Mr R has had another of his hare-brained ideas. This time we are to host an informal midweek supper for some of his closest friends. He requests that I mark the date in my diary (Wednesday night at 8.00 pm) and proposes a simple repast of lamb casserole and a dessert of my choosing. Not that he will be involved in any aspect of the preparation or cooking of the meal of course. Time has taught Wine Goose that it is necessary to give in to some of his ridiculous schemes in order to have the power of veto over the bulk of them, therefore I don't bother to point out that most weekday evenings at 8.00 pm he is to be found either working in his office or drinking pints in a Dublin pub.
Timing is everything, and in order for the food to be at its freshest and tastiest, Wine Goose must not only forgo her weekly Bodypump class, but also do all the food shopping accompanied by our son. This results in an unfit wife filling a supermarket trolley with lots of non-nutritious but cleverly-marketed food items in order to avoid potential tantrums in front of all the other perfectly behaved suburban children and their perfectly groomed mothers. These extra items also mean that the household budget is blown and wine will have to be very carefully chosen, or substituted with cartons of sticky juice, of which we by now have plenty. Feeling more than a little resentful as she pulls out of the supermarket car park, Wine Goose makes an unscheduled stop at a local deli and splurges on a 'homemade' raspberry panna cotta, beautifully presented in a pottery dish. 'How clever of you, Wine Goose' whispers a little voice in my head, 'and while you're at it why not nip into to the wine shop next door?' And so I risk destroying the place by letting our by now sugared-up and hyperactive son loose while I peruse the merchandise. I pick out enough wine to serve at least twice as many people as we are expecting, expertly key in my credit card pin number while looking in the opposite direction, and scrunch up the receipt.
The afternoon is taken up by chopping and peeling. The children help by setting the table. Table mats are piled high with a jumble of plates, napkins and cutlery; condiments are arranged symmetrically along the length of the table; a bottle of mineral water is placed at each end. Our daughter writes out names and decides on the seating plan. She includes the herself and her brother in the party. We are segregated, with the girls sitting at one end of the table and the boys at the other. Long may that last.
We pop the casserole into the oven and head upstairs to get ready. The children are cajoled into pyjamas and dressing gowns and Wine Goose settles on last season's mummy uniform of a wrap dress and boots. Make-up is quickly applied and we head back downstairs to ready the house for the arrival of the guests. Wine Goose pours herself a glass of Louis Latour Chablis 2006 (€20.00), "the ultimate expression of what the noble Chardonnay grape is capable of on the region’s famous kimmeridgian limestone slopes. The wine is perfumed, lively, clean and steely-tasting with a crisp finish." So goes the website description, and I couldn't have put it better.
The guests arrive and accept our offer of a glass of white wine to whet their appetites. The children pass around the nibbles, with plates held at dangerous angles so that most of the contents end up on the floor. Quite endearing we all agree. We chat amicably and soon it is time to pass to the table. I manage to dish out the meal and we are seated. The children dominate the conversation and I ignore the few curious glances that pass my way - yes I am aware that it's late for them to be up but I'll put them to bed when they're tired out and more likely to fall asleep. With the lamb casserole I have chosen a Poggio Teo Chianti Classico 2003 from the Valiano Estate in Tuscany (€15.99). A beautifully structured wine I point out, full-bodied, with a pretty core of ripe fruit, fine tannins and a creamy, fruity finish. It will also match nicely with the cheeseboard, reducing Wine Goose's workload. Compliments abound, then there is the sound of a key turning in the front door. I shrug apologetically. 'Unavoidably detained in the office' explains Mr R as he takes his place at the head of the table.
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
Terroirisme
Mr R has taken off on one of his business trips, and in the flurry of activity prior to his departure he managed to recycle the entire mountain of newspapers that has been piling up around us for several months now. Included in this mountain was Wine Goose's stock of celebrity magazines, so that when I eventually get the children off to sleep and sit down for half an hour of 'me time', instead of looking at few glossy photos (I'm always far too tired to ever bother with reading the accompanying text, and as everybody knows it's utter rubbish) before passing out in bed, I discover that the only magazine in the house, apart from some back issues of Barbie and Bob the Builder, is a sober looking periodical entitled The Economist. It may well have been a deliberate move on his part to improve my dinner party conversation, but if he thinks I'm going to spend the few minutes that I have to myself reading about banks and oil and that sort of thing he is off his rocker. I almost decide to give myself a home pedicure, as advocated by another of my favourites, Good Housekeeping, but it's all too much effort and so I start flicking through The Economist, in the hope of coming across an actor's obituary or something similar that I can actually absorb. Then I spot an article entitled 'Unleash the war on terroir' and I am delighted to find myself on familiar territory.
