Cambridge in varsity blind wine tasting yesterday, with my great mate Piers Barclay taking top taster and the Oxford captain, John Mead, not far behind in 3rd place on the individual scores. Congratulations to them, as well as Andras, Cici, George, Will and Charlie who made up the team. And please invite me back to do a few tastings before the international against France.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Sunday, 10 February 2008
Six of one, half a dozen of the other
A week of blind tasting began on Wednesday with an impromptu visit from Nic, a mathematician friend and hopeful for the Oxford team this year. I took the opportunity to test him with a wine from his homeland, the 1992 JB Becker Wallufer Oberburg Auslese Riesling (£22), which he identified correctly, albeit 4 years out on the vintage (not bad for an aged wine). It’s a stunner, but definitely at the end of its viable life span. Deep gold, it has loads of honey, petrol, peach, and ripe melons on the nose. The entry is sweet, the palate powerful, with candied orange and petrol coming through. It’s really ripe and botrytised, but the acid has rather fallen away (a comment I made when I last tasted it a year ago, but even moreso now). Still extremely pleasant though.
In return, he brought a 2001 Marques del Romeral Rioja Reserva (£10) for me to try, which I manifestly failed to identify, which I put down to its anonymous, powerful, alcoholic, jammy “could be anything” style. It’s heady, and powerful, and to its credit it has lots going on – cherries, leather, jam, liquorice and fuckloads of oak (its American-ness well masked). Ultimately it's a well made wine but I simply can’t drink much of it, and don’t really want to, as it less individuality than even the Marks & Spencer food hall from which it was purchased.
On Saturday it was my turn to go up to Oxford with a case of wine for the team. Six whites were disappointing across the board, starting with the 2006 Loimer Gruner Veltliner (Kamptal, Austria, £10). Very pale and clear, the restrained nose shows faint pear, lime and citrus notes. The palate is ripe with high acidity, chalky minerality and only hint of white pepper on the finish. It’s actually a nice wine, (a few weeks ago I said it would be my house wine for the summer), but it wasn’t showing that well, with the rather faint nose and crisp but unexciting palate not really showing enough Gruner identity for blind tasting purposes.
The 2007 Springfield Estate Sauvignon Blanc (Robertson, South Africa, £9) followed, which I didn’t at all mind. Very pale, there was some visual spritz in the glazz. The nose is pungent, vegetal, salty, the palate herbaceous with some tropicality. I found it quite Marlborough in style. I was, however, alone, as most others found it aggressive, unclean, sweaty and un-charming.
The 2002 Zusslin Clos du Liebenberg Riesling (£12) was utterly disappointing (a wine I have been enthusiastic about on other occasions). It had a lustrous gold colour but an overbearing nose of caramel, botrytis, orange peel. The palate is overripe and flabby, the acid is fading, its Riesling identity horribly masked by the use of a whole slab of botrytis grapes in a dry wine. What a shame.
This was followed by the 2006 Duncan McGillvray ‘Beau Sea’ Viognier (Adelaide Hills, South Australia, £10). Mid straw in colour, it had a promising nose: floral, honeyed, even a hint of liquorice. But the palate palate is vegetal and viscous and any purity of fruit hidden by oak that acted like cotton wool around the flavour.
Another wine that has impressed on previous occasions, the 2004 Domaine des Forges ‘Clos du Papillon’ Savennieres (£12) was again disappointing. It presented as bright gold with a ripe nose of honeycomb and sandalwood, and faint dried apples. But it had lost all the vigour of its youth, the palate being distinctively woody, fat, flabby, herbal, and with none of the rasping acidity that I remember from previous bottles.
The white flight finished, unmercifully, with a bottle of 2002 Alfred Bonnet Freidelscheimer Schlossgarten Riesling (Pfalz, £9) that was heavily oxidised and could have been mistaken for apple juice.
The reds on the other hand were all displaying beautifully, and all textbook examples of their respective styles. We opened with 2005 Frederic Mabileau ‘Racines’ Bourgeuil (£12), which I reviewed last week, but that bears repetition. It was inky red-purple with fresh, peppery, crunchy fruit and a metallic streak. High in acid, very up front and vigorous.
