Kitchen confidential

Gosh! Aren’t I the lucky one? Called, last minute, by my brother Ben who let me know that Villandry have opened a new bistrot and café in Chiswick and I should check it out (where he gets that knowledge from I have no idea). So instead of going back to the darkest depths of Somerset, I delayed… I deferred… I… well, I let my stomach take over my thought processes. There is a childish joy at being a ‘first’ customer. I was so excited by the thought of a free meal I was bouncing like Tigger… no really, I was.

Smells of paint, comfortingly and reassuringly imply newness, cleanliness, never before touched freshness; contrasting, the second hand rustic pine and oak furniture, zinc topped tables, and café lights of glass and steel. Light and airy arched windows, denuded walls and wooden floors give a ‘loft’ atmosphere upstairs (where downstairs seemed a bit darker, even though it had ceiling to floor windows… strange).

Open kitchens and on-display chefs give me a childish sense of anticipation, excitement and entertainment. No nose picking or inappropriate scratching, as graphically described by Anthony Bourdain in Kitchen Confidential, but I still crane my neck to see what they are doing and if it is my plate they are doing in places like that (Union Café in Marylebone is the same).

I ordered duck confit with haricot beans (well if they can’t get the classics right then there is no point in trying the ‘trendy’ stuff). It arrived, perfectly cooked and piping hot. Haricot beans, the larger Tarbais variety (?), slightly soft, mixed with tail clipped crunchy Kenya beans, small strips of roasted red pepper for variety, and a stock and tomato based burnt sienna coloured sauce, thickened with a beurre manié. Sat on this, knife tappingly crunchy, salty skin hid a treasure trove of fresh succulent dark duck meat, sweet and rich, easily pulled apart from the bone with just the slightest touch of the fork. Earthy, gamey, slightly saline duck flavours lifted up by the sauce. Meaty succulence mixed with golden skinned crispness; velvet powdery softness of the haricots shocked by the crunch of the green beans. Visually and texturally, this was good.

A glass of Pinot Noir by J C Boisset Bourgogne was meant to compliment the dish, but it was a bit too cold to show its fruitiness at first and needed to be warmed up (I understood that all the windows had been opened to quicken the paint drying).

Pudding? I had room… no, I made room! I definitely had to make room for pear and almond frangipane tart.

And WOW! The almond frangipane was sublimely light and eggy buttery, sweet as sweet sugary eggy almond frangipane can be: a golden crust; an interior, light and cloudy fluffy and hinting lemon. Although the pears had coloured brown grey (so not seasoned with lemon?) they had a nice bite, and I have always loved the graininess of pears. The crème fraîche, soured and thickened to an almost ice cream consistency, perfectly balanced the sweet fluffiness of the almond base, the smooth unctuousness contradicting the pear grain and the fluffy frangipane.

Washing this down was a lemon-cream Charles Frères, Cuvee Jean Louis Brut, Crémante de Bourgogne, wonderfully smooth, young and petillant.

Slightly nervous service (well it was opening night) and a couple of tweaks (the slightly too soft haricots, the below room wine; peripheral stuff) aside, would I come again? Yes. Recommend it to friends? Yes. Pay? Oh if I have to.

Villandry Kitchen, 217-221 Chiswick High Road, London W4 2DW. T: 020 8747 9113. E: Chiswick@villandrykitchen.com

Icing on the cake... Caffé Caldesi

Inspired by my fellow food twitters to reach beyond my love affair with wine and dalliance with the discussion on food, I think... no I am happy...no, delighted, that my first blog on food should be on Caffé Caldesi in Marylebone Lane.

Having tweeted, twittered and tapped my newfound twitter friends for possible ideas, I was still set on going to Caffé Caldesi for Aunt J’s birthday. (I might add that a kind tweet from Katie Caldesi – she of the caffé – clinched the idea to return. That, and Aunt J’s love of all things Italian and the caffé itself).

My glamorous friend Helen, fashion buyer and old chum from wine course days, originally took me there some years ago and I still find it an ideal place for the odd treat. But oh, the stress of the train journey…! Oh, the lack of tubes at the other end..! Oh, the tension and suspense as the Tuscan Restaurant upstairs is closed in the winter months and you can only lunch downstairs without reservations (no wonder I am balding!)