Essentially the article starts by pointing out that few things annoy French winemakers more than other winemakers' irreverance towards the terroir. It then goes on to examine the topic of transgenic wine, something that sounds really scary, so those of you who want to learn more about that can click on the link above and read the entire article. Right now Wine Goose is going to focus on unravelling the mystery that is terroir. Contrary to what the article states, the expression is not restricted to the winemakers; it is a word that is freely used throughout the wine trade, from Wine Goose when selling a fine bottle of Bordeaux, to restaurant sommeliers persuading diners to opt for a decent bottle of Pouilly Fumé.
Originally a French term used not only in wine, but also in tea and coffee, terroir denoted the special characteristics that geography bestowed upon these products of the soil. Nowadays there are many definitions of terroir but by far easiest to make sense of is 'the combination of soil, climate and terrain that shapes the character of the vines that grow there'. So far so good - this goes some way to explaining why France's Sancerre and New Zealand's Cloudy Bay taste so different, although both are produced from the Sauvignon Blanc grape. So the expression terroir can therefore apply to wines produced outside France, or can it? My answer to that is yes (watch out for the forthcoming assault on Wine Goose by the French wine trade) - but not to all of them because the importance of these influences depends on the culture of a particular wine making region. This is key, and generally a terroir-driven wine will be labelled accordingly - with the region, vineyard and quality certification more dominant on the label than the grape variety or the producer.
Lots of other factors that can enhance or interfere with the terroir characteristics come into play during the winemaking process - use of yeast, use of oak, decisions about pruning, irrigation and when to harvest. For example the use of oak is a controversial element since some will advocate that its use is beneficial while others will argue it can mask the influences of the terroir. Then the question arises as to whether in this modern era of the flying winemaker and enormous investment in hitherto far outposts of the wine world, can the terroir be lost in the expensive technique?
Open a bottle of the Argentinian Norton Sauvignon Blanc. Swirl it, sniff it, taste it and you will be rewarded with a lovely crisp textbook white wine. No more, no less. Great value at €8.99. Now pour yourself a glass of Domaine Magellan Grenache-Carignan 2004. Go through the same process and the aromas from this bright, lively red will transport you to the Languedoc. As soon as you taste it's soft plummy flavours you are watching the sun set over the vineyard as you knowledgably discuss last years harvest with the wine-maker, in this case Bruno Lafon, whose family in Burgundy produces tiny quantities of four-figure Montrachet at Domaine Comtes Lafon. All that for just €13.95. This, to Wine Goose, is the essence of terroir - a wine that tastes like it came from somewhere, rather than just a marketing concept.
Essentially the article starts by pointing out that few things annoy French winemakers more than other winemakers' irreverance towards the terroir. It then goes on to examine the topic of transgenic wine, something that sounds really scary, so those of you who want to learn more about that can click on the link above and read the entire article. Right now Wine Goose is going to focus on unravelling the mystery that is terroir. Contrary to what the article states, the expression is not restricted to the winemakers; it is a word that is freely used throughout the wine trade, from Wine Goose when selling a fine bottle of Bordeaux, to restaurant sommeliers persuading diners to opt for a decent bottle of Pouilly Fumé.
Originally a French term used not only in wine, but also in tea and coffee, terroir denoted the special characteristics that geography bestowed upon these products of the soil. Nowadays there are many definitions of terroir but by far easiest to make sense of is 'the combination of soil, climate and terrain that shapes the character of the vines that grow there'. So far so good - this goes some way to explaining why France's Sancerre and New Zealand's Cloudy Bay taste so different, although both are produced from the Sauvignon Blanc grape. So the expression terroir can therefore apply to wines produced outside France, or can it? My answer to that is yes (watch out for the forthcoming assault on Wine Goose by the French wine trade) - but not to all of them because the importance of these influences depends on the culture of a particular wine making region. This is key, and generally a terroir-driven wine will be labelled accordingly - with the region, vineyard and quality certification more dominant on the label than the grape variety or the producer.
Lots of other factors that can enhance or interfere with the terroir characteristics come into play during the winemaking process - use of yeast, use of oak, decisions about pruning, irrigation and when to harvest. For example the use of oak is a controversial element since some will advocate that its use is beneficial while others will argue it can mask the influences of the terroir. Then the question arises as to whether in this modern era of the flying winemaker and enormous investment in hitherto far outposts of the wine world, can the terroir be lost in the expensive technique?
Open a bottle of the Argentinian Norton Sauvignon Blanc. Swirl it, sniff it, taste it and you will be rewarded with a lovely crisp textbook white wine. No more, no less. Great value at €8.99. Now pour yourself a glass of Domaine Magellan Grenache-Carignan 2004. Go through the same process and the aromas from this bright, lively red will transport you to the Languedoc. As soon as you taste it's soft plummy flavours you are watching the sun set over the vineyard as you knowledgably discuss last years harvest with the wine-maker, in this case Bruno Lafon, whose family in Burgundy produces tiny quantities of four-figure Montrachet at Domaine Comtes Lafon. All that for just €13.95. This, to Wine Goose, is the essence of terroir - a wine that tastes like it came from somewhere, rather than just a marketing concept.