Second, the 2001 Delas Marquise de la Tourette Hermitage (£26) – translucent brick red, with leather, chocolate, liqueur notes and loads of salted meats. Lean and savoury on the palate (“tomato soup” said Will) with red fruits and boiled lollies in the background. Not a heavy Hermitage at all, and I equivocate about whether it will get that much better in the future, but certainly drinking very well now.
1995 Faustino I Gran Riserva Rioja (£12), obtained by chance as a gift this week, was tawny in colour. Leathery, chocolatey nose with obvious spicy oak. “Mushrooms and earthiness”, observed others. Sweet vanilla comes through on the palate with sweet ripe cherries and soft ripe tannins. Personally I’m not really a fan of Rioja at all but it was showing well. Interestingly, those who got it wrong in the blind tasting mistook it for old Burgundy. John tells me that these two wines are very commonly confused with each other (an MW friend of the society even confessing as much). The reason why I find this interesting is that you see all these people creaming their pants over old Burgundy, but when was the last time you ever heard anyone bang on about Rioja, huh? Oh yeah, Burgundy, the poet’s wine, greatest wine in the world, transcendental, the search for the perfect bottle – mm, truffles, undergrowth etc etc. And yet poor old Rioja, mistaken for it in a blind tasting, languishes in frosted bottles at a fifth of the price on the bottom shelf at Tesco. Get your house in order, Burgundy fans and tell us what the big deal is.
From Spain to Italy, the 2004 Castella della Peneretta Chianti Classico (£10) had a restrained, very quiet nose that eventually shows a bit of cherry sherbet and sour cherries. There’s some vanilla and bitter fruit on tehpalate, with obviously grippy tannins at the end and very cleansing acid.
Continuing the theme of wines from countries that speak romance languages, the 2005 Montes Alpha Cabernet Sauvignon (Aconcagua Valley, Chile, £10) showed very typical smoked peppers (burnt matches, said others) and jammy ribena/blackcurrant fruit, caramel, and mint. There’s plenty going on, and the wine has a creamy, liqueur-like palate with well structured tannins. Not everyone’s favourite style (“like Ribena poured on a diesel engine” in Andras’s words), but I really quite enjoyed it.
And to finish, the obligatory claret, 2001 Chateau Barrabaque (Canon Fronsac, £11). I bought a case of this about a year ago and have been trying to get rid of it for ages (it’s filed under “allegedly good stuff that other people like, for giving as gifts but that I don’t really want to drink” in my cellar), as it tasted like nothing more than cedarwood and people shouting, even at an age where it was said to be at its best. Now, finally, when I only have 3 bottles left, it’s showing beautifully. Pure coffee beans, mint and cedar on the nose. The palate is as thick as the front row of the Canterbury Bulldogs, with weight of fruit, an attractive burnt brandy edge too. Lots of interest. Now I’m wishing I’d kept more than I had, and got rid of all those horrible whites that I unfortunately have quite a lot of left.
In return, he brought a 2001 Marques del Romeral Rioja Reserva (£10) for me to try, which I manifestly failed to identify, which I put down to its anonymous, powerful, alcoholic, jammy “could be anything” style. It’s heady, and powerful, and to its credit it has lots going on – cherries, leather, jam, liquorice and fuckloads of oak (its American-ness well masked). Ultimately it's a well made wine but I simply can’t drink much of it, and don’t really want to, as it less individuality than even the Marks & Spencer food hall from which it was purchased.
On Saturday it was my turn to go up to Oxford with a case of wine for the team. Six whites were disappointing across the board, starting with the 2006 Loimer Gruner Veltliner (Kamptal, Austria, £10). Very pale and clear, the restrained nose shows faint pear, lime and citrus notes. The palate is ripe with high acidity, chalky minerality and only hint of white pepper on the finish. It’s actually a nice wine, (a few weeks ago I said it would be my house wine for the summer), but it wasn’t showing that well, with the rather faint nose and crisp but unexciting palate not really showing enough Gruner identity for blind tasting purposes.
