The little difficult return

I spent a very enjoyable evening in London the other week, heading to a favourite stomping ground, Marylebone, to meet one of my more glamorous City friends who had been waiting for me to finish my Lenten purging. We decided to meet for a drink to lubricate our jaws for the gossip ahead and I suggested Providores, a brilliant restaurant and tapas bar for the local chic that has a fantastically sourced wine list. Providores is owned by the New Zealand chef Peter Gordon who is a leading light in the fusion food stakes and is certainly highly admired in ‘foodie’ circles.

Seated at one of the busy long ‘posing’ tables that are in the centre of the room I decided out of curiosity on a glass of Little Rascal Arneis 2007, from Cooper’s Green, Gisbourne. I say ‘curiosity’ because, although I am qualified in wine (and got the badge, the t-shirt, and drank all the bottles), I have never heard of it before. The wine waiter suggested I give it a go describing the glowing and unctuous glass of golden wine as a zesty version of Pinot Gris.

So trying hard not to be put off by the wonderfully tempting smells coming from the plates being served around me (Hey! Is that Laksa!?) I started to take in the new aromas and tastes being offered in this glass.

As we dipped our noses in, there was an amazing sense of lemon and zest with hints of mint. Swirling the glass, aromas mixed with flint merged to produce an exciting fresh smell. Even leaving this to sit for a while (a very short time – we had a table booked at eight), the richness of aromas remained distinct and strong. All perfectly suited to the rich mix of Peter Gordon’s cuisine.

Arneis di roero, (translated from the local dialect, means the little difficult one) has its origins in the Piedmonte region of Northern Italy, from where the grape was ‘pilfered’ by a New Zealand vintner to plant in Gisbourne, on the east coast of the North Island. There the soil is rich alluvial loam (a mixture of sand, clay and decomposing organic matter, but you probably knew that already) producing high yields (the area was previously famous for big commercial production, wine boxes, that sort of thing, rather than boutique wineries. Now the situation is changing rapidly) and fine rich whites including Chardonnay and Gewürztraminers, and now arneis. The warmer climate develops the grape’s flavours and the soils, the richness.

So now you have had the science bit, back to the wine. On the tongue there was a creamy sherbet dip prickliness; lemon pith combined with spice and mint. Did I say mint? It’s minty lemon fresh! Given its spice, it is a creamier version of Gewürztraminer but with an Italian fanfare. More Enrico Caruso than Max Lorenz (although, the latter may have been more frivolous, if you know what I mean). The unctuous element, similar to pinot gris, was wonderfully balanced, bringing the two contrasting elements of cream and citrus together in a well rounded and wholesome flavour. Resting it for a short time, there was also a hint of minerality which was followed by the aftertaste of basils and sweet liquorice. The long finish provided a crisp mineral note with metallic edges and good acidity.

Mouth-wateringly good and a great recommendation from the waiter. Soft and fragrant but with a nice kick to it. Kiri te Kanawa meets Russell Crowe. I have to find this on the web as I want more of it!

Radio Silence

I am going to apologise in advance for the forthcoming silence on my part over the next few weeks, and also for the last couple of weeks. I have been trying to rent out the flat in Paris, try looking for some pocket money through journals work, and I have faced days of frustration as well as evenings of obliteration trying to get things organised. Well you would, wouldn't you? At this point, I would not recommend heavy drinking when a small American journal in a moderate state, wants you to write a few lines on 'local brew' and you feel like there is a grit (or similar) taste in your mouth the morning after as you stare bleakly at the laptop trying to describe the thing you love the most. Ouch my liver!

So in this spirit, thank God it is Shrove Tuesday and the start of the Lenten period. I am going to contradict the words of Alistair Campbell during an interview between the BBC(?) and Tony Blair, I " don't do God!" Well actually, as the good Catholic boy my parents brought me up to be, I do, and give up (every year) alcohol as part of my spiritual as well as physical detox.

I will write again after Easter Sunday (unless I find some notes from a previous tasting to fill the radio silence).


Enjoy the break, and for those of a similar mindset or faith as me, Good Lent.


Lou

A note to the boys on St Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day is looming and in the spirit of romance and adoration of the feminine I always turn to Champagne. It is the perfect and essential part of any romantic evening, and to me, is the essence of woman in a glass. Pink? Actually, I don’t do pink. Not because I am not in touch with my feminine side (I have read Cosmopolitan) and feel that the colour reflects the rosy cheeks, full lips or beating heart of the woman into who’s eyes I am staring on this day of romance. No, I just don’t really like it as much as the pure, straw coloured nectar, so why over do things?

