Red and Brown

This week I didn’t take a crap between Wednesday and Friday. Is that normal? I can only think of two things that might have provoked this problem (now allayed many times over, in case you care, although if you do I’d be worried about my demographic…) My flatmate has just started learning the saxophone, and I’ve taken to reading the London Review of Books whilst on the loo. I was sort of hoping that the combination of brown tones and purple prose would keep my bowels in their pre-existing state of equilibrium, but apparently not. Clearly too much saxophone. I swear to god that if Adam plays Fly Me to the Moon one more time with the same wrong note in bar 7 (he clearly hasn’t learnt the “sharp” sign yet), he’ll have that saxophone so far up him it will be him that isn’t shitting for days at a time.

Of course, the other thing about Wednesday and Thursday was that I didn’t drink. (Or Monday, for that matter, although that had no effect on my "regularity"). This is all part of my new “drink nice things a couple of times a week, not plonk several times a week” regime. But the new way did not serve me all that well this week.

On Tuesday night I was at the annual Denning Society dinner. As functions of this sort go, it’s quite nice really. You get a good meal, and for two years in a row now the after dinner speaker has been funny, and you get to dress up, and there are people less than 40 years one’s senior there. That’s pretty good as posh lawyer dinners go. At comparable events one usually listens to old farts say things like “Oh, you just can’t get a good hotel in London for under £400 a night” and you can’t even respond by saying “Oh come on, the Comfort Inn King’s Cross isn’t bad if the hookers are having a slow night” – instead you have to say “oh yes, yes, one’s better off staying at one’s club, although the tariff at the East India has been creeping up for the last few years.”

Even the wine wasn’t bad. With the fish course we had a 2006 Caves de Haut Poitou sauvignon blanc – fresh and inoffensive, with crisp tropical fruit, but nothing to detract from the sparkling conversation we were having about Lord Denning’s judgment in Vandervell's case. With the main course there was a 2003 Chateau Lescalle Bordeaux Superieur, which had respectable blackcurrant-driven cabernet fruit and a soft mouthfeel. The oak was of on a planet of its own, but you can’t have it all.

And that was it until Friday, when I pulled out a bottle of 2003 Te Awa Hawkes Bay Cabernet Merlot (£9). I’ve waxed rhapsodic about this wine in the past, but I must say that on subsequent occasions it has disappointed me. It works best decanted and with plenty of time to breathe, whence it shows lovely cool climate cabernet fruit. But on Friday (and also when I tried it before Christmas) it was thin on the palate, although still showing a good nose of mint, blackcurrant and plum pudding.

And that was it again until tonight. I’ve spent the day buying up wine for a couple of up-coming tastings, and decided to road-test the 2004 Castello della Paneretta Chianti Classico with my dinner (£12 at Majestic, £10 if you buy two or more). On its own it’s a bit of a wallflower – closed nose, vinous palate. But with food it comes into its own, with aromas of dark chocolate, cherries, dried herbs and spicy oak, and fresh acidity on the palate.

Adam has just started up again, so I’m going to put on Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time and pour another glass. Only the atonal can drown out the atonal. With the help of alcohol, that is.

Wine Diary

I’m starting a drinking diary because I just don’t have that many profound thoughts about wine to write proper pieces on themes and hot issues in the wine world, like real wine writers do. But that was the original point of my blogging adventure in the first place, so I might as well give effect to it. Consider me a vinous Chris Gillett, the opera singer who photographed every meal he ate for a whole year and then exhibited his 2000+ photographs in a gallery in Bradford-on-Avon. Except that, sadly, I don’t drink every day, nor do I photograph the bottles. So I’m not really much like Chris Gillett at all. Anyway, this week’s adventures (plus other stuff I’ve drunk so far this year, noted retrospectively):

Friday 4 January 2008
2005 Yves-Boyer Martentot Meursault (£20)
Here’s a stunning wine. Golden. The only way I can describe the flavours that come out is that they form a “perfect score-order release”. That’s a musical term. It’s what an orchestra aims for when it finishes playing a sustained note: high instruments like piccolos stop playing a fraction of a second early, while tubas and double basses cut off last, so that to the listener the finish sounds in proportion. Like a pyramid of tumblers, you want the ones on top to jump off first, otherwise the whole thing collapses. This wine opens with high level delicate flavours – minerals, lemon, dried apples, white flowers, then blossoms into bigger things on the palate – stone fruit, vanilla, toasted marshmallows, integrated oak, and a lovely toasty finish. Highly complex – every mouthful offers something new. Could age for 2-5 years and be even better.

