I know, I know, I know...

Had an e-mail from my mate, old boss and fellow Taste-In colleague Robert Joseph recently in response to this post. This is the man from whom I learned inordinate amounts, not least the art of missing publishers' deadlines with the maximum of grace, but since neither of us had much in the way of business acumen - great ideas, yes; business acumen, no - then our partnership was doomed to failure. Anyway, the response from Bobby Jo (as some will insist on calling him) was that while he agreed with me both on the packaging and on Oddbins shaky future, he thought that the Cachet wines did stack up as part of the riposte from France to outside competition.

And yes, I realise that France needs to re-establish itself in the eyes of many wine drinkers, especially those who have cut their wine teeth not on the Old World but on the New World. But... And here's where my Latin O Level for once proves useful. I usually approach unknown Australian Shirazes with a suspicion born of too many examples of over-manipulated wines, but The Red Sedan 2005 McLaren Vale Shiraz is going down a storm tonight, perhaps because of the absence of oak, which gives the iron-rich fruit flavours a chance to shine (and it's getting better as I type - I fear for the rest of the bottle).

Anyway, back on the subject, Latin. Correct me if I'm wrong but 'McLaren Vale' means 'farewell McLaren' - quite appropriate for this week. Just as England proved against Croatia on Wednesday that despite the quality of the players on the field, the up-tempo, end-to-end, hoof-it-up-the-field game has had its day, so it might be time for some of the movers and shakers of the south of France to move on from the desire to please the beginner's palate. In other words, they should be looking for life beyond ripeness, fresh fruit and, err, that's it, which is nice in the short term, but a long term yawn.

So sorry Robert, but Cachet is a long term yawn. If all it provides is simple fruit with the right varietal names on the label, then other countries do it cheaper and - vital - more reliably. While I hate the idea of French wine sales remaining in the doldrums, I'd rather they were revitalised by better wines than Cachet.

Getting bladdered....

In this news story from Australia, getting bladdered takes on a completely new meaning. Reminds me of the Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy where someone says that an impending and not very pleasurable experience is 'like getting drunk'. What's the problem with that, asks someone else. 'You ask a glass of water...'

Wine & Spirit - How High Is Too High?

Just written a piece for Wine & Spirit about High Alcohol wines. I'll update this post when it's eventually published, but in the meantime, here are the wines I tasted for it.

SPAIN
Marquesa de la Cruz Garnacha 2006, Campo de Borja (14.5%)
Juan Gil Silver Label Monastrell Jumilla 2004 (14%)
Bodega Mustiguillo Finca Terrerazo 2005 (14.5%)
Macià Batle Binissalem Mallorca 2004 (14.5%)

FRANCE
La Bastide Saint Vincent Gigondas 2004 (14%)
Domaine Madeloc Collioure 2003 (15%)
Couly-Dutheil Chinon Clos de l’Olive 2005 (15%)

AUSTRALIA
Tullymore Vineyards Merlot 2003, Coonawarra (14%)
Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon 2005, Katnook Estate (14.5%)
Jacob’s Creek Reserve Shiraz 2005, South Australia (14%)
Kirribilly Estate Shiraz 2004, Langhorne Creek (14.5%)
Jim Barry The Lodge Hill Shiraz 2005, Clare Valley (15%)
Leylines Shiraz 2004, South Australia (15%)

ARGENTINA
Lagarde Henry Cabernet Sauvignon 2003, Mendoza (14.5%)
Soluna Premium Malbec 2005, Mendoza (14%)
Soluna Premium Organic Malbec 2005, Mendoza (14%)

SOUTH AFRICA
Knockon Wood Reserve 2006, Western Cape (14.5%)
Cloof Lynchpin 2005, Darling (14.5%)

CHILE
De Martino Colluvia Syrah 2006, Choapa Valley (14.5%)

CALIFORNIA
Walker’s Pass Private Bin Reserve Zinfandel 2005, Santa Clara (14.5%)
Ravenswood Lodi Old Vine Zinfandel 2005 (14.5%)

ITALY
Morella Old Vine Primitivo 2003, Puglia (15%)

When is a region not a region?