Thankfully, as we decided on our courses (and again, thanks to Katie Caldesi) the manager served us a refreshingly welcome complimentary glass of lemon fresh prosecco to tease the tastebuds while we made our choices.

The Frittura mista di pesce, crispy fried calamari, whitebait and prawns. Delicious contrasts between the saline, the citrus, the crunch and the tenderness, presented in a rich, light batter, and served on a board. This, for Aunt J, brought childhood seaside memories of crispy fried whitebait. Crunchy to the taste, fishy and lemony; a must for her. Sweet meated prawns and to-the-bite calamari provided variety to this dish.

Me? Well, I am a bloke. Let’s face it, I eat meat. It’s a savage, sweary, Grrr, hairy-chested thing going back to hunting-gathering. A primal itch (continuing the theme in Twitter on Blokeseatbeef) that needed scratching. I chose the Tagliere misto di salumi e formaggi (Ok so there’s cheese in it, and I am a bit of a softy). Textural differences of smoothly elastic parma ham, spongy mortadella, and the firmer, drier bite of a rich bresaola, contrast with the two varieties of pecorino, of which the Sicilian had a wonderful, almost blue vein mature spice to it; olives and sun dried tomatoes (acidy citrus and tomato sweetened oil); a light and lightly salted foccacia; and finally, a melt-in-the-mouth artichoke perfectly cooked and effortlessly swallowed. (Goodness, what will the main course hold for us?)

I wanted to order Il Peposo; a slow cooked piece of beef with tomatoes and black peppercorns on a bed of polenta. Sounds salivatingly dreamy, doesn’t it? However, it really is slooooooooow cooked (and I was too early). Tempting as this was, our union will have to wait until another time.

Instead, both of Aunt J and I chose the La Milanese, a breaded veal escalope with potatoes and green salad. Veal, breaded and served on the bone (this one seems to be cut like a valentine chop before being hammered out, and is big enough for any bloke with primal meat urges, in fact, bigger). Cubes of oven roasted (an assumption there) floury potatoes compliment the light velvetiness of the veal. The breaded crumb coating is rich and eggy, crisp to the knife; the milky lightness of the veal, almost as melt away in the mouth as the artichoke earlier, cuts as easily as butter and is sharpened by the lemon juice. Neither the refreshing salad, nor the wine, could help me finish this course off. No bad thing, except for my ever growing waistline (strangely, Aunt J managed to eat it all and still remains slim!)

A Nipozzano Chianti Ruffina, Marchesi di Frescobaldi, 2002 (A half bottle, the station is still a seven mile drive away from Aunt J’s house) accompanied the main course. Fruity berries, tannins, richness and acidity. Mouthwateringly good with a long, long finish.

Pudding? Just a mouthful. Tiramisu, and with a candle in it for Aunt J’s birthday (the manager also offered to sing, but to his relief we decided to remain discreet!) Spoonful followed spoonful of gorgeous textures from the streaks of infused sponge to the mascarpone; cloyingly (in a good way) long lasting creaminess and chocolate powder. (I like a bit of crunch when I make mine so add amaretto biscuits soaked in alcohol but, like my writing, maybe I gild the lily). But hang on a minute, has the recipe changed? Last time I thought it had a rich Tuscan yellow cream (perhaps it is an egg yolk thing?)

Still, it was delicious and I needed a very long walk to burn it all off. (Actually, I needed to lie down, wrapped in the blanket of my own gluttony. Bliss.) Thank you! Thank you for making it a really enjoyable day.

Caffé Caldesi, 118 Marylebone Lane, London W1 U 2QF. T 020 7935 1144. E: caffe@caldesi.com

Raspberries...

Even if I am walking through one of the most spectacular cities in the Western world (Keats, the Spanish Steps, Pantheon, St Peter's for a quick chat with a priest, then looping round via Piazza del Popolo) the weather is fairly depressing and my feet hurt. It is enough for one morning.

My brother Ben and I have decided, on recommendation, to lunch at Gusto in Piazza Augusto Imperator. Gusto is more than a restaurant, created about eleven years ago it houses a bar, restaurant, pizzeria, wine shop, book and kitchen shop, all in one (www.gusto.it ), and worth the detour.

While he is on the beer, I have ordered a glass of the Nero d’Avola, Tenuta di Serramarocco, Sicily, 2005 (at €7 a glass - www.serramarrocco.com ) to go with my pizza.

