Being a bit of a recovering wine bore I still enjoy the complexity of wine. Not just the complexity that is derived through the processes involved in converting fruit juice into a delicious alcoholic drink, but also the complexity in the language used to describe the products. However, along with the fun of untangling the meaning buried in this complexity there are also risks:
This is not a memoir of wine expertise. It is a reminder to myself that despite all of the courses, the reading, the pretense of understanding and the ego, sometimes the obvious is more easily spotted by those who don't have much of an interest in the subject.
Together with The One, I recently ventured towards the frozen North to attend an event based around a celebration of the focus of my other hobby: cheese. To make the trip less of a mission and more of a short break we traveled to the event on the night before and had booked ourselves into a local pub for Bed & Breakfast.
It was a nice enough pub. The room was named 'Dolly' after one of the seven Llamas living in the garden, and all the facilities worked as designed. No complaints at all.
We had booked a table for an evening meal as the pub was not really near anywhere else other than a nice looking hotel of which I was unaware at the time of booking. Next time, perhaps. Not because I am that much of a snob, I like pubs, but because a night away for a trip based around cheese needs to offer something to all of those traveling.
We took our place at the table and ordered pre-dinner drinks. A pint for me and a Rose G&T for the lady. On arrival the young waiter politely announced 'a pint of Cheshire Cat and a Grapefruit G&T'. We exchanged glances. 'No, sorry, we ordered a Rose gin, please'. 'Yes, that's right, it's a grapefruit gin', said the young man. Hmm,... after some more discussion a replacement was delivered. It was gin, but the rose element was lacking. No bother, it will do.
Then the menu. Should we choose a la carte or take advantage of 'Burger night' which offered two burgers, of various styles, plus a bottle of wine all for £30? I love a bargain, so burgers it was. The wines offered were: 1. Sauvignon Blanc, 2. Pinot Grigo, 3. Merlot, 4. Zinfandel. So, two white and two red, I thought. I made my choice and The One expressed surprise at my selection. 'Oh, no' I explained, 'it will be a robust red, made from Zinfandel which is also known as Primitivo'.
It wasn't. This was worth every penny I spent on it. That is, two burgers for £15 each is about right, down South, so the wine was 'free'.
I am not an advocate of teenage drinking. I'm not allowed to be, even though I was keen on it in my own formative years, but I do think the idea of educating young people in the joys and dangers of alcohol is sensible. I understand the French are good at this. The alternative is that teenaged girls, at whom wines like this must be aimed, will discover these sugary alcoholic fruit juices and dice with all manner of unintended consequences. It was, put simply, horrible.
Finally, the coffee served at breakfast alongside an excellent sausage sarnie. Undrinkable.
Otherwise it was a great trip. For me the highlight was that after having watched James Martin prepare four excellent looking cheese-based recipes in 40 minutes we later watched Marco Pierre White take the same amount of time to scramble an egg. Together with the gin episode, the undrinkable wine and undrinkable coffee, we have lots to look back on and laugh.
Buy again? Never. Absolutely never.
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