Ah, regionality and wine, eh? Dontcha just love it? There's a story on Decanter's web site about how the Aussies are struggling with the problem of having a wine blended from different states. The current SE Australia designation only covers the states in the south and east, and means that any inclusion of Western Australian wine is limited to 15%. With WA currently being the one place destined to have a surfeit of grog in the next few years, unsurprisingly those out east are looking at ways of getting their hands on the precious stuff. But there is opposition from some who see the creation of a new designation called Greater Australia or Southern Australia as denying regionality. Get real guys. The whole point of the SE Aus appellation is to produce a cheap homogenous blended wine, so talking of any regional identity is pointless. Terroir? Schmerroir.

Don’t get me wrong, I'm a fully paid up member of the terroir club - where the grapes are grown has a definite impact on a wine’s flavour. But I'm also a realist. The main factor in the flavour of a wine is not terroir, it is human influence. The ways in which grapes are grown and wine is made outweigh the impact of terroir, and this is as much true in Australia as in France. Yet the Australians, or at least those in charge of the wine industry, seem hell-bent on pursuing regionality, even though most of the wines are marked more by winemaking than region. Further proof of this was provided by a tasting of Clare Valley wines last week. Yes, there were some great wines in which the character of the region shone through, but they were outnumbered by ones where the word ‘made’ appeared in my notes.

Look at it this way. Does Clarendon Hills have a following because it tastes of McLaren Vale or because it tastes of Clarendon Hills? Ditto for Henschke, Cullen, Brokenwood, Yarra Yering, Bannockburn and their respected regions. In an ideal world, all wine would be made by great producers in great regions. But it isn’t, so the question we have to answer is this - which would we rather have: a wine made by a so-so producer in a great region or one made by a great producer in a so-so region? Anyone who wouldn’t take the second option every time is deluding themselves.

Wayne, Women and Song

First time I've ever linked to The Sun, but couldn't resist this story about how Wayne Rooney was developing a taste for the grape. Judging by the line up for yesterday's game against Blackburn, he's not the only wino in Fergie's side...

Edwine Van der Sar
Rioja Ferdinand
Patrice Evramoira
Wes Cantenac-Brown
La Mancha Vidic
Anderson D'Oliveira
Owen Haagreaves
Cristiano Ron-Aldo Conterno
Rion Giggs
Carlos Jerez
Louis Saar

Kipper Wines

Not Kipper Tie, as in what Noddy Holder enjoys as liquid refreshment. No, here, I'm talking about those wines that you hardly ever drink at home, but instantly go for when you see them on a list. I can't remember ever cooking kippers in my current abode - I'm married to an anti-kipperite - but whenever I see them on a breakfast menu, I'm straight in there.

So, kipper wines.... For me, they're probably old wines. Not classic old wines, but humble bottles that you wouldn't normally think of ageing. So if I find a list that has old Beaujolais, Muscadet, Valpolicella, Alsace Pinot Gris, Cotes du Rhone and others of that ilk, I'll happily shell out for them. Sometimes they're past it, but a lot of the time they're surprisingly good, and attractively priced too.

However, I'd draw the line at having them with my breakfast kippers...

I Can't Believe It's Not Better

The line-up:-
Robert Joseph – founder of What Wine (which became Wine, Which became Wine International which became Wine & Spirit) and inventor of the International Wine Challenge (he’s also a former boss of mine).
Allan Cheesman – ex-Sainsbury’s guru largely responsible for beginning the supermarket wine revolution.
Neil Tully – a Master of Wine whose company Amphora now designs dozens of the best wine labels in the UK.
Lynne Whittaker – marketing wizard

Surely a dream team to be involved in the creation of a new wine brand. So why have they come up with something as poor as Cachet? I’ve just tasted the range of three vin de pays from southern France – Viog/Chard, a Pinot Rosé and a Shiraz/Cabernet – and they’re just not what French wine is about. Where's the passion, the edge of arrogance, the Gallic charm? The best thing that can be said about them is that they’re not sweet, but when you hear that they’ve been created with the UK consumer in mind, you have to shudder.

They’re from Castel, the French behemoth that owns Oddbins, and of course, the wines are now available in said store on a 6 for 5 promo. Castel may be introducing a little business efficiency to Oddbins, but if it means that stores get overwhelmed with wines like this and the equally dire Oddbins Selection, then bring back the days of bad balance sheets. My only hope (vain, I know) is that the people involved were paid not in cash but in Cachet. A month of drinking this tired trio (and of looking at the pedestrian labels) is what they deserve.