Admiring the vibrant red colour; a rich and bloody red, purple-blue in colour, with coloured legs and a wide rim, I greedily dive in, anticipating the warmth of the spice that comes with this grape (and the prickle that compliments the chilli in the soon-to-arrive pizza).

It is dull outside, but I am transported to warm summers of hazy sunshine, dragon flies and slow moving rivers, as the scented smack of fruit hits me on the nose. Strong raspberry scents, with a creamy smoothness, pepper and wood from barrel aging, and hints of mint. This is summer pudding! Full of sweet perfumed red berry fruits with vanilla notes coming through. Should my glass be lined with bread (just checking)?

On the mouth, there are more fruits, dark, rich berry fruits coming through; there is the cassis of black current pastilles, all concentrated and mouth watering, and liquorice; creaminess tempers the acidity of the fruits, and spices give the prickle that hints at the warmer climate of Sicily, pepper prickles that Nero d’Avola is well known for; and finally, there are smooth tannins giving the length of flavour that keeps the mouth watering.

This has such a good finish that it holds its own, even with the strong chilli spiciness of the crisp Siciliana pizza, hand made in the kitchens behind me, and the bold taste of ozone and sea of the fresh anchovies (doubly lovely for me as Ben hates them).

(I thought I had already blogged on Nero d’Avola but can’t find anything, so here is the ‘science’ bit). Nero d’Avola is known in Sicily as calabrese which suggests origins in Calabria, it ages well in a barrel and is favoured for its reliable longevity, giving wines a great richness, texture, and depth of flavour in addition to complex aromas.

Although Avola itself is in the south eastern part of Sicily, near Siracusa, this particular vineyard is situated near Trapani and Palermo, in other words, the other side of Sicily. The grapes for this wine were grown on a mix of calcerous and clay based soils (the latter keeping the roots cooler and allowing a fuller maturing process), before spending one year in old French oak barrels (rather than Italian chestnut barrels which was more traditional until recently) to add the pepper and spice, and then six months in the bottle.

Sitting and admiring its colour and aromas again, the overall flavours and scents change only slightly still retaining that liquorice and raspberry that came to the front before. This wine really is full of Sicilian punch, and slightly unusual bearing in mind I was expecting a rather more raisin and stewy-fruited flavour to go with the prickle.

Stuffed but refreshed, I should burn lunch off walking the other hills of Rome, but may just manage a short up hill climb to the Tempietto.

VENUS RISING…

Let your mind wander, journeying amongst undulating hills, where dust speckled canopies of leaves shade you from the raw heat of Tuscan sun; flashes of sunlight then shade. Dry clay tracks lead the car between the columns of vines and hares scamper and scramble around to get away from the noise of the car. San Gimignano sits behind like a backdrop to this summer dreamscape, unchanged since medieval times (ok that is a bit of an exaggeration. They had more towers then. A LOT more towers). Tuscany, the birth place of the renaissance, and the setting of Azienda Panizzi (www.panizzi.it ), the home of award winning Vernaccia, for which the area is famous, and more or less the experience I had when I went to visit there doing a solo ‘tour’ in 2008.

However, it is now winter in Bath and the summer warmth has long died down, replaced by the more intense heat of log fires in the drawing room. And my Panizzi wine is a rich ruby San Gimignano Cabernet Sauvignon “Rubente” (14%) 2005 (a Latin based word for coloured or tinged with red. In other words, it does what it says on the tin!) one of twelve varieties that Giovanni Panizzi has in his portfolio (including a medieval style Vernaccio called Evoè, which smells as potent as a red but has a full and unctuous flavour).

This red is rich and plumy to look at, although it is starting to move from its ruby description towards a garnet hue. And whilst there is little rim, even swilling leaves a tide of red clinging to the glass.

So, I swill, and try to wake up the wine from its cold, hibernating state, drawing out some of the aromas and flavours. The strength of the alcohol is immediate, strong but without any sting. Then come the scents: cassis and brambles; spices and wood; liquorice and mint; cream and vanilla from the new oak barrels in which it has been aged (the tasting note described coffee, which would be a natural part of this spectrum of aromas but I didn’t get that. But then again, I am in a different environment, in other words cold England rather than warm Italy); and, an almost meaty earthy note hidden at the back. This is full of complexity and each dip of the nose brings another mouth watering element.