Saturday 5 January 2008
My parents were in town, from Sydney. In Sydney, you can take your own wine to restaurants, so you can actually drink something decent with your meal without paying an extortionate markup. You can’t do that in London (well, not usually), so rather than go out for dinner and keep the bill to a minimum by supping Kelly’s Revenge, I had them over for dinner, where I daresay both the food and wine would be better than anywhere within winter walking distance of my house.

2001 Reinhold Haart Piesporter Goldtropfschen Spätlese Riesling (£12)
Bright light gold, tinge of green. Delightfully aromatic nose of lime, green apples, white flowers and orange. Spritz on the entry, lemonade/sherbet sweetness, a slightly greasy hint, and fine acid on the finish, if not quite enough of it for my total satisfaction.

2001 Delas Marquis de la Tourette Hermitage (£16)
I had the 1999 of this wine a couple of weeks ago when my pupil master took me out for lunch. Mid red, brickish rim. Opulent nose of spicy oak, leather, chocolate, dried fruit, ground coffee, warm bricks, white pepper at times. It evolves in the glass, but always with a brandy/lit Christmas pudding streak. Palate is warm and rich, rounded, with supple tannins. Classic Hermitage. The 2001 is a completely different story. Bright translucent red, its colour is pinot-like. Forward nose, energetic, jammy, with roast meat aromas too. The palate is hyper-savoury, with white pepper and minerals, but quite restrained.

Sunday 6 January 2008
I had some very optimistic Rioja out of a tumbler at my local pub. They do fantastic food there. I’m not going to tell you where it is because then you might go there and ruin it.

Then I went to work for 4 days and didn’t drink at all. It was awful. There was the possibility of going to a Burgundy tasting on Tuesday but I don’t pay to go to wine tastings (only the gullible do that) and the person I was going to go with (the deal being that he would pay for my ticket if I talked him through Burgundy for the evening) apparently forgot, or decided not to go, or something.

Friday 11 January 2008
1999 Chateau Les Coustets Bordeaux Superieur
My cousin Tom gave me this for Christmas. He has worked in a bar so I trusted his judgment and didn’t immediately give it away as gift to someone I don’t like. But I’m afraid I won’t be praising this wine from the rooftops. It’s so pale that I probably could have passed an eye test reading the bottom line of the chart through this wine and still not needed to have my prescription increased. Similarly half-arsed fruit on the nose and a rather dilute palate, finishing with an offensive metallic aftertaste just in case you had any lingering doubts. Still, I only gave him a bottle of margarita mix, so it was a nice thought.

Saturday 12 January 2008
2005 Eugene Klipfel Cuvee Louis Klipfel Pinot Gris (£11)
I came across a cute little wine stall at the farmers’ market in Canterbury today, with a small but interesting range. They had the 2006 Loimer Gruner Veltliner there which I’ve been looking for ever since I tried it at Upper Glas (a Swedish restaurant in Islington that I recommend in its own right). It’s got a bright colour, hint of green. Very pure nose showing soft pear, grape and lime. Palate continues through with Tinkerbell delicacy, precise, razor sharp acid and a chalky finish. I think I’ll make this my house white this summer – Gruner has to be the next big thing (although the drinking public still has a lot of catching up to do with the many other “big things” that I have benevolently pointed out, all of which continue to be ignored), and I’ve tried some great ones recently. The 2005 Huber Gruner Veltliner, which you can get at any Oddbins (not usually the greatest advertisement for a wine) has a nose of lime, orange rind, white pepper and a hint of liquorice. Palate is very clean and austere, showing lemon and grapefruit flavours and great length. And the 2004 Loimer Kaferburg Gruner Veltliner is a really serious wine: reluctant nose – hint of minerals, lemon zest, apricot sherbet; peppery palate, really interesting. Anyway, back to my bloke in Canterbury. Since he had the Loimer I trusted his judgment and picked up as many whites as I could carry home (6 as it turns out), including this Pinot Gris, which I opened with dinner. The nose takes time to open up, and shows honey and hay when it does, along with an animalistic sweaty smell. The palate has some nice smoke and pear features, apricot, honeycomb and a bit of weight too. There is some interest here, which is welcome, but it’s not a wine to remember. Still, worth a try.