Knives in West 11

A Clash song, for those querying the title. Yes, 1977, the year when I made the fateful decision to study O Level Geography - why, oh why? Our teacher, unfortunately a distant relative, would tell us useful things like 'it rains most in the wet season'. He was one of those pople who was really a sports teacher but got drafted in to teach other subjects - I use the word 'teach' loosely. But the music made up for it. Fond memories of being a Part Time Punk and pogoing in the bedroom to too many bands to mention, including the aforementioned Clash, but the bittersweet Buzzcocks were also close to my heart.

In the world of wine, Europe had a pretty dismal vintage, except in Portugal, where many of the producers trotted out vintage ports that were initially considered to be among the finest of the 20th century. Hmmm. I've done reasonably extensive tastings a few times, and the most recent line-up this week only confirmed my suspicions that this isn't a great year. These are wines that for the most part are already ready (and in some instance past it), and which offer little of the passion I've found in great port.

Here goes...
Taylor - 2 off bottles
Fonseca - clean, supple, figgy, very mature, nice honest flavours but hardly complex
Croft - solid, spirity, has depth and fruit but again rather simple, has length but hints of bandage on finish - brett?
Delaforce - dense, gutsy fruit, still feel young and lively, spicy with potential to improve further. Close to best of the day.
Niepoort - sweetest so far, lots of juicy berry fruit feels young, promising but not huge complexity.
Niepoort Garrafeira (as above but taken out of wood early and stored in demi-johns, apparently) - solid, iron-rich tinges to buxom berry and herb flavours, hints of minerals, v tasty oddity.
Sandeman - feels rather dank (two bottles the same), fruit still alive but again sweet and too simple
Dow - gutsy, very solid, has lots of poke and grip, fragrant spicy finish. Star of the tasting
Warre - rather overblown, bretty, not very enjoyable, nor well balanced, sweet jammy finish.
Graham - lively, tangy, still lots of development ahead, juicy fig, slightly jammy berry, would like a little more complexity but this is still good kit
Gould Campbell - soft, tender, spicy style, plenty of fruit still, now at its peak, but no sign of fading. Surpisingly good
Quarles Harris - rich, sweet, simple but still with a spirity bite, lacks complexity but easy honest drink
Smith Woodhouse - juicy and fresh still, long and balanced, but again I expect more complexity of a supposedly great vintage.

Look on winesearcher for stockists. While the wines still haven't reached silly prices, there's better wine available for the money. Those looking for affordable mature vintage port for this Christmas should look at Marks & Spencer own label 1991 at just £22.99, a gently mature figgy delight - the corks reveal that it's from Morgan, a label from Croft.

Smoooooth....

It happened again last night. Was talking to someone after a wine tasting I'd done in conjunction with Taste-In and Spiral Cellars at the Smallbone Kitchens showroom in Harrogate. The wines had gone down pretty well, but afterwards, someone came and said that they hadn't like the two reds (Henschke's Henry's Seven and Cristia Chateauneuf) - 'I prefer something smoother.'

Smooth. It's a word that lots of people use when they're describing wines they like, and bully boy that I am, I aim to do all I can to eradicate it from their vinous vocabulary. Because when I think of smooth, I think of mustard coloured nylon rollneck sweaters. I think of grey plastic zip-up mens shoes. I think of Cliff Richard. Elevator muzak. Blue Stratos. You get the picture.

When I drink wine, I don't want a glass of Kenny G. I want something with a bit of personality, something with maybe a shady secret or two in its past, something your mother might tut at. So while I don't want wine that feels like a mouthful of barbed wire, I do like a little rough with my smooth.

Scoring, Scoff and Sweetcorn

If you've not come across Scoff, it's a food & wine e-newsletter that brings open-source thinking to the food & wine publishing world. So the contributors and the editors just do it for the love of sharing knowledge - makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The latest edition contains a slightly toned-down version of a posting I did a couple of months ago about scoring wines. Since when, I've been toying with the addition of a new category called Sweetcorn Wines. You know when you eat sweetcorn, how, a few hours later when you're in the bathroom, you look in the loo and, well, I think you know what I mean. You wonder what was the point of actually putting it in your body in the first place - is it just a vehicle for eating lots of peppery butter? I'm yet to decide whether a sweetcorn wine should be one that you might just as well pour down the bog for all the good it has done to your body, or whether it's the sort of wine that tastes like it's already been through someone's personal plumbing. Any thoughts?