Friday, 1 February 2008
Ten Thousand Calories
Hot on the heels of Christmas it is Mr R's birthday. Not a significant birthday, but a reason to celebrate all the same. As we have just about reached the stage where the children no longer treat restaurants as indoor playgrounds, and will actually sit still for periods of up to 10 minutes at a time, we decide to expand their horizons beyond the Happy Meal, and so we decide to treat ourselves to Sunday lunch to a 'fancy restaurant' in a top Dublin hotel.
Contrary to what we might have expected, children are welcome in this luxurious dining room - paper and crayons are provided, there is an interesting and varied childrens menu, and the staff treat the little ones with the respect they deserve. The adults fare just as well. The surroundings are comfortable and soothing, the tables are large with lots of space between them, and the menu is certainly extensive to the waistline. Wine Goose has spend most of her adult life counting calories and each time she dines out she is struck by how blatantly these places flout the guidelines constantly being drilled into us by health experts.
Mr R orders himself a vodka and tonic, which leaves Wine Goose in no doubt that she is designated driver for the return journey. The wine list here regularly features in 'best restaurant wine list' top 10s, and with her recently learnt knowledge Wine Goose recognises that it is indeed well chosen, with a wide-ranging selection of fine wines to suit most fat wallets. Our Bank Manager would thank us for travelling by car. We settle on a half bottle of Chateau de Pez 2000, a relative bargain at €48.00. My reasoning here is that 2000 was a very good year for Bordeaux wines, and Saint-Estephe is considered a good match for the rack of lamb I have already mentally chosen as my main course.
Contrary to what we might have expected, children are welcome in this luxurious dining room - paper and crayons are provided, there is an interesting and varied childrens menu, and the staff treat the little ones with the respect they deserve. The adults fare just as well. The surroundings are comfortable and soothing, the tables are large with lots of space between them, and the menu is certainly extensive to the waistline. Wine Goose has spend most of her adult life counting calories and each time she dines out she is struck by how blatantly these places flout the guidelines constantly being drilled into us by health experts.
Mr R orders himself a vodka and tonic, which leaves Wine Goose in no doubt that she is designated driver for the return journey. The wine list here regularly features in 'best restaurant wine list' top 10s, and with her recently learnt knowledge Wine Goose recognises that it is indeed well chosen, with a wide-ranging selection of fine wines to suit most fat wallets. Our Bank Manager would thank us for travelling by car. We settle on a half bottle of Chateau de Pez 2000, a relative bargain at €48.00. My reasoning here is that 2000 was a very good year for Bordeaux wines, and Saint-Estephe is considered a good match for the rack of lamb I have already mentally chosen as my main course.
We are to select our starters from the 'tasting station'. I have already consulted the list of what's on offer and decided on a few carefully chosen morsels, but as I undertake the journey from our table, a journey of no more than twenty seconds, the numskulls get out their little hammers and start tapping away at the food control section of my brain. These are the creatures I manage to keep under control about 90% of the time. In return they occasionally force me to eat a loaf of fresh bread or the entire contents of the treat box in a single sitting. Subliminal whispers along the lines of 'it makes no difference if you eat a lot of a little, you still can't shift the weight; surely it's okay to break out from time to time, and it would be a pity not to enjoy such lovely food', mean that I make the return journey with a plate piled high with one of everything from the large selection on offer.
Mr R's sirloin of beef, cooked rare on his instruction, looks like something you would throw to a lion to buy yourself some time, if you were to ever find yourself in such a threatening situation. I decline his offer of a taste but do try the mash, which has dominant flavours of butter and cream, with just the smallest hint of potato. My own rack of lamb, cooked medium, is delicious. The children make short work of the chicken fingers with fries - nuggets and chips by any other name.
The dessert tasting plate, which the waiter descibes as a selection of five small desserts is in fact made up of five full-sized full-fat chocolate offerings of differing shapes. Wine Goose once heard that is a sign of good manners not to polish off the entire contents of your meal, but to leave a small amount on the side of your plate. This apparently indicates that you have thoroughly enjoyed your food, and have been served an adequate sufficiency. This is exactly what I do. A piece of dark chocolate, no bigger than a grain of rice is cleared by the ever efficient wait staff.
By my calculations ten thousand calories would not be an exaggeration. To burn this off I have a number of options. I can walk briskly for 40 hours, take a 30 hour spinning class or play a singles tennis match for 20 hours. The bill arrives and provides the solution - we can't afford to eat for a week.
