Negroamaro

Five years ago we visited Puglia and found it to be lovely. We stayed in a little Hobbit hole house in a style peculiar to the region, called a Trullo. It was down an unmade road, just wider than the hired Ford Kuga, had an above ground swimming pool and was surrounded by Olive trees. Donkeys lived next door.

One of the features of that holiday was discovering that in rural Puglia it is nearly impossible to buy food, certainly to buy ready to eat food, before about 9pm. Even then the locals eyed you with suspicion as they had only just woken from their naps and certainly weren't ready for dinner.

When it did come, it was generally very good, as was the wine. In memory of that holiday this week's wine comes from Puglia.

Week N (2015) Feudo Dei Tari, Negroamaro, 2013. Majestic £7.49.

I don't remember with certainty that we drank Negroamaro, but I do believe we did.

It is a local, indigenous variety (nearly, the Greeks brought it in 8,000 years ago) whose name translates to 'black and bitter'. I assume that refers to the berry before it is made into wine, because the contents of this bottle are a mid-to-deep ruby red and taste more of red fruits such as Raspberries and Cherries (with a hint of Redcurrant) than anything more aggressive.

The bottle notes speak of bitter chocolate hints and I am not yet convinced. I suspect I will have to get much more towards the flat bottom of the bottle before my imagination convinces me that either Mr Green or Mr Black has been anywhere near this one. There's a Quentin Tarantino reference in there somewhere, but I've had the wrong kind of day to waste any brain time trying to find it.

Despite the warnings from those who know better, I will tell you that this has 13% alcohol, which tonight is hitting the spot very nicely.

Majestic's tasting notes suggest that it would go very nicely with a generously topped pizza or any tasty tomato-based meat dish. I rather suspect it might, but I have come home to a quiet house (even the cat is silent, but then he's dismembered two Wood Pigeons today and at fifteen years old that's fair play) and found a half finished family bag of lightly salted Kettle Chips and some wax coated real ale and mustard flavoured cheddar cheese, wittliy labeled 'Hoppy Days' to accompany mine and that seems to work quite well, too.

At the price this is a pleasing, easy drinking, not-at-all bland, red wine that I would be happy to buy again. Would I take it to a dinner party? Only if I could be sure we were in for a generously topped pizza. And right now........

Macon Villages

Some years ago a friend, Gary, let me into his white wine buying secret. He felt he had come up with a reliable method to select a white wine that would be pleasing to drink, meet his expectations consistently and not cost too much.

His advice? Just look for the words Macon Villages on the label. Surely it can't be that simple? Macon is a town in the South of Burgundy that gives its name to the Maconnais, the surrounding district, which has a huge number of producers making 42 million bottles of white wine every year.

Ah, but wait, that's total production. The 'villages' suffix can be applied only to wines made from grapes grown in the better sites around certain named villages. This dramatically cuts the total to 16 million bottles a year. So Gary was probably on to something, but I wanted to improved the odds and chose:

Week M (2015) Louis Jadot, Les Roches Blanches, Macon Villages. 2012 Majestic £8.99

How does this improve the odds of choosing a wine I might enjoy, I hear you ask? (Oh, go on, play the game. I'm not making you read this rubbish.)

Louis Jadot does produce vast quantities of wine, but it is a business based on a long history and a reputation for quality. Buying in grapes from all across Burgundy and selling wines under their own label gives them access to, and control over, products from all levels of the Burgundian hierarchy, from Le Montrachet at the top, to supermarket favourites and everyday tipples at the other end.

This wine sits above the bottom end, but is not anywhere close to the prized and prohibitively expensive stars.

It is, like almost all white wine from the region, made exclusively with Chardonnay. The fabulous, versatile and flavoursome recent victim of the fashion police, who stupidly think that anything this popular can't be any good.

So, is it? Well yes it is. It is bright and shiny, with mid-lemon yellow hues, smells like a cockney reference to a flight of stairs and is refreshing without having the sometimes too aggressive acidity of a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.

I opened this one my sister and The One, both of whom commented favourably, which I hadn't necessarily expected. Perhaps in its favour is the fact that this wine has not spent any time in oak barrels and, therefore, retains a fruity freshness that some white Burgundy tempers with the softer, buttery creaminess that I like, but is perhaps the reason for the fashion police's disapproval, more fool them.

For me this wine is a reminder that whilst my explorations continue to reveal new and interesting options, sometimes the obvious and reliable is both easier and more enjoyable. This is a banker. Well done, Gary.

Lirac

What's in a name? A lot of assumptions, it appears. Why? Well, I like the general style of wines from the Rhone Valley, but that doesn't really tell you anything as there is a lot of it, made from quite a wide variety of grapes and bearing a wide range of names.

One of those names always gets a nod of approval from certain of my friends as if it guarantees a level of quality. That name is Chateauneuf-du-Pape.

Week L (2015) Domaine de Garrigues, Lirac 2012. Majestic £8.49

The wine producing Rhone region is divided into two halves; the Northern Rhone and (go on, have a guess) the Southern Rhone. It is generally agreed that the North with its steeper slopes, more obviously continental climate and its smaller sub-regions produces the higher quality wine. Much more is produced in the South, where one appellation alone produces more wine annually than the entire output of the North. That appellation? Why, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, of course.