Ein Zwei Dry - the battle of the tastings

Like buses, innit? You wait ages for a post and then two come along in quick succession. Don't be surprised to see more of the ammo accumulated over the past several weeks of tasting in the next few days.

Two of the main events of the past fortnight have been generic tastings of wines from both Chile and South Africa. 'Generic' is one of those words that wine folk casually slip into sentences and assume that everyone else knows what they mean. Just asked my wife what she thought a generic tasting was - the silence was deafening... So for all you normal people, a generic tasting is simply one where all the wines are from the same place.

So yes, Chile and South Africa, both countries with enormous potential, rapidly improving wines, increasingly experienced winemakers and - cue several more condescending clichés... I wrote earlier today of how we wine writers are on the receiving end of some rather uninspiring literature from wine companies, but it has to be said that we produce considerable amounts of gumf ourselves.

Anyway, Chile and South Africa. A test of how good someone's wines are is whether you want to rush home and drink more of the same or head for something completely different. I remember going to New Zealand a decade or so ago. When I returned home, the wine I craved most was grungy, feral Rioja Gran Reserva - there's only so much wine nice-ness a man can take... On my first trips to both Chile and South Africa, I came back pining for other people's wines. Having visited both in the last couple of years, I'm pleased to say that's changed. Both make Sauvignon Blanc I want to drink, and have a rapidly growing arsenal of other trump cards, to mix a metaphor or two.

But it wasn't the wines that impressed me at this autumn's tastings - it was the hand-dryers in the loos. The SA bash was at Earl's Court, and those who went to spend a penny found themselves face to face with the XLERATOR. Underneath it's sculpted nozzle was the slogan 'Feel The Power'. Yeah, right, I thought, feel the....WHOOOSH. The skin on my hands actually rippled under the Xlerator's jet of hot air. Any drops of water were blown off in a wave of shock and awe, and if I'd held my hands under the beast for any longer, I'm sure the same would have happened to my fingernails.

The following week, Chile was turning on the heat. The Xlerator was a hard act to follow, but at the Business Design Centre in Islington, they have hand-dryers that were every bit as good in the form of the Dyson Airblade. Yes, Dyson, as in those coloured vacs that people seem to either love or loathe. Where the Xlerator pummelled you into dryness, the Airblade nuzzled with its gentle yet speedy caress. I was hooked. I drank loads of water just so I could visit the gents as many times as possible. Which is why I'm writing this from a rather cramped police cell where paper-towel rationing is in operation...

OK, so I made the last bit up. And I assure you I will not allow the quality of the 'facilities' to influence my critical faculties. But having sampled several red wines at both events, it was surprisingly easy to draw analogies between the hand-dryers and several of the wines. Too many South African reds still seem to follow the Xlerator approach, with brawn rather than brain being the order of the day (even if they don't make your hands ripple). Meanwhile the Chilean reds are quieter and don't come with slogans like 'Feel The Power', but achieve the purpose they've been made for with increasing efficiency and élan.

COMING SOON - A comparison of Australian and New Zealand Chardonnays based on the quality of the bog roll at the generic tastings. A head to head between Tough Tiger Toilet Tissue (smooth on the top, rough on the bottom) and Dainty Double Damask Derrière Dampers (lightly moist for pampered posteriors - those with piles, in other words...)

What women, sorry, wine writers want...

If posts have been scarce in the last couple of weeks, it's because September and October are the tasting season, during which every wine company and its dog seems to want to show of their wares. Attempting to get to three or four events a day is not uncommon, and this of course has its repercussions. If you're sensible, you stand up and spit (ah, whatever happened to The Members?) all day before returning to bed early and not too bloated in order to be up again the following day (and the day after) for more of the same. If you're NOT sensible, then you accept an invitation out for dinner/a BBQ/pisco frenzy or worse. When it comes to post-tasting drinks, the modus operandi is one is just right, two is too many, and three is not enough. Even seasoned wine writers can forget that pouring close to 200 wines into your mouth over the course of a few hours actually has an effect on your constitution. Suddenly what you had talked yourself into believing was going to be a low-key evening has turned into a marathon session. It's two in the morning and you are either on the table or under it. If you're lucky, your clothes are still with you. And you still have to be back at the spittoon in a few hours time.