Sunday 13 January 2008
NV Chapel Down Downland Dry
Neil’s local pub in Canterbury, the Dolphin – a fantastic pub, incidentally – serves this English wine for about £11 a bottle. It’s a blend of Seyval Blanc, Reichensteiner and Muller Thurgau, but before you go turning your nose up at it, it’s a perfectly acceptable pub house wine. The nice thing about it is its crisp, refreshing acidity – such a welcome change to the usual cloy that cheap wine has (or so I’m told). There’s not much else going on – some fresh white fruit flavours, but it’s otherwise pretty forgettable. But I was more interested in other things – the log fire, the free board games, the dishy waiter, the immense length of the guy’s bum crack sitting at the next table (I just couldn’t stop looking at it – it must have had its own gravitational force) – oh, and the delicious prawns on toast with lemon mayonnaise. Delish.

My birthday

Blind tasting, of course!

Given the weather, everybody brought red. It reminds me of this passage in Ant and Bee Go Shopping by Angela Banner, where Ant and Bee and Kind Dog all go shopping to buy cakes, chocolate and fruit for a dinner party (and people wonder why all the English are pasty and pimply when they drum this sort of stuff into kids... It's almost as bad as the Bible...) After buying various cakes (Ant buys a round and flat cake, Bee buys a square and fat cake, Kind Dog buys a round and fat and square and flat cake made especially for dogs) and chocolates (Ant buys a chocolate mountain, Bee buys chocolate beans and Kind Dog buys a chocolate bone made especially for dogs [he he, chocolate bone – sounds like a dirty sexual position, like the Filthy Sanchez, or the Hot Lunch]), they end up buying fruit, and “they ALL bought plums”. (Angela must have been sick of the repetition of the “Ant bought X, Bee bought Y and Kind Dog bought Z made especially for dogs” formula. Repetitive, I’ll grant you, but not as bad as Alan Ginsberg’s Howl).

So, anyway, my birthday lunch: they ALL brought reds.

But who am I to complain – they were yummy. And here they are.

2003 Domaine Leon Vatan Sancerre Rouge “Les Pains Benis”
Brought by Justin, and prefaced with the comment “this is advanced blind tasting – but you should be able to get it”. I hate these prefaces (although I must admit I’m guilty of indulging in them myself) – they make one second guess oneself. Translucent mid red. Confected, jammy red fruits on the nose, it couldn’t really be anything but pinot noir (which of course it was). A hint of tomato leaf vegetation suggested its origin, although I wasn’t clever enough to pick up on it. Janet and I had it in Oregon, Sarah as Nuits St Georges, but there you go, Red Sancerre, who would have thought? And a nice one too – by no means mean, as I often find them.

1996 Mount Langhi Ghiran Langi Shiraz (Grampians)
Brought by me (as a result of the remainder of my wine collection finally being shipped over from Australia). This is a fantastic wine – my favourite of the day. Still deep red. Extremely savoury, peppery and meaty, with lush fruit, bell pepper and spicy oak underneath. Excellent balance. Everyone had it in the Northern Rhone (I can die a happy man now that I’ve convinced Oxford blind tasters that restrained, savoury wine does exist in Australia). A star. My great mate Nick Hildebrandt says he “doesn’t know what all the fuss is about” in relation to Mount Langhi (or at least he did in 2001) – but after 11 years it’s fantastic.

1996 Fojo (Douro Valley)
Brought by Sarah. I think I’ve noted this elsewhere. Perhaps unfortunately I had served the meal at this stage – a lamb and date tagine – and against the fruitiness of the dish it was rather thin. Shame really, it didn’t do this great wine justice.