Savouring the moment, and seeing if this would bring back more wistful memories, I take my first sip. Strong prickles hit the mouth, ticklingly spicy. The fruit is strong, mixed with a light vanilla and cream that came to the nose earlier. The berry fruit, more damson than plum, seems rich and slightly stewed giving it a long finish. Wood and flinty minerals reveal themselves towards the end of each mouthful. That, and the high acidity and medium tannins mean that this pleasing moment stays in the mouth for a while.

Cabernet Sauvignon is a late ripening small grape variety that has the ability to burst with berry flavour in hotter climates, where cooler climates can give it a bell pepper bitterness. There is a unique mixture of clay, sand, volcanic tufo, and calcareous soil in the hills surrounding San Gimignano; the clay gives it enough cooling protection to allow it to develop at its own pace without over heating or drying out. This wine has also been matured in new French oak barrels, giving it those slightly more coffee, richer, nutty aromas and flavourings that the Panizzi tasting notes describe.

The wine has had more time to develop and breathe in the glass and returning to it an altogether richer, deeper and smoky aroma from the bluer fruits emerges; a teasing raspberry tinge and rosehip lightness that contrasts with the berry. Then, jamminess.

The warming up has given the wine a greater depth (Panizzi does recommend drinking it at 16-17 degrees Centigrade which is a lot more natural there than Bath). Now the palate has the sweetness of the berries, bringing out the pure jam that was on the nose. This is a prize winner in the WI jam competition! I suddenly get a ‘Rubenesque’ image of rotund, ripe berries, full of fruity flavour dancing on the tongue, teasing you with more to come (not quite a burlesque act for the senses, but something more subtle. Maybe a tableau vivant). Again, the cedar, the flint and the tannins follow, giving structure; framing the wine. And then there are the minty, even eucalyptus (seriously), hints that add to the spicy liquorice; this time though, they are stronger than before.

Like Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea, these flavours have emerged from the cool temperature where the wine was stored, revealing the wine for its full beauty (I need atmospherics! Cue Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde!)

PS. Azienda Panizzi is going to be in the UK in March to promote their wines (and olive oils maybe). Check out the website for more details.

Credit Crunch Christmas

Thankfully, even with the failure of the Eurostar to get me to Paris for the New Year, and the fact that the snow has melted around Bath, the feeling of Christmas still remains; Ben, Dad and I went to Mass this morning (I told you I was a good Catholic boy!) as a unit, a lovely thing to do amongst families. Having said that, Ben, the elder, managed to wake us up like a child hungry for presents at seven this morning, so we were feeling a bit jaded and looked forward to our return, and to an enclosed environment where we could, if needs be, just crash on the sofa for a few minutes. However, we got back for very strong coffee and a mince pie and prepare everything for a late lunch, followed by the unwrapping of appropriately useful, silly or fun gifts. There is comfort in familiarity and doing Christmas is one of those things. Some people’s habits don’t really change, even after several years.

So with that in mind, our food choice on this occasion was a bit different to the norm, with no capon; the usual choice. Smoked salmon, roast duck (a rather large one from the local butcher) with all the trimmings, and Christmas pudding, ordered and delivered by Fortnum & Mason (who else?). In other words, a bit of a mixed bag.

The wine choice came from what we had in Dad’s ‘cellar’ (read larder). We started with Jacquart (which I have blogged about before). I know. Before you say anything, a good Chablis with a bit of oak would have worked a treat, but, as the title implies this is a Credit Crunch Christmas and I picked this out from a left over wine tasting.

The duck was a bit of an experiment, a Marsannay from the Cote d’Or, a Pinot Noir based wine with the most delicious berry lightness and low tannins that went ok with the meat (in other words, it didn’t steal the bird’s thunder) and particularly unusual as it is almost a deep rose in colour rather than the light purple-ish red that maybe a Gamay or other light red would have.

Finally, a Tokaji Azsu to go with the pudding. A dried berry and citrus zest wonder from the East of Europe (yes, I know it is Hungary. I went to Budapest to get it myself!) with a rich and ever so slightly cloying after taste that left me feeling I wanted to whoop with joy, before mellowing on a bed of Hungarian down pillows to slowly doze and leave the washing up to those left behind (i.e. Ben and his early bird Santa imitation). Good stuff and worth the wait of four years to find an appropriate moment.

All in all, a rich and heady combination which is sending me to a rapid dreamlike state, and ushering me to an early bed.

So not the normal blog, but a quick note to say, good night and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.