This autumn, apart from a few fuzzy bits towards the end of a Cloudy Bay dinner, I've erred on the sensible side, but even so, the prospect of a few quiet days off the tasting floor are most welcome - OK, I'm a wine wimp. But today, I'm a wine wimp on a mission, and my target is wine companies who don't understand what wine writers want. I'm not the first person to mouth off on such a topic. Only today, I've seen this piece by Emile Joubert about the invitations and press releases that we're sent. It's positively mild-mannered compared with a major rant from Wine-X magazine, a publication which can/could (it's currently in a strange state of suspension) miss as often as it hits, but which is spot on in this instance. Max Allen also hits the nail on the head with this piece - should be required reading for anyone sending out samples.

While I'm very much in agreement with Max and the others on what they write, none of them touches on my current gripe. Information. I'm not talking here about show awards or cuttings from other publications, I'm talking about the sort of info that wine companies provide that they seem to genuinely think will be of benefit to us.

Not sure what I'm on about? Then let me give you an example from the recent (and otherwise excellent) Waitrose tasting. Torres San Medin Cabernet Sauvignon Rosé 2007 - '100% Cabernet Sauvignon from clay loam soils. Harvested at 10 tonnes/ha. 24 hours skin contact then pneumatic pressing. Fermented over 21 days in stainless steel at 18ºC. Bottled May 2007.' Or how about this for José Maria da Fonseca Periquita White 2006? ‘80% Moscatel de Sétubal, 20% Arinto from the sandy soils of the Sétubal peninsula. Vines up to 50 years old, with low density plantings. Grapes harvested in late Aug/early Sept at approx. 7 tonnes/ha. 12% of Moscatel is oak-fermented, the rest in stainless. Suitable for vegetarians and vegans. Alc 11.8%, TA 7,2 g/l, pH 3.04, RS 5.0 g/l.’ Now for wine anoraks (sorry Jamie), maybe such details might be useful in unravelling quite why a wine tastes the way it does. But among normal people, does anyone give a stuff about percentages and tonnes per hectare?

Good wine writing should make you thirsty; lists of stats just makes you want to turn the page. I'm not picking on Waitrose - their tasting pamphlet was just the closest to hand. But too often, when I ask companies for interesting info on a wine or its producer, this is the sort of tedia they send. I'd much rather hear that the winemaker used to manage the Bhundu Boys (Chapel Down's Owen Elias), why the vineyard has such an unusual name (look at Wooing Tree, for example) or that the winery pet is a 3-legged cat. Alas, Spook, Cloudy Bay's 3-legged feline, is no longer with us. But her name and deficiency in the limb department is often cited when I try to explain to gawping PRs and wine companies that I'm not especially interested as to whether the 2005 has 3% more Cabernet Sauvignon than the 2004 and would rather hear something a little more enthralling.

Can't sign off a blog on tasting notes without a gem from the recent Tesco press tasting. Relating to Tesco Finest* Beyers Truter Pinotage 2006. 'The Tesco Finest Pinotage is a block selected Pinotage: therefore certain blocks of Pinotage were selected for the purpose of making the Tesco Finest.' Quite...

The wife's away, the mouse will play

I'm hoping my lovely wife Jill, set to return from a few days away in France with a friend of ours, doesn't read this. Because it's all about being selfish. OK, maybe not exactly selfish, but self-indulgent - there's at least a finely honed Sabatier knife's-width between the two...

The bottom line is this - which are the bottles I'd like to share with as few people as possible? I know, I know, enjoying wine is all about generosity - I've read those pieces, I've even written some of them. They usually involve a road-to-Emmaus type passage in which the author describes being given a thimbleful of Chateau Latour on his thirteenth birthday/at his first tutorial/just after snorting coke off a gullible groupie's navel before a gig at [insert venue of your choice]. Afterwards, wine suddenly made sense - cue misty images and harp music.

But we don't live on clouds permanently. And tonight, I'm rather glad that there's only me to enjoy what's left of the 1988 Chateau L'Evangile from Pomerol. It's a very good chateau, but not the best, ditto for vintage, but this weekend, it's been a joy to behold - I would have offered Alex (aged 6) a sip, but it would have clashed with his fish fingers and corn on the cob. So I was left alone to bathe in its suave, cedary beauty, its confident yet never brash fruit and its relaxed but not supine structure.

Jill would probably have enjoyed it, but not as much as I have. And so my darling, sorry you're married to such a selfish, sorry, self-indulgent wine snob, I'll leave some of your favourite elixir (usually Grenache but riper Pinots also do the biz) for you the next time I go away. I'm off now to warm the bed for your return...