1982 Chateau Bellegrave (Moulis en Medoc)
Brought by Janet. Classic claret, rusty rim. Clay minerality on the nose, showing developed cigar box and smoke on the nose, still presenting youthfully on the nose with underlying blackcurrant fruit, and very full, but with a distinct lack of fruit on the palate in favour of smoke and slate. I had it in St Estephe, and as young as 1996, but there you go. A delight.

1997 Cullen Cabernet Merlot (Margaret River)
Brought by me. Another triumph for the “oh my God it’s Australian” reaction. Dark red with a brick rim. Prune, dark chocolate, liquorice, tobacco, jam, dried fruits, cassis – very powerful. Meat and marmite, with a seductive bass-baritone weight. Janet’s favourite of the day – “when you’re on your third line of adjectives, you know it’s good”, she said.

1996 Chateau d’Armailhac (Pauillac)
Brought by me. “All right, so tell us where in Australia this one is from” said Sarah, rolling her eyes. Of course I wasn’t going to serve three Australian wines in a row, but what a reaction for serving classed growth Bordeaux! Everyone was pissed by this stage and had given up caring, but I thought it was bloody lovely. Deep red – dark fruit nose, crème de cassis, cherry, mint. Inky. Still tight, the highly integrated palate shows plum and a hint of cinnamon spice, with nervous tannin. Will keep for some years yet. Great stuff.

Oxford Blind Tasting, 11 November 2007

Blind tasting explodes a lot of myths about wine that should well and truly have been exploded by now – usually bald claims about the impossibility of identifying a certain wine, or about other wines being unmistakable, or about how the New World is not a patch on the Old, and so on. I am always especially fascinated by the result of group blind wine tastings, where the conclusions of several people in relation to a wine presented blind say more about it than 100 back-labels ever could. Sunday was no exception, when I presented a bracket of 6 to this year’s batch of blind tasters at Oxford. Here are my notes on the wines, together with what the group said.

2006 Grove Mill Sauvignon Blanc (Marlborough, New Zealand)
Very pale, with a green tinge and appealing clarity. The nose is pungent, showing intense grassy aromas and a certain celery-salt herbaceousness. The palate is very clean and high in acid. Although it shows some tropicality, it is definitely at the herbaceous end of the spectrum, finishing with a clean mineral streak. All but one of the 10 or so of us there identified it as Sauvignon Blanc, but interestingly only two put it in New Zealand, and only one in Marlborough. Of the others, Sancerre was the common consensus, but personally I thought it was classic Marlborough (although of course I knew what it was beforehand). I do, however, see the point of the one candidate who placed the wine in Pouilly Fumé, which to me is the vigorous, slightly aggressive appellation that most closely approaches New Zealand in style, although personally I didn’t pick up any of Pouilly Fumé’s characteristic smokiness on this wine.

2004 Domaine Roches Pouilly Fuissé
Mid gold. On the nose, a heavy influence of New French Oak, manifesting itself in heady aromas of butterscotch and caramel, with some faint stone fruit and candied orange underneath. In the mouth the wine is as round and voluptuous as any number of fatties that Gok Wan can try to make look good naked (except with the curves in the right place for a change). I suspected that everyone would put it in the New World, but happily all but one had this squarely in Burgundy. An oxidative hint together with the heavy oak influence led one person to speculate that it was white Rioja. Close, but no cigar. I’ve made that mistake myself on a couple of occasions, but the oak was clearly French and there was none of the spicy, sherryish character that one associates with white Rioja.

2005 Hugel Gewurtztraminer (Alsace)
Light and clear, with a tinge of green, and hanging quite heavily in the glass, as one would expect. Highly aromatic – pear, lychee and orange zest on the nose, with rosewater and Turkish delight joining in on a fairly unctuous, oily palate, finishing slightly bitter. No prizes for identifying this one – and a good thing too, because everyone got it right.