Champagne is special, there is no denying it. A once weak and probably flabby wine is transformed through a heady, complex, time consuming, and in some cases, personal process of production – including the remouillage (the bottle turning, in some houses, by hand) and dégorgement (the removing of the dead lees from the neck) and all the tricks that make it special - into a sparkling golden drink that lends biscuits and cream, almonds, lemons (sometimes grapefruit) and pith, and floral notes to the palate. No wonder that our hero monk Dom Perignon thought the drink with the stars in was a miracle, it really is.

There is something delightfully youthful and feminine about a glass of non-vintage that has the frivolous sparkle, the light lemon zing and the creamy yeastiness. Bubbles tickle the tongue and lift spirits in a way that other wines cannot reach (apologies to Carlsberg). There is a carefree lack of formality that comes with the NV. The pop of the cork (that is meant to sound like a lady sighing in anticipation) and the whoosh of the froth as it races to the rim of the glass, the fun before the taste. Sparkles reflect bejewelled necks; the tickle on the tongue that brings a smile to the face and crinkles to the nose. Young love, hungry need or flirtation, all the anticipation of what might be, all reflected in a glass. This is what the NV is all about.

At the same time, the vintage brings with it a whole new dimension. A lighter sparkle in the glass, a stronger scent of biscuits and nuts from longer development, a more mellow flavour, all give the impression of a more mature woman, sensual and experienced, but with a glint in her eye. Less is definitely more with a vintage (proving there is still so much life in the old girl yet!) No whoosh and no need for giggles. This is serious lovers stuff, where senses, smells and tastes are heightened. Nuances with every glance, every word on the lips, every taste in the mouth. Whereas the NV is the ‘bling’, the party girl, this is the seductress. No need to impress, no anticipation of what might be but a knowledge of what will be, or already is.

Non vintage or vintage love? Diamonds? Stars? Sparkles? Either way, chuck out the chocolates, hold back the flowers, just bring out the Queen of drinks and relax. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Birthday Bordeaux

Birthdays come but once a year, as they say, and all the memories that they bring come with them. So notching up more points on the Eurostar and taking advantage of a lift from my brother, I came back home to celebrate. I admit not being good with birthdays, vanity and lost youth, missing loved ones (you know what I mean), so, thinking of something appropriate which could take me back to places and times, something which will bring a smile to my face rather than the usual scowl, I nestled some bottles of Côtes de Bourg, (Monteberiot 2004, www.monteberiot.com) in my bag, and prepared for a trip down memory lane. This wine was recommended to me by a friend who used to live in Paris many years back, who still has an overt interest in wine and hangover cures.

I saved my notes from when I went to Bordeaux with Dominique, my then girlfriend, and decided to see how it had changed: a more gentle effect on the palate [than the 2003], berries and spice, cream and wood, leaf and earth. This is for taking slowly, letting the flavours develop and draw you in. Taste buds were being teased, if not challenged. So, sitting away from the noise of the kitchen (Ben, my brother, has gone into the kitchen to ‘supervise’, poor dad); creaking floorboards and crackling fire, and awaiting my father’s classic roast of local organic Somerset beef that he does so well, I pour the wine and prepare to taste.

Swirling the glass, the colour has tinges of brown in it now, changing from vibrant ruby to a softer garnet. The smell is spicy berry, with leather and liquorice. The merlot has faded since I first tasted this wine, and the cabernet in the blend has come forward with a heady mix of ‘terroir’, musty leaves (strangely Autumnal in the midst of winter and a freezing January), and tannins which hit the nose as soon as I lean into the glass. This is still a good beefy wine with emphasis on the BEEF given the leather smells and what is for supper. There is almost a medicinal element to the leather (a bit like the witch hazel in TCP but don’t let that put you off – it’s healthy after all!) and a pepperiness from the tannins. Leather thanks in part to the clay based soils that the Bourg has as part of its unique micro climate; pepper from the tannins enriched by the barrels made of Limousin and American oak in which blended wines matured.