Wine ‘bad hair’ days

Will report on how accurate my predictions were of the SW France tasting very soon. In the meantime, let's talk about wine ‘bad hair’ days.

Yes, I know it’s just fermented grape juice. Yes, I know that if wine were to disappear, the world would not. And yes, I know that a whole swathe of people drink wine more for its effect than its flavour. But for those sad, sad folk like me – and we are a significant minority – who take serious note of what we are swilling around our tulip-shaped glasses, then let’s talk about something that takes the convoluted world of wine into an even more complicated realm.

But let’s start by taking a look at ourselves. Have you ever had those days when you wake up and the world is just peachy, where you look in the mirror and nod approvingly, where the glass is not just half full, but it’s half full of Krug-flavoured ambrosia? And equally, have you had those days where the world craps on the shoulder of your cream-coloured leather jacket, where all of the 13 massive pustules on your face seems to be throbbing in sympathy with every Wi-Fi signal in the vicinity, where the glass is half empty – and the remnants are three-day-old white Zin, complete with a fag-end?

Well wines have such days. I’ve just been to the Tesco autumn wine tasting. 2007 has seen the wine department of Britain’s largest supermarket revelling in both critical and financial success, thanks to some inspired appointments at the Cheshunt HQ, most noticeably the arrival 18 months ago of Jan Dago, sorry, Dan Jago from Bibendum as Head Wine Honcho. His eyes are too close together, his dancing is questionable, but the man loves wine. At the spring 2007 tasting, he told me that after a year in the job, he’d managed to get the range to a stage where he’d happily take home the majority of the wines they were showing for dinner – and as his wife is an ex-Victoria Wine buyer, then he can’t turn up with any old muck.

So I arrived at the tasting expecting the selection to be as inspiring as that that had been on show in spring. And it wasn’t. But – and this is where things start getting a bit bonkers – it wasn’t the fault of the wines. Nor the tasters. It was just one of those days when the wines weren’t performing as they should have done. Anyone who has children will have experienced one of those moments when you try and persuade your offspring to repeat the enthusiastic rendition of Baa-Baa Black Sheep that so entranced you the night before for the benefit of the assembled relatives/friends/neighbours/whatever. And they don’t. So it was with the wines today. They were sulky children. They were supposed to sing. They didn’t.

Some wine companies – Marks & Spencer is one – now plan their tastings according to the biodynamic calendar. The theory goes that if extra-terrestrial influences can affect the tides, then they should also have an impact on other liquids, including wine. The tasting fell on a leaf day – the sort of day that M&S avoids since it accentuates any green/earthy notes in a wine. And true to form, traditionally-styled, (usually) European wines with firm tannic structures looked rather tough and charmless. Meanwhile, those wines that were on the rather buxom, overripe side acquired a welcome air of restraint. A Masi Amarone looked more like a Ripasso. A Californian Pinot acquired some Burgundian elegance. And Château Musar, a love-hate wine if ever there was one, lost much of its volatility and looked positively well-behaved.

I’m not excusing Tesco for some of the wines on show. There were several that even on a good day would have failed to excite. But overall, I think the wines were suffering a bad hair day – we all have them, even Patrick Stewart. On another occasion, this would have been a far more inspiring event. However, it does beg a question for those of us drinking wines at home – do we need to be looking at the biodynamic calendar when planning to open some of our more temperamental bottles?

A wasted week?

Just preparing for a trip to London for three days of tasting. I'll probably put 300 different wines in my mouth, and I'll probably end up writing about a maximum of 15 of them. In other words, more than 95% of what I sample will go unreported.

Is it worth the effort? And equally importantly, is it worth the people who have invited me to these events inviting me again? Personally, I do find it worth the effort - most of the time. I find tasting and talking about wine to be the quickest way of improving my knowledge. It's like exercise - the more you do it, the fitter you get, and if you stop doing it, you soon run to seed. There are some writers who do taste more than I do - Matthew Jukes gets through phenomenal amounts - but not many. It means that I'm reasonably qualified to give opinions (both to readers and to producers/importers/etc) on what I try, and to compare wines with those of other parts of the world. And obviously, those who invite me wouldn't keep on inviting me if I were just taking the piss and turning up for the free lunch.