2006 Wild Rock ‘Cupid’s Arrow’ Pinot Noir (Central Otago, New Zealand)
Mid- to dark-red, but still translucent. The nose has some dusty new oak on it, together with some sweet red fruit and a bit of alcoholic heat. The palate shows forward non-descript red fruit, together with pinot’s sappy greenness. Of the majority who correctly identified it as Pinot, only one had it in New Zealand, the others placing it in Burgundy, probably on account of the lack of purity on the nose rather than because it was stellar in any way. One had it in Beaujolais, although to me it wasn’t at all confected, as would be usual there. Interestingly, two very good tasters had it as Cotes du Rhone. Personally I would probably never have thought this, although it’s an interesting guess. I always think of Grenache as being heavy and “purple fruits” dominant, although I admit this is usually the case where it is heavily blended with other heavyweight Rhone grapes. One quickly forgets that in the more generic Rhone appellations, the wines can become thin in both colour and flavour, bringing Grenache closer to Pinot than one would usually expect to occur.

2006 Chapoutier ‘Les Meysonniers’ Crozes Hermitage
Dark red-purple. Jammy, confected nose, with the palate showing crunchy purple fruit, blackberry, boiled lollies and a tiny hint of white pepper. Guesses were all over the shop with this (only one person correctly identifying it as Crozes), but this is pretty unsurprising given how young the wine is. Its voice is nowhere near broken yet – the 2004 was still on the shelves only a matter of weeks ago. Interestingly, a critical mass of people mistook it for Loire Cabernet Franc. This surprised me, but I can sort of see the case for it now, with the tight, crunchy fruit, high acid and a certain leafiness to it as well.

2002 Petaluma Coonawarra
Ah, the welcoming scent of home. Opaque. Loads of mint on the nose, over layers of dusty oak and rich cassis. Cedarwood comes through on the palate with rich brambly fruit, dense fruit layers and ripe tannins. A unanimous verdict for Australian Cabernet Sauvignon (which of course it was), although interestingly the merlot content is virtually absent on the palate despite forming 49% of the blend. Happily for me, everyone said they liked it (most thinking it was the best wine of the tasting), even though they knew all along that it was Australian. No prejudices in this year’s group. That’s what I like to see!

Afterwards we went to the Anchor for dinner. Thumbs up for the steak and kidney pudding; thumbs firmly down for the thin, acidic Barbera d’Asti on the wine list.

In defence of being "an accountant"

I have wandered the Earth a troubled soul for the last month or so. You see, I felt personally wounded when Ch’ng Poh Tiong wrote in last month’s Decanter magazine “I’ve always thought that great pinots are loved by poets and masochists and that cabernets are preferred by accountants and new millionaires.” As one who, when forced to make a decision, sides with the cabernet lovers, my throat began to tighten and tears began to well in my eyes, having effectively been told by a fairly well respected wine writer that I was no more than a new-money, Zegna-suit wearing, Subaru-WRX driving, Aqua-di-Gio smelling, Tony & Guy visiting, lowbrow-highbrow piece of filth. I haven’t been so crushed since Renee Dodd came up to me in the playground in year 4 and said “You’re ugly.”

I’ve always thought it was pretty self-serving for the pinot crowd to play the Emperor’s New Clothes “Not everyone is capable of experiencing all that finesse” card. We claret-o-philes should just band together and say the same thing. “Oh, claret is way more complex then Burgundy… you just don’t appreciate it”. Notwithstanding this, I had to face facts. Was I really going to spend the rest of my days unable to appreciate the alleged zenith of the wine world? Would I be forever unable to witness the poetic soul of red Burgundy? And how much Burgundy had Ch’ng Poh had to drink before he wrote this article? I suspect that anyone capable of writing “Pinot is a more philosophical grape. Not just any philosophy but that of the Tao… The cabernet…is more Confucian, more conservative, more of an ‘obey your emperor and father’ sort of wine” must be at least slightly too charioted by Bacchus and his pards to have meant it in complete seriousness.

Then I woke up this morning, and like a lightning bolt, it hit me. “Wait on a minute, Ch’ng Poh, mate”, I thought, “Most poetry is fucking shithouse!” And then I felt rather jolly for the rest of the day.

Oh, yes, if Burgundy is anything like most of the poetry I’ve read in my life, you can have it. In Paris a couple of years ago I went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare & Co, a place where wannabe poets and novelists gather on Sunday afternoons to drink free tea out of vases and jam jars (which I must admit is rather fun) and read out stuff of theirs to any idiot who will listen. I was chatting to a woman with a sock on her head who lamented continuously about how her one-eyed dog, Mont Blanc, kept getting rejected from auditions to star in dog-food commercials. Luckily (or so I thought) this little story was interrupted for a reading of a poem from a woman who had just returned from Amsterdam. It went “Whores in the window! Whores in the window! Fat ones! Skinny ones! Whores in the window!” So courageous. So evocative. Oh yes, it really takes a special type of person to appreciate that sort of nuance.