On the palate, a reflection of the smell, in the first instance, there is liquorice, real stewed fruits, prunes with cream, and a gentle tickle of pepper on the tongue at the finish. Again, good acidity leaves a long pepper and cream taste on the tongue but also an element of flint. Where before, rich cassis and dark berry hit the tongue, there is a big leather and stew of fruit. But then again, as this wine takes on the warmth of the room, its complexity reveals itself further. A gentle essence of powdery Parma violet reveals itself, there, but really a ghost of flavour, breaking through (all I can think of is Miss Haversham’s wedding cake. Oh Lou, you are so literary!) nodding at the fruitier flavours that tone down the earths and leathers. And then further still, the sleepy sweeter fruits wake up and the original cassis that seemed to have faded comes to the fore. Stronger on the nose and stronger on the tongue.

No one likes to be rushed, and this wine is no exception, needing that warmth and gentle teasing over time to bring out the fullness of her flavour. So, the comparison? In a very human way, and appropriately in the spirit of birthdays, this wine has developed, moved forward, but not necessarily changed. Hearty roasts? Wines that transport you to distant places and times? Log fires and lazy evenings? I should have brought along a few more bottles.

Update: I have been trying to download this on the machine but the power cuts here have been phenomenally frustrating.

White in winter?

I got a surprise phone call from my brother the other night saying that he would be in Paris on business and asking if he could he stay a bit longer. (Accountants have all the fun! I have to pay for everything but luckily I have enough savings and an accountant as my brother!)

I decided on Au petit fer à cheval, a place I love in the Marais, a tightly packed back room of a bar with a horseshoe shape (hence the name). This quartier is a bustling and trendy area housing a fantastic array of restaurants, bars, cafés, the heart of truly Gaie Paris (if you get my drift), and the Jewish quarter with some fantastic places to get a lunchtime bite to eat. To me, a hearty onion soup with cheesy croutons in this bleak weather and something like a lamb shank with flageolets, maybe, to finish, would do the trick. Winter warmers to fortify the stomach, all washed down with a spicy and tannic red.

So it was a surprise that, as we decided to catch up in the flat, he brought out a bottle of chilled Menetou Salon (2007 Lasalle). (Brrr! I shouldn’t be ungrateful, but thank goodness the flat had heating). Menetou Salon is a small wine growing area that produces wines just next door to its superior rival Sancerre, and, although the clay soils of Menetou Salon provide different flavours against the contrasting Sancerre chalk base, what it does produce is no less delicious when you think of the commercial advantage that Sancerre has in comparison. So for an old sentimentalist like me, its most superior wines are all the more precious.

The sauvignon blanc has a warm and light straw colour, and light legs as it is turned in the glass, contrasting against the grey and wet picture through my window. Dipping my nose in, the citrus notes of lemon and gooseberry merge with a hint of under ripe apricot, then give way to real grass and herbaceousness; coriander (yes, coriander! I kid you not), and a finish of cream.

Already salivating at the anticipation of the taste (and at this point I have to pause to explain to Ben why a beer just won’t do), there is lemon, again, but with hints of the tropics. Unctuous creaminess balances well with the subtle tones of pineapple, some grapefruit, but citrus acidity overall, and a mineral kick from the flint. The herbs come out as it rests; basil? Tarragon? Either way a slight liquorice tang compliments the mineral and creamy unctuousness, becoming more lemony and creamy as the glass reaches its optimum temperature. The wonderful acidity lingers in the mouth, the sense of steel and flint and lemon really do make your mouth water and thirst for more, but the finish is creamy and wonderfully round.

This is pure, balanced, complex and well made Sauvignon as the French truly make it. Not the gushing exoticism of BIG fruits from the New World. I am pleased by the excellent choice of my brother, but then we do share the same genes!

Another snub

I recovered well from my night of Prosecco and anti pasti nibbles, but still had a bit of a fuzzy head the next morning, which I am blaming totally on the cold. However, I am worried now that I am developing a bad habit sitting in my flat in the heart of Paris ( with a market selling all varieties of French produce) with a risotto of gorgonzola and zucchini, as I have decided to snub the French once again by choosing an Italian wine over a native French one. Well, it is an Italian meal! Maybe I should select this one in honour of the First Lady here Mme Bruni Sarkozy and think of the fantastically arousing bag that she has successfully won her law suit over. She is, sadly, not playing Marianne for the boys.

The chill has not subsided but the wind has been up and is whistling down my road from the Seine making a hearty meal and a robust red wine all the more appropriate. Old window frames are rattling, though not only from the wind but from the heavy lorries that are going past. In this weather the age of the building seems to be emphasised by the noises from the apartment above, footsteps following the old beams from one side to the other, and the draughts coming from the corridor (and I don’t live in a slum!). So the low lights, slow rhythm of the jazz (my other love) and the gas ‘wood burning’ stove all give a warming and cosy feel to match the food and, more to the point, my wine selection.