The 2007 Springfield Estate Sauvignon Blanc (Robertson, South Africa, £9) followed, which I didn’t at all mind. Very pale, there was some visual spritz in the glazz. The nose is pungent, vegetal, salty, the palate herbaceous with some tropicality. I found it quite Marlborough in style. I was, however, alone, as most others found it aggressive, unclean, sweaty and un-charming.
The 2002 Zusslin Clos du Liebenberg Riesling (£12) was utterly disappointing (a wine I have been enthusiastic about on other occasions). It had a lustrous gold colour but an overbearing nose of caramel, botrytis, orange peel. The palate is overripe and flabby, the acid is fading, its Riesling identity horribly masked by the use of a whole slab of botrytis grapes in a dry wine. What a shame.
This was followed by the 2006 Duncan McGillvray ‘Beau Sea’ Viognier (Adelaide Hills, South Australia, £10). Mid straw in colour, it had a promising nose: floral, honeyed, even a hint of liquorice. But the palate palate is vegetal and viscous and any purity of fruit hidden by oak that acted like cotton wool around the flavour.
Another wine that has impressed on previous occasions, the 2004 Domaine des Forges ‘Clos du Papillon’ Savennieres (£12) was again disappointing. It presented as bright gold with a ripe nose of honeycomb and sandalwood, and faint dried apples. But it had lost all the vigour of its youth, the palate being distinctively woody, fat, flabby, herbal, and with none of the rasping acidity that I remember from previous bottles.
The white flight finished, unmercifully, with a bottle of 2002 Alfred Bonnet Freidelscheimer Schlossgarten Riesling (Pfalz, £9) that was heavily oxidised and could have been mistaken for apple juice.
The reds on the other hand were all displaying beautifully, and all textbook examples of their respective styles. We opened with 2005 Frederic Mabileau ‘Racines’ Bourgeuil (£12), which I reviewed last week, but that bears repetition. It was inky red-purple with fresh, peppery, crunchy fruit and a metallic streak. High in acid, very up front and vigorous.
Second, the 2001 Delas Marquise de la Tourette Hermitage (£26) – translucent brick red, with leather, chocolate, liqueur notes and loads of salted meats. Lean and savoury on the palate (“tomato soup” said Will) with red fruits and boiled lollies in the background. Not a heavy Hermitage at all, and I equivocate about whether it will get that much better in the future, but certainly drinking very well now.
1995 Faustino I Gran Riserva Rioja (£12), obtained by chance as a gift this week, was tawny in colour. Leathery, chocolatey nose with obvious spicy oak. “Mushrooms and earthiness”, observed others. Sweet vanilla comes through on the palate with sweet ripe cherries and soft ripe tannins. Personally I’m not really a fan of Rioja at all but it was showing well. Interestingly, those who got it wrong in the blind tasting mistook it for old Burgundy. John tells me that these two wines are very commonly confused with each other (an MW friend of the society even confessing as much). The reason why I find this interesting is that you see all these people creaming their pants over old Burgundy, but when was the last time you ever heard anyone bang on about Rioja, huh? Oh yeah, Burgundy, the poet’s wine, greatest wine in the world, transcendental, the search for the perfect bottle – mm, truffles, undergrowth etc etc. And yet poor old Rioja, mistaken for it in a blind tasting, languishes in frosted bottles at a fifth of the price on the bottom shelf at Tesco. Get your house in order, Burgundy fans and tell us what the big deal is.
From Spain to Italy, the 2004 Castella della Peneretta Chianti Classico (£10) had a restrained, very quiet nose that eventually shows a bit of cherry sherbet and sour cherries. There’s some vanilla and bitter fruit on tehpalate, with obviously grippy tannins at the end and very cleansing acid.