Unfortunately, recalling this experience only gets me half of the way there, because of course just because there are people out there who think they’re clever because they can explain that “fate” is an anagram of “feat”, this doesn’t negate the obvious greatness of the Yeatses of the world, who without doubt have vinous equals in Burgundy. I will admit that I can recall specific Burgundies on specific occasions that were nothing short of legendary – entirely individual wines that simply could not be imitated. For example, I recall a 2000 Nuits St Georges 1er Cru Clos de l’Arlot (I don’t recall the producer) – the first serious Burgundy I had tried, and that has lived with me ever since. Brick red, with a leafy, almost cabernet like nose (ironically), with a hint of ash. The palate was rich and full, with pepper, bacon and dark fruits with a warm hint of chocolate on the finish. Finesse and power. Fruity, yet savoury. Warm but delicate. It was a wine that changed with every sip. Yet of the 53 pinot noirs that I have bothered to write tasting notes of over the last 2 years (leaving the mound that I didn’t bother with), I can count on the fingers of less than half a hand the other Burgundies that have impressed me as much. Against that, of the 100 cabernets I have written tasting notes for over the last 2 years, I have been moved in a similar way more times than I can remember. True, no particular wine stands out the way that Clos de l’Arlot did, but that’s probably a case of “too many good clarets” rather than the Burgundy being so much better.

So at the end of the day, if I have to sit through 52 whores in the window before I get one terrible beauty being born, then I’m afraid I will walk away from those odds, thanks, particularly since there’s so much good stuff on offer in the Bordeaux stable. True it is that an annoying number of new money accountants buy it, but be that as it may, the exotic perfume of an old Margaux could easily challenge the poetry of a Gevrey Chambertin, and where in Burgundy will you find something to trump the orotund voice of majestic, structured Pauillac, saying “Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair”? Bordeaux is SO much a safer bet than Burgundy, and pays out equally handsomely, whether in the poetry stakes or otherwise.

This is particularly relevant because I am not yet someone who has unlimited wealth to spend on Grand Cru Burgundy and classed growth claret, and I’m not currently in a position even to drink much on weekdays. So when I open a bottle of wine, I want it to be fucking good. I don’t want to run the risk of its being some £40 mouldy thin piss that poets say smells like “truffles” when it really smells like cardboard.

But don’t take my word for the above. It was, after all, John Keats himself who said “Let my friends drink a case of claret around my grave.” If it was good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me.

Emporia 2

As some of you may know, my peerless knowledge of wine has finally been recognised by my being invited to be a face of the Emporia 2 range of wines (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see: http://www.emporiabrands.com/brochure/winepages/vigouroux.htm).

If only. The real story is that I happen to know the wine account manager there (an old blind tasting friend who ended up going into the trade once she realised that a geography degree was a pretty useless qualification to have, and that you can get loads of free samples if you go into the wine trade), who was desperate for any passing person to pose with a bottle on account of real celebrities not being arsed to pose for a wine catalogue photo. My appearance fee being as low as it is (a free glass of wine will get me to show up almost anywhere, often uninvited), I was there quicker than you can start complaining about mark-ups on 2006 Bordeaux.

But what wine to choose to be the face of? This is very important, you see, not least because I get to keep said bottle after the photo shoot. (Sadly I really am that cheap). So you can bet your sweet bippy that I’m not going to choose a Fino Sherry that tastes like licking the side of a boat, or a £5 Australian Semillon/Sauvignon Blanc blend (I don’t work at the Airport Hilton anymore!) Sarah suggested a 2003 Margaux (2003 Chateau Mongravey (£36), incidentally – an elegant wine, perfumed, with very pure damson fruit), but the Bordelais don’t need my help to sell wine, so in the end I chose a 2003 Chateau de Haut Serre Cahors (£13) (note the price difference – even I am not so mercenary as to choose the most expensive wine for the sake of it). It is, of course, a superb wine. I would endorse nothing less. The nose is intensely ripe – mashed raspberries, blackberries, liquorice, and the palate tremendously amplified, with layers of jammy fruit, white pepper, a slight minerality and ripe tannins on the finish.