Lou

Ps Thanks to Jamie Keddie for this photo knicked from his blog..!

Angels and Demons

Following up from the recent tasting of Beaujolais Nouveau (surprisingly good if not slightly expensive) I travelled with Dad (not actually moving from the spindle back chairs in the basement, but that is wine tasting for you) down from Beaujolais to the Rhône valley and to Vacqueyras, giving us the chance to chat and mull over the wine in front of us.

So to set the scene: My big brother Ben has returned to London to work on the Chancellor’s report, the street lights are glowing with that wonderful orangey hue as the wintery, misty night rolls in, and the fire is burning with renewed energy in the hearth. Crackle! Snap! (Are you with me?) The cold I have just recovered from has really thrown me, so I am not convinced my palate will serve me well with this one, however, I will press on with Dad as my back up.

Nestling by the Dentelles de Montmereil and sheltered by Cypress trees from what must be the Mistral winds, is a wine made with a blend of Grenache, Syrah and Mourvèdre (though I didn’t notice any reference to the latter on the label); Les Grands Cyprès, Vacqueyras 2007 (Waitrose, £7.99 from £11.99) 14%. Vacqueyras is a Rhône Valley region lying just south of the Gigondas (so this vineyard must be right on the northern border but on the other side of the teeth) a mere 20 kilometres or so from Orange in the South of France.

This light ruby red wine has an almost devilish scarlet tinge rather than a rich bluey red of some other Rhône wines. The clear rim sparkles and winks in the glass from the light and contrasts with the slightly coloured legs.

Swirling this wine around (in that knowing way that experts do when talking to people, but somehow I just manage to spill some and end up having to take items of clothes off for washing) I get a rich Morello cherry hit on the nose followed by cassis; brambley blue fruit richness and hints of sharper citrus. Lighter berry fruits follow, coming to the nose; ripe strawberry, some cream and also a more mellow tone, musty and dull, a papaya-like mustiness, slightly sour yet fruity; a bit of a serpent in Paradise (given my dislike of papaya).

Changing my glass (I told you I swill so badly, this one has been knocked over. Thanks Dad) I get sour cherry, lemony flintiness and hints of stalk. The elements of cream and the cherry remind me of something similar to clafoutis; more sour cherry and less of a creamy vanilla batter scent though.

Each pause lets this creamy richness develop. I wasn’t sure about this purchase being always dubious about discounted or promoted wine, but realise my glass, hand, and bottle are probably a little too cold for this one. So giving the wine a bit more air and warmth, Dad and I take our first sips.

Initial berry and cream lead to fruity, woody stalk and sharp acidity that the Grenache provides. This high acidity leading to a mouth puckering, mouth wateringly long finish. There is a subtle melange (now there’s a word I haven’t used in ages) of the sourness and younger red fruits, red currents, strawberries, raspberries. Also, a impish hint of Parma violet, the element that gives the mellowness, bridging the sour cherry, the dark berry and the smoky tannic prickle. A subtle hint of herb comes next, though rather a bitter liquorice herb; stalky, chewed pencil ends. Finally flinty rocks blend with the acidity and tannins to gently coat the mouth.

Resting further and gaining a better room temperature, out come the richer fruitier berries that I had on the nose initially. Some leathery stewed fruits appear, which may or may not be the mysterious Mourvèdre that fails to appear on the label (apologies to Waitrose if it is, I am getting glasses soon). But predominantly it is the rich, creamy, dark and naturally sweet berries that remain in the mouth and in the mind. This, added with mild and smooth tannic elements, and the warming peppery prickle that comes from the Syrah grape, tickles the tongue and the tannins, spice and pepper pull together to provide the long and delightful finish.

Dad and I sit back and watch the dancing fire and breathe the cedar aromas emanate from the hearth; smooth music plays in the background, and we sip the wine that enlivens our palates with its own crackle of spice and pepper. Angelic fruity richness and devilish peppers. Spice. Acidity. Length. Temptation! Naughty but nice (as the old “cream cake” adverts used to say).

Prime beef from du Boeuf?

Ok, let’s be honest. I didn’t think that Beaujolais Nouveau (Georges Du Boeuf 2009, Waitrose £5.99, 12.5%) would bring back some fond memories or a wry smile to my face, as I foist it onto my brother and Dad for the latest wine tasting. It isn’t really a bad wine, it is just not meant to be a classic wine, merely a quaffable, lightweight, trouble free wine (we can leave the ‘trouble’ to the chefs on the other side of the room).