Continuing the theme of wines from countries that speak romance languages, the 2005 Montes Alpha Cabernet Sauvignon (Aconcagua Valley, Chile, £10) showed very typical smoked peppers (burnt matches, said others) and jammy ribena/blackcurrant fruit, caramel, and mint. There’s plenty going on, and the wine has a creamy, liqueur-like palate with well structured tannins. Not everyone’s favourite style (“like Ribena poured on a diesel engine” in Andras’s words), but I really quite enjoyed it.
And to finish, the obligatory claret, 2001 Chateau Barrabaque (Canon Fronsac, £11). I bought a case of this about a year ago and have been trying to get rid of it for ages (it’s filed under “allegedly good stuff that other people like, for giving as gifts but that I don’t really want to drink” in my cellar), as it tasted like nothing more than cedarwood and people shouting, even at an age where it was said to be at its best. Now, finally, when I only have 3 bottles left, it’s showing beautifully. Pure coffee beans, mint and cedar on the nose. The palate is as thick as the front row of the Canterbury Bulldogs, with weight of fruit, an attractive burnt brandy edge too. Lots of interest. Now I’m wishing I’d kept more than I had, and got rid of all those horrible whites that I unfortunately have quite a lot of left.
Monday, 4 February 2008
In which I go to supermarket without incident
In recent times I have made significant inroads into kerbing my supermarket neuroses. For many years I had to put my groceries on the belt arranged into the 5 major food groups (fruit and vegetables first) then toiletries at the end. This is so that the first impression of the checkout chick (or chap) is that one is healthy, their last impression that one is clean. Now that I take a backpack to the supermarket I arrange things in weight order for ease of packing, although for some reason they always want to reach down the belt and take the eggs first, ruining my structural designs.
The one habit I cannot kick, though, is worrying about is other customers being judgmental about my wine choices (yes, I buy wine at the supermarket sometimes, got a problem?) Not so much because they might disagree with my objective selections (my taste being generally beyond reproach), but more that they might extrapolate from the other items in my basket to what I might pair the wine with, and impugn my selection accordingly. Being not as proficient at food and wine matching as some others, this makes me vulnerable to criticism, something to which I am usually impervious.
Last Thursday, however, I was open to attack on both fronts, because in a fit of idiocy and homesickness I chose a bottle of Wolf Blass Yellow Label Chardonnay hoping, naively as it turns out, to prove myself wrong in thinking that you can’t get a good wine in Waitrose Bloomsbury for under £7. I hid the bottle under some potatoes, milk and parsley (I was making fish pie) and scurried head down to the checkout. Luckily I needn’t have worried. The guy behind me had a can of baked beans, two rice puddings, a block of cheddar cheese and two bottles of pinot grigio, so he was hardly in a position to judge. I admire his honesty though – I’d rather be at his house for dinner than the woman who had a bottle of pink Moet, 20 plastic cups and some pre-made Waitrose tapas ready-presented in faux terracotta plastic dishes. Who does she think she’s kidding? Anyway, I won’t bore you with a description of the terminally disappointing Wolf Blass, except to say that it tastes how a lagerphone sounds – bland and abrasive.
I had to wait for Friday for decent chardonnay, by which time I had learnt my lesson and was squarely back in Burgundy. The 2005 Domaine Vincent Sauvestre Santenay (£10) has a healthy golden colour. It’s silky and buttery in the mouth, with good stone fruit presence. The oak is a tad sappy and the wine has perhaps a bit of a high chlorine note that doesn’t sit well, but otherwise very attractive.
On Sunday I had a second stab at the whole food/wine matching thing. An Austrian friend of mine came over for dinner with her posse. After an aperitif of 2006 Loimer Gruner Veltliner, I paired a starter of seared scallops with asparagus and scallop roe sauce (soundly like something from an Iron Chef scallop challenge…) with the 2006 Domaine Vocoret Chablis Premier Cru Vaillon (£12). I can’t remember how it tasted but it was really super. Very round – I was under a bit of stress what with all the cooking and forgot to take a note. Anyway you can get it at Majestic and it’s very good.