But the strengths of the Emporia 2 range do not stop there (given that I have declared my interest in this range I have no qualms in going on to plug the other wines in it).

I recommend the 2002 Clos Liebenberg Riesling (£13) and 2004 Bollenberg Gewurtztraminer (£15), both from Domaine Zusslin in Alsace. The Riesling is beginning to develop some powerful petrolly notes on the nose, whilst retaining purity and elegance on the palate, with hints of apricot and caramel making the wine taste like more than just alcoholic lime juice. The Gewurtz shows delicious clean pears (I wrote ‘peas’ in my tasting note but I’m pretty sure I meant ‘pears’ – I’ve never taste a wine that smells like peas…) and lychee on the nose, with a hint of orange. The palate has great length and freshness for a Gewurtz, whilst retaining that lovely oiliness that gives Gewurtz its character.

Next, the wines of Maison Jean-Luc & Paul Aegerter, an exemplary portfolio of Burgundies from the stunning 2005 vintage that, while expensive, are worth every cent (or possibly every ‘scent’ – geddit?) The 2005 Meursault Premier Cru Poruzots (£26) has an oily, nutty nose, showing hazelnuts and almonds. The palate is elegant, with soft white fruits, apple and pear liqueur. The 2005 Beaune Premier Cru les Reversees Blanc (£28) is at the other end of the scale with spicy oak, grapefruit, stone fruit, butter, and a soft, persistent finish. But of the whites, the 2005 Chassagne-Montrachet les Embazees (£37) was by far my favourite. This wine has no corners. It is one of those great wines that doesn’t taste of peach or nuts or whatever, it just tastes of ‘wine’. A complete, highly integrated wine with serious persistence and finesse. The reds are also worth dwelling upon. First the 2005 Beaune Premier Cru Les Reversees (£23) shows pronounced raspberry and ripe cherry flavours with an earthy backbone and very open palate while the 2005 Gevrey Chambertin (£25) is more plummy and rosy-cheeked, with an herbaceous, vegetal streak to it. My favourite, though, was the 2005 Nuits St Georges Premier Cru les Damodees (£32) – highly perfumed violet, lavender and marzipan aromas leap from the glass, with an attractive yet structured cherry liqueur palate.

When the Beastie Boys said “Like a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape/I’m like a fine wine when I start to rap” (Body Movin’, 1998) they were probably thinking of the famous red stuff rather than the much rarer white Chateauneuf. I don’t know. If anybody runs into Mike D or Ad-Rock maybe they could ask. But the statement could certainly apply to the 2006 Domaine de la Presidente Chateauneuf-du-Pape Blanc (£20), in so far as the lyric makes any sense at all, that is. This wine is part of a corpus of white Chateaneuf that reminds me that this appellation is highly underrated and should be added to the list of trends that should be happening but sadly aren’t. The nose begins soft and clean, with fresh mandarin, soft caramel, white peach and apricot stones, all courtesy of the dominant Grenache blanc grape. On the palate there is more serious marzipan and almond flavours giving the wine an agreeable bitterness and interest.

All the wines can be ordered from Arthur Rackham Emporia: http://www.ar-emporia.com/Public/index.php

Pink – it’s for shirts and ties, not wine

Rosé is very popular at the moment, so much so that people whose binge of choice is flavoured vodka or alcopops and who wouldn’t usually touch a glass of wine with a 10 foot barge pole are now to be seen ordering pink wine by the bucketload across the pubs and bars of England.