And yet... Tomorrow, I'll be spending probably 3-4 hours tasting through wines from South West France. It's an event organised by the French, so there will be little information of use in the catalogue - I may get an importer's name if I'm lucky, but nothing useful like UK prices and stockists. Which will then mean more hours collating info on the wines I'm interested in, a few disappointments when I find that a particular wine is only available by the palate, and several weeks wait while the winery sends me another sample from France - I always try to retaste wines I'm going to recommend in the cold light of my kitchen, away from the persuasive charms of well-dressed young Frenchwomen...

Wouldn't it just be easier to sit on my bum and ring up my favourite importers for some samples? Perhaps. But that's how wine writers get lazy. As I said earlier, there is that danger of running to seed and becoming complacent, being stuck with opinions that were valid five years ago but which are now out of date. So I will be there tomorrow, putting in the hours and hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Expect my verdict on one of the unsung regions of the French wine world here in the coming days.

Manky onions as wine

A split second after the knife descended, I realised I was in the presence of a manky onion. You know the ones I mean, where the knife squashes rather than penetrates, where there's a whiff of vinegar, and where some of the layers have turned translucent. If you're feeling thrifty, you can chop out the good layers and save the rest, but today, said onion was rapidly filed under B (for Bin). If I'd spent more time in the shop squeezing my onions (settle...), maybe I'd not be in such a situation, but I didn't so I was.

And the same is true with wine. Manky onions abound in wine shops and on restaurant lists. Bottles that have been badly stored. Vintages that should have been pensioned off. Wines that quite simply were bad in the first place. And - it's true - bottles that were simply having bad hair days. There's nothing you can do about the last situation. Even Jimi Hendrix went out of tune from time to time. But for the others, you're going to have to rely on experience. The more you taste, the more you should be able to tust your own tastebuds to know what's good and what's not. If you find themes emerging, then vote with your feet - or should that be with your Lafite?

Let's parlais winespeak

They say: We're rationalising our range
They really mean: The labels have changed and the price has gone up.

They say: It's a blend of premium grape varieties
They really mean: Our wine is cheap

They say: We ferment at cool temperature to retain maximum fruit intensity
They really mean: This tastes of bubble gum and sherbet

They say: We left a small amount of residual sugar to lift the flavour
They really mean: It doesn't taste of anything, but it's sweet

They say: We picked early to retain some acidity.
They really mean: It's sharp and tasteless, but the yields were huge.

They say: It's an early drinking light wine
They really mean: It's got no flavour and won't last the year out

They say: The grapes are picked at maximum ripeness
They really mean: The grapes are picked too late

They say: The acidity and tannin will soften with age
They really mean: The acidity and tannin will not soften with age

They say: We are looking to expand into sparkling wine
They really mean: We are looking to make some money from sparkling wine

They say: We are looking to expand
They really mean: We are looking to improve our cashflow

They say: The UK market is very important to us
They really mean: The UK press is very important to us

They say: We've had some interesting results
They really mean: We've had some disgusting results, but Domestos are interested.

They say: The label is a freeform depiction of the sunset over the nearby lake
They really mean: The artist likes The Grateful Dead

They say: Our winemaker trained at Geisenheim
They really mean: We don't make reds

They say: My family have been making wine in California for many generations
They really mean: My grandfather was a bootlegger

They say: Our aim is to educate the wine drinker
They really mean: Our aim is to fleece the wine drinker

They say: We have stopped using lead capsules in order to promote 'green' values
They really mean: Plastic capsules are cheaper

They say: We practice a policy of minimum intervention
They really mean: Our wine is expensive

They say: We are experimenting with Italian and Rhone varieties
They really mean: Our wine is expensive

They say: The winemaker regularly travels to compare notes with producers in other areas
They really mean: Our wine is expensive

They say: This wine is best with marinated swordfish
They really mean: We opened several bottles, and ate several meals, and it went least badly with swordfish.

They say: The perfect partner for raw scallops marinated in dill and paprika
They really mean: Lousy with food

They say: It's an ideal restaurant wine
They really mean: It doesn't taste of anything, but the label's nice.

They say: This usually proves popular with the ladies
They really mean: It's sweet/pink

They say: Our wines are designed to sit on the same table as the top French ones
They really mean: We make ludicrously expensive Cabernet and Chardonnay

They say: We were the first to plant up in these hills back in the late 60s
They really mean: We also grow dope

They say: I’m not sure if I understand what you mean
They really mean: Our wine is expensive, flavourless and too tannic

They say: These are the results of our exciting new winemaking project
They really mean: These are clean but boring wines made to a price point by a foreigner

They say: The ideal partner for fish, chicken and pasta
They really mean: OK, so it doesn’t taste of anything

The Night of the Living Sauvignon....