C-du-P allows 18 different grape varieties to appear in the blend. There are a great number of producers, able to select their own preferred wine-making techniques, making a total of 15 million bottles a year.

Just over the river, on the western side, a region less than a quarter of its neighbour's size you can find Lirac, the source of this week's selection. The soil and climate are similar and only five red varieties are permitted. The net result? In my opinion, a more reliable and generally cheaper wine than produced over the river.

It has a nice deep ruby colour and is a fresh, juicy-fruity, wine that isn't jammy and has pleasantly smooth tannins and acid that makes you dribble.

The blend is Syrah, Grenache and Mourvedre. The rules require at least 40% Grenache, so that means (as the varieties have to be listed in descending order of volume) there must be a majority of Syrah, the star of the Northern Rhone.

It's not hugely complex, but it has enough going on to make it interesting. The alcohol is there, but not too prominent and the finish is long enough to give you time to appreciate what you are drinking without having to rush back for another mouthful.

I am sure that there are many wines from Chateauneuf-du-Pape that warrant my friends' approval, but I would be extremely surprised if you could buy one to equal this Lirac for £8.49.

Klein Constantia

The One and I once enjoyed a holiday along the Southern coast of South Africa. We started our trip in Cape Town and very much appreciated the scenery, hospitality, wild life, weather and the food & drink.

Most hotels could be relied upon to  stump up a complimentary bottle of Cap Classique, the local name for traditional method sparkling wine, in response to the word 'honeymoon' even if the recipients were middle-aged. Very kind.

It is in fond respect of that wonderful time that I have selected this week's wine:

Week K (2015) Klein Constantia Riesling, 2012. The Wine Society, £9.95.

I like generally like Riesling, the typically German superstar grape that suffered a bad press during the later stages of the 20th century, and I think this is in part due to it having easily recognisable character. The wines that gave all of Germany's output a bad name, in a clear example of unfair collective tar brush application, were in most cases not made from Riesling or, if they were, came from high yield (lots of fruit from each vine) vineyards and the results were thin, acidic and bland. The worst examples were also sugary sweet which was partly the fault of the drinking fashions of the UK at that time.

This Riesling is not German, as I think you may have spotted from the introduction, but comes from the vineyards around the lower slopes of  the mountains that a few miles to the North include the iconic Table Mountain.

Vines were first planted in the Cape at the same time as the English Civil War was coming to an end, in 1651, which neatly knocks on the head the idea that South Africa is part of the 'New World' in terms of wine production. The Klein Constantia winery itself has existed in various forms and combinations of estates and owners since the early 18th century.

They produce a famous dessert wine, Vin de Constance, which I will find an opportunity to include in may explorations as soon as the alphabet allows, but that one comes at a real premium price. This week's wine is by any analysis a very good value alternative example from the same producer but is not at all similar. Or sweet.

It is a lightly coloured, aromatic and appealing. It has that characteristic Riesling smell that hints at petrol (that's the word most often used, and not always favourably) and which I like. I has apples, pears and citrus flavours and a long crisp finish. It will not be everyone's cup of tea (can a wine be a cup of tea? Discuss.) but The One approved and suggested we bought some more. That can't be bad.

Jura

Week J (2015) Domaine Daniel Dugois, Cuvee Grevilliere, Jura, 2011. Vinoteca Farringdon. £17.50

In the Jura of Eastern France, lest there be any confusion with the Scottish island famous for its peaty flavoured whisky, which itself is the next door neighbour of Burgundy, there is an appellation that allows five grape varieties in its wine.

One of those varieties goes under the pretty name of Trousseau, conjuring up images of blushing brides, wedding gifts and happy days. It provides a deep cherry colour and flavours of the same, so perhaps the allusion to blushing is why it got its name.

However. Trousseau appears elsewhere under a different name. In the Iberian peninsular, particularly Portugal, it turns up again with a far less positive sobriquet. Here it is Bastardo. I'd like to tell you that this translates to something gentle or humourous, but in fact it means what you think. Why then can a grape have two such different identities?

It seems that it is fussy about where it grows, yields poorly and can drive a grower to poverty. At least that's what they say in Portugal and that could explain the one name.

As for the French name, perhaps they are simply giving in to their nationally stereotypical romanticism? I don't know, but many growers are transferring their allegiance to their neighbours' star performer; Pinot Noir, which itself has a reputation for being a bit of a challenge.

Anyway. Having read about Trousseau / Bastardo before selecting this wine, I was expecting something darker and richer that the liquid that flowed from this bottle. At first sight I was worried that it had oxydised as the colour was a lot paler than anticipated, with garnet coloured tones. It also tasted a lot lighter than I expected and so my first reaction was one of caution. It made me really strain my critical faculties in an attempt to identify a fault.

My inexpert conclusion was that the only thing this wine had suffered from was prejudice. It did have the cherry taste that I had read about and it was more interesting than simple fruit. It had a brisk acidity and soft tannin. I haven't knowingly tasted any red wine from Jura before, and certainly not one made from Trousseau, so I would be interested in trying more by way of a comparison. But enjoy the wine as I did once I had got past my suspicious tendencies I think the price will temper my enthusiasm for a swift return.