Trends in wine consumption are nothing new. Indeed I have jumped on pretty much any band wagon that has gone past in the last 10 years – the “anything but Chardonnay” trend of the late 1990s, followed by the “actually Chardonnay is very nice can we have it back please?” trend of the early 2000s (sort of how we flirted with cargo pants around 1999 as an alternative to jeans, before we realised that pockets on the outside of trousers was patently ridiculous, and that you can wear the same jeans for more than four days without needing to write a song about it – I think I’ve had mine on for about 3 weeks now without anyone noticing – and came running back to jeans and have been wearing them ever since); then there was the “Viognier” trend, the “Pinot” trend after the film Sideways came out, and now the “South America” and "Low Alcohol Wines" trends. (Incidentally, Mosel Riesling and Hunter Semillon have always been 'low alcohol' - it wasn't invented in the lab down at Tesco, as much as they would like you to believe it was). All very good trends, excellent, keep them coming.

But pink wine? The wine press has been quick to sing the praises of pink wine with all sorts of articles along the lines of “you thought pink wine was shit – well you’re wrong, it can actually be quite nice.”

Well, this piece takes the opposite view – pink wine is shit, the masses are wrong, and there are structural reasons why pink wine cannot be serious.

One such pro-pink article (at least half heartedly) is ‘Can Rosé ever be a serious wine?’ by Joanna Simon in the August edition of Decanter magazine. Her argument is that people dismiss pink wine because it is rarely oaked, designed to be drunk young, and therefore not worthy of serious consideration; but that because there are plenty of serious unoaked, drink-now wines (e.g. Sancerre) we should not dismiss pink wine on these bases. That is perfectly fine, and I agree that these are not reasons why pink wine should be derided. But it does not follow that there are not other reasons why pink wine is no good – Simon does not cover the field of reasons why pink wine is, well, not as good as proper red and white wine.

My main argument would be that pink wine can never be serious because it is pink. This is not some sort of joke. Pink wine is not made from pink grapes. It is made by either adding red and white grapes together, or squeezing red grapes without letting the pigment in the skin colour the wine beyond the desired level of pinkness.

Basically, pink wine arises because the natural process of winemaking that results in the best expression of any particular grape has been interfered with, either by adding to or subtracting from the normal course of winemaking. And that pretty much always comes at a cost. In the case of pink wine, the cost is that the resultant wine not only rarely has any varietal definition, but this Frankenstein of wines doesn’t even provide us with a product that does a job not already done by some other wine.

There are, of course, several wines that rely on interfering with the natural course of wine making but that are nevertheless masterpieces – Champagne, Amarone, Sherry, or any fortified wine for that matter. But there are usually good reasons why these gimmicks work. They originally put bubbles in Champagne by accident, and if you tried flat wine from Champagne it would turn your face inside out, so the bubbles are an improvement. In making Valpolicella, the technique of drying part of the harvest so that some of the wine is effectively made from raisins has resulted in a wine far superior in intensity and flavour than the relatively insipid stuff that results when this method is not employed. Similar reasons exist for fortifieds – for example the Palomino grape is very bland so making it into Sherry makes sense; Pedro Ximénez only shines as a fortified wine.

But to my mind there isn’t a similar excuse for Rose. It is neither geographically necessary, nor the best expression of any grape from which it is made, nor a delightful accident.

Pink supporters will probably rejoin with some cant about how, technicality aside, in summer time it is just nice to drink chilled pink wine that is zingy and fresh but with some nice red fruity, lolly water characters to it. Well, point number one is that if you want a wine to taste like lolly water you already agree that pink wine is crap. (I don't mind if you like crap - I do mind if you claim it to be a serious contribution to the wine portfolio though). But moreover, I just don’t think it’s possible to combine the zingy acidity of crisp whites with the red fruit of light reds and have a product that combines the two. The moment you introduce the characteristics of red wine to white, you are shackling the ability of white wine to do what it does best. It would be like putting a brick in Margot Fonteyn’s underpants, or asking Barney Gumble to sing the ‘mad’ scene from Lucia di Lammermoor. As much as we might want to combine the best of two things we like, this can’t always be done. As Simon Marchmant from Posh Nosh would say: “Never buy anything that calls itself shampoo and conditioner. It won’t do either.” Mixing white and red doesn’t make some sort of ‘super wine’ – it is the worst of both worlds.

I don’t doubt for a minute that within the pink wine genre, there are some that are better than others, and some very skilled winemakers plying their trade. I just think it’s a waste of time. I shouldn't complain though - it leaves more of the good stuff for the rest of us, I suppose.