With a roast shoulder of lamb came the 2005 Frederic Mabileau Bourgueil 'Racines' (£12) and yes, wasn’t I being adventurous pairing a lively little cabernet franc with a traditional roast dinner? It worked beautifully actually – the wine has really lifted, up-front crunchy fruit: plum, cherry, blackcurrant leaf, mint, even a smoky, flinty dimension. Loads of interest and grippy tannins to finish. Then a claret, of course! The 1998 Chateau Potensac (£18 if you know where to look) is showing beautifully. It has an energetic nose – mint, ash, cigar box, and a rich, fatty palate of cassis liqueur that rolls over the tongue and down the gullet as edgelessly as the clarinet solo at the beginning of the slow movement of Rachmaninov’s C minor concerto. Sorry if that’s a bit inaccessible, but sometimes I get bored of words as a medium of expression.
The one habit I cannot kick, though, is worrying about is other customers being judgmental about my wine choices (yes, I buy wine at the supermarket sometimes, got a problem?) Not so much because they might disagree with my objective selections (my taste being generally beyond reproach), but more that they might extrapolate from the other items in my basket to what I might pair the wine with, and impugn my selection accordingly. Being not as proficient at food and wine matching as some others, this makes me vulnerable to criticism, something to which I am usually impervious.
Last Thursday, however, I was open to attack on both fronts, because in a fit of idiocy and homesickness I chose a bottle of Wolf Blass Yellow Label Chardonnay hoping, naively as it turns out, to prove myself wrong in thinking that you can’t get a good wine in Waitrose Bloomsbury for under £7. I hid the bottle under some potatoes, milk and parsley (I was making fish pie) and scurried head down to the checkout. Luckily I needn’t have worried. The guy behind me had a can of baked beans, two rice puddings, a block of cheddar cheese and two bottles of pinot grigio, so he was hardly in a position to judge. I admire his honesty though – I’d rather be at his house for dinner than the woman who had a bottle of pink Moet, 20 plastic cups and some pre-made Waitrose tapas ready-presented in faux terracotta plastic dishes. Who does she think she’s kidding? Anyway, I won’t bore you with a description of the terminally disappointing Wolf Blass, except to say that it tastes how a lagerphone sounds – bland and abrasive.
I had to wait for Friday for decent chardonnay, by which time I had learnt my lesson and was squarely back in Burgundy. The 2005 Domaine Vincent Sauvestre Santenay (£10) has a healthy golden colour. It’s silky and buttery in the mouth, with good stone fruit presence. The oak is a tad sappy and the wine has perhaps a bit of a high chlorine note that doesn’t sit well, but otherwise very attractive.
On Sunday I had a second stab at the whole food/wine matching thing. An Austrian friend of mine came over for dinner with her posse. After an aperitif of 2006 Loimer Gruner Veltliner, I paired a starter of seared scallops with asparagus and scallop roe sauce (soundly like something from an Iron Chef scallop challenge…) with the 2006 Domaine Vocoret Chablis Premier Cru Vaillon (£12). I can’t remember how it tasted but it was really super. Very round – I was under a bit of stress what with all the cooking and forgot to take a note. Anyway you can get it at Majestic and it’s very good.
With a roast shoulder of lamb came the 2005 Frederic Mabileau Bourgueil 'Racines' (£12) and yes, wasn’t I being adventurous pairing a lively little cabernet franc with a traditional roast dinner? It worked beautifully actually – the wine has really lifted, up-front crunchy fruit: plum, cherry, blackcurrant leaf, mint, even a smoky, flinty dimension. Loads of interest and grippy tannins to finish. Then a claret, of course! The 1998 Chateau Potensac (£18 if you know where to look) is showing beautifully. It has an energetic nose – mint, ash, cigar box, and a rich, fatty palate of cassis liqueur that rolls over the tongue and down the gullet as edgelessly as the clarinet solo at the beginning of the slow movement of Rachmaninov’s C minor concerto. Sorry if that’s a bit inaccessible, but sometimes I get bored of words as a medium of expression.
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