I remember the very first time I tasted Beaujolais Nouveau. It was 1985, and I was five years away from legal drinking (you work it out). It was magical. The world of wine had not yet opened up to me, but a visit to London, trips to the Hamley’s, Madame Tussaud’s, the Tower and the Grande Dame of hotels, the Savoy, for a party to celebrate Beaujolais Nouveau Day, made me feel special and grown up, as if my birthday and Christmas had come early. It was the first time Dad allowed me a glass to myself, and the last time we went out together as a family.

Now, I realise there may be a raised eye-brow or two using the word ‘magical’, though 1985 was a reasonably good year for Beaujolais Nouveau; but, there is something extraordinary about harvesting and producing wines with such a quick turnaround, sometimes under six weeks.

Back in Bath, the present, the kitchen, while Dad and Ben between them heatedly fuss over the supper (it is only a chicken!), my glass is sitting waiting for my attention. The eyes are immediately drawn to the wonderful and pure beetroot juice colouring of this wine; a rich, staining purple-red which leaves a crown of coloured legs when it is swilled around the glass, and a distinctive clear rim when settled.

Bringing the glass up to the nose, the first surprise comes from a rounded, rich cassis aroma. Why a surprise? Normally, there is a lighter cherry note that comes from the Gamay grape, which is what this wine is made from. Here, initially, perfumes of darker fruits come to the fore. This cloudy cassis gives way to some hints of fresh strawberry and then old familiar characteristic smells of Beaujolais Nouveau start to come through: those perfumed, lighter red fruits.

Beaujolais is famed for its unique fermentation process that boosts the flavours; carbonic maceration or whole grape fermentation. First discovered by Louis Pasteur (yes, the milk man), the whole grapes are put in a sealed vat where carbon dioxide is pumped in to start the fermentation process before pressing. This process enhances the aromas and flavours giving it a jammy, sweeter element to the tasting process, taking your senses on a journey from cherry and berry to banana, jams, bubblegum, pear drops and kirsch. The flavours are all in there in various bottles (and, OK, I admit it. I even had a sniff from the top of this bottle to double check my nose was working!)

The second surprise is on the palate. Creaminess hits the tongue in the first instance, bringing with it cassis and darker berry notes. Taking another sip, it is followed by a powdery, cloudy mouth filling strawberry. Contrasting to the fruity flavours are some stalkier, flintier elements, reminding just how young and green the wine is. The flintiness comes from the granitic and schist based soil on which these grapes are grown. Giving it a rather pencil lead note to the palate, rather than for example, a clay soil which hints at more leathery, leafy tones. Either way, it emphasises the acidity for which the wine is well known and its lack of serious tannins.

Coming back to the glass after resting for an instant; there are some sour cherries emphasising the high acidity, drawing in the cheeks and making the mouth water. The sweet fruits are brought further forward as the glass reaches room temperature. Again, summer fruits, ‘cherry lips’ sweets (does anyone remember those?), and jam, meet berry and sharpness. Throw in a chalky, powder puff of perfume that seem to fill the mouth and you have this year’s blend; hailed as being the best primeur in fifty years.

Georges du Boeuf is a master of turning the commercial into something a little bit more exceptional, the ordinary into something a bit more extraordinary. Beaujolais Nouveau Day is said to be down to him. So, this year’s results are surprisingly enjoyable, but let’s not get too excited. We are not talking a well rounded Margaux here, or a rich and mellow Chateau Neuf du Pape. Good value? I would say yes, but with a BUT. £6 is nowadays not a lot to spend on a bottle of wine, in fact, wine at that price is cheap (and I am always looking for bargains in these days of thrift).

My point is that you have to take Beaujolais Nouveau in context. As I said at the beginning, it is a quaffing wine, not a quality wine, so this year you are getting something that is better than average for a reasonable price; it just isn’t a bargain. But, drink it with, for instance, a succulent roast chicken (like the one that is waiting for me the other side of the kitchen, if the boys stop fighting), or the Thanksgiving turkey (which comes a week later than Beaujolais Nouveau Day), and the acidity will bring out the sweetness of the flesh. The fruit will contrast well with the salted skin, the creaminess and the butter. Then, maybe, you are talking about money well spent.