I have chosen a Nero d’Avola, also known as Calabrese d’Avola, (Mandrarossa 2006, Sicily) which has had an enormous impact on Sicilian wine growing for several hundred years. It is probably the wrong choice to go with the gorgonzola (although the natural pepperiness of the Nero d'Avola does lend itself to the pepper from the veins of the cheese) but I am not going to be too much of a stickler when it comes to food matching. I can live with it!

The colour is a vibrant plum but not so intense that you cannot see your fingers through the glass on the other side. This is still a young wine and I suspect that the wine will still last a bit longer.

When it comes to the nose, I get a sense of buttery creaminess that I assume must come from the barrels that the wine is fermented in. There are some really sensuous elements of parma violet and dark cherries that tease the anticipating palate raising the expectation of something smooth and velvety.

The impatient palate is not at all disappointed. The wine is smooth, almost unctuous if not creamy in its texture. There are big prune flavours and an instant fix of stewed fruit. Tannins give the powdery element that fills the mouth with the perfume of parma violet clouds. And then the kick. Bam! The spice that Nero d’Avola is famous for, not dissimilar to Syrah in its ability to produce peppery flavours that linger on the tongue, and a light acidity that makes your mouth water after sipping, greedily wanting more.

While I am writing this I am getting reminders of Greece and their dark stewed fruit grapes like Agiorgetiko. Mmm. I may be tempted by a kebab tomorrow.

Bloke's tipple

Well I succumbed over the weekend to a very delicious glass (ok, bottle) of sparkling something to help me over my cold. Yes, the one that seems to be going around at the moment. I blame the hippy looking guy sitting next to me on the Eurostar. I should have upgraded. But in the spirit of charity and New Year’s resolutions I should be more forgiving.

It is freezing in Paris and the buzz of activity from the market round the corner, with all the traders blanketed up to fend off the cold, people scuttling along trying to get their shopping done in half the time, rotisseries turning steaming chickens and the flower stall with lilies, roses, exotic plants glistening with the frost and damp, and me, packing away half the flat, and the memories of Dominique. ( I am returning to Bath to help Pa with his packing as he goes off to retire near family in Australia. I should be in the removal business).

So, taking advice from Cosmopolitan, or similar women’s publications, I run myself a steaming bath, get some nibbles out and shame myself by opening a bottle of Prosecco di Conegliano (Waitrose) which was left over from Christmas, and which I brought over. I know, it is a bit like taking instant coffee to Brazil. Pink as a lobster, wrapped in a huge towelling dressing gown, gas fire on and enough time to bring the temperature of the bottle up to a better level (you don’t want your wine too chilled) I sit with my feet up on the sofa and my glass to hand ready to savour the moment.

The colour is so light and pale straw, and bubbles rising excitedly from the bottom. This is fey! Were it not for the five o’clock shadow and chest hair I would worry about myself drinking this stuff rather than a beefy Burgundy. Should I cock my little finger at this point? Maybe have curlers in (a bit difficult when you are half bald and have a crew cut)? Oh well. What the hell! Cough! Scratch a bit and get back to the moment at hand Lou.

The fragrance, and remember I have a cold, is so light you can barely note the marzipan almonds, peach and lemon fruits and floral notes, each scent is so light it could imply disappointment when it comes to the taste. But as it warms up, I think of being in a restaurant where the waiter whisks by holding a huge bowl of fruit salad or trifle, wafting the fragrance here and there. The taste reflects it all. So wonderfully light and pétillant on the tongue, the mix of flavours, crisp apple and honeysuckle, cream and white peach, a hint of lemon all rounded off with a gentle acidity and flintiness, gives it a light and refreshing quality. This is something that will lift my spirits and refresh my aching stomach after the festivities a few days ago, and reinvigorate me (but I will confirm that next time).

Thoughts? Prosecco is such a great drink, so brilliantly light and refreshing. It is so different from the heavier rival, Champagne. Obviously there is the different grape variety, Pinot Blanc or Pinot Gris, and different terroir (wind coming down from the Alps to the low plain of the Veneto). But they also make it in a different manner, where the secondary fermentation, the bit that gives you the fey bubbles and the cocked finger, is done in steel vats rather than in bottles. So no dégorgement, remouillage, marc liqueur or other production. Straight into the bottle, no fuss, no nonsense. Ready to pour. Maybe more blokey than I originally thought.