This really shouldn't happen. I posted 3, three, THREE weeks ago about a South African Sauvignon Blanc tasting I was in the middle of. That night , some friends came round and relieved me of a few of the 90+% full bottles that I'd been sampling. But there were still several bottles hanging around which I hadn't disposed of thoughtfully - that's right, I just don't have enough friends...

Anyway, on return from France, brown and bruised (from overexerting myself on the Jungle Adventure parcours at a ski resort called Les Orres), they were still sitting there in the kitchen. Oh well, in for a penny and all that. So I tried one. And another. And another. And gadzooks, ods bodikins and all the rest, they were still astonishingly fresh. Some of them were actually better than when I first tried them over a fortnight earlier. What's more, there were a couple of older bottles from the excellent Cape Point vineyard in, er, Cape Point (over the hill from Constantia, imported by Yeo & Co), the 2001 and 2003, which had been sitting by the window where they would have had three hours of sun on those days in the last half of August when the sun actually shone. They should have been dead, but no, they were still wonderfully alive and zesty.

Does this mean that I'm going to recommend opening bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and decanting them a couple of days before serving? No, but it does seem to indicate that all those who put Sauvignon in the DYA - drink youngest available - category may not be 100% right. After all, good Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé can cope with bottle age, so why not Cape Sauvignon?

Look out for the picks from the tasting in my piece of Cape Sauvignon in a forthcoming issue of Decanter magazine.

Pink Chardonnay Frizzante

No, the title of this post is not a hoax. Such a wine already exists at £4.98 in Asda. According to the press release from Buckingham Vintners, 'It has been tailor-made for the consumer, with five essential criteria: it is first to market, it's pink, it's sparkling, it's made from Chardonnay and it's less than £5 per bottle.'

I'm not complaining about Buckingham and Schenk Italia for developing such a wine - I'm sure it'll sell by the bucketful. And I'm not going to slag off those who buy such a wine. What depresses me is that package of five criteria. There's nothing wrong with each when taken individually, but together... So, so sad. And we wine writers/communicators are as much to blame as anyone for not getting across the message of wine in a more user-friendly way. Slapped wrists and a bottle of Yellow Tail all round.

So what would my five essential criteria be for a consumer-friendly wine? How about...

1) It has a story to tell. And not one about oak barrels and medals. Weird people, three-legged cats and haunted trees are good.
2) It brings a smile to your face. Could be the label, could be the price, could be the flavour, could be all three.
3) It makes other wines jealous. In the sort of way that you look with a mixture of envy and admiration at someone who does things better than you.
4) It has a slightly warped side. Maybe it's not conventionally attractive, but you keep coming back for another look. Maybe it's a bit lairy, lippy, risque, naughty, but not to the point of intimidation or insult.
5) It makes people want to try other wines. Not because you want to avoid it, just because it makes you want to find more out about wine.

Chances of a press release about such a wine? Somewhere between slim and fat...

In praise of English supermarkets - no, not a misprint

Just returned from several days in the French Alps. In true 'coals to Newcastle' fashion, took along a few bottles of wine. I have rather a lot of the stuff, and I also have several of those purpose-made polystyrene containers that you can check into an airline hold knowing that they have a pretty good survival rate.

The only problem was I wish I'd taken more. Couldn't believe how depressing the range was in the French supermarkets. The Hautes Alpes is not a major wine region and my sole experience with the local vin de pays (Merlot, Chard, Cab S etc seem to be the favoured grapes) was not a good one. But so too were my encounters in Intermarche (the only nearby supermarket of any size) with wines from Bordeaux, the Rhone and the Languedoc - one musty wine is one thing, but a succession of dried out, fruitless wines leads you to think that there's something more than cork taint going on.

No doubt, with more time and effort there would have been a few more worthy wines in the range, but this was holiday, not work, and I just wanted something tasty to quaff while looking at the stars and eating too much. In the end found a decent red, the 2005 Visan from Domaine Bon Rencontre at around €6, and drank it several times.

So to all those who slag off our supermarkets, think yourself lucky. Even with all those bland, branded wines, their ranges are more adventurous, and their QC is very much on the ball.