Friday, 25 January 2008
Back to Work - Part II
Day One. I am making the too-short journey from my home to the wine shop. Despite all attempts to keep my head clear and focus on the day ahead, my mind keeps drifting to that wonderfully quirky movie Sideways.
I am appropriately dressed and made-up. Because it would interfere with the delicate aromas wafting from the wine bottles open on the tasting counter I have reluctantly not worn any perfume and kept lipstick to a neutrally-coloured minimum. I have assuaged my 'bad mother' guilt by spending a quality morning with my somewhat bewildered children and the possibly even more bewildered Mr R.
The scene that is playing itself out in my head takes place at the first wine tasting stop of the film, the Sanford Winery. Miles is giving Jack an introductory lesson in wine tasting. At the end of the process he delivers his expert opinion of the wine (citrus, strawberry, passion fruit, asparagus and nutty edam cheese - what can it possibly be?) Clearly impressed by his friends knowledge and enthusiasm Jack declares 'you could work in a wine store'. Miles, who has a lot more on his plate than Wine Goose responds with a whispered 'yeah, that'd be a good move'. I break out in a cold sweat. Before I know it I have parked the car and doused myself in Eau Dynamisante. I take 10 deep breaths, plant my sunglasses on my head, and I march in.
The manager greets me less deferentially than in the past. As the shop has been busy earlier in the day he asks me to tidy up the shelves. I wander off and do a few laps of the floor. Then I settle down to the task of rearranging bottles and use the opportunity to familiarise myself with the wines I don't know. There are lots of them, to my personal relief and professional horror. I keep my head down and ears pricked. The average customer is a lot more knowledgeable than I had anticipated, and has a lot more buying power. I am flabbergasted by the quantities being purchased. Then it gets busy and I am assigned to the till. The last time I stood this side of the counter was as a student working a summer job in a London pub. Back then I added up the round of drinks in my head, keyed in the total, and then returned the change - also calculated in my head. All so much quicker than scanning barcodes and knowing which combination of buttons to press to allow credit card payments. Thanks to recent experiences with supermarket self-service checkouts I am not wholly disgraced - only one customer asks if this is my first day.
There is an afternoon lull and the manager suggests it would be a good time for me to take my break. Break? Yes that's correct - I have half an hour to myself. Off I go to the local coffee shop and sit down in a comfy chair. I finish a large coffee before it hits freezing point, and read the newspaper from cover to cover; two things I last achieved over five years ago. Bursting with caffeine and enthusiasm I return for the second half.
While I am clearing glasses from the tasting counter a lady approaches and asks to try the Sancerre. I look around frantically but discover that yes, she is speaking to me. Before today I had imagined that I would spend most of my time at this very counter, discussing the characteristics and qualities of each wine on offer, with customers listening respectfully before offering their own thoughts. The reality so far has been that as soon as anyone looks vaguely interested in pouring themselves a glass I scuttle off to straighten up the New World section. But right now I have no option but to smile my 'what good taste you have' smile and pour a small amount into her glass. She takes her time to check the colour, swirl the liquid, sniff it,and eventually taste it.
'What do you think?' I ask brightly. I then go on to espouse its superb qualities - 'this Sancerre offers intense green fruit flavours with predominant notes of gooseberry. On the palate it has exceptional flavour intensity... '
'It's not bad, but not as good as...' she mentions a rivals offering. 'They have a really good Sancerre'.
I mumble my protestations - surely at this price you cannot find a better balanced example from the heart of the Loire Valley - but she is not for turning. In an attempt to salvage the situation I suggest she try the exceptional Rioja we also have open, but the lady is not a red wine drinker. She leaves empty-handed. Disappointed, I return the bottle to the counter and am taken aback when I see another open bottle of Sancerre. I remove the cooler wrap from the white we were discussing and am horrified to discover that she was not in fact tasting Sancerre, but the altogether steelier Italian Gavi. As we've already learnt from Miles, wine tasting is not an exact science. And as the sceptics say, a glimpse of the label is worth fifty years experience.
The day ends and the manager sends me off with a bottle to try at home. As I'm not really sure what I'm in the mood for, he inevitably suggests a bottle of Riesling. This time it's German. Loosen Doctor L Riesling 2006. Wine experts, affectionados, call them what you will, all rave about Riesling. I'm not there yet. Yes, I enjoyed it. What I liked was the slight sweetness (I think the technical term is 'off-dry') combined with a lovely, crisp acidity. I also liked that it is low in alcohol, at just 8.5%. 'Very drinkable, and very enjoyable at the end of a hard day's work' was the verdict of the exhausted Mr R. Widely available, €11.49
I am appropriately dressed and made-up. Because it would interfere with the delicate aromas wafting from the wine bottles open on the tasting counter I have reluctantly not worn any perfume and kept lipstick to a neutrally-coloured minimum. I have assuaged my 'bad mother' guilt by spending a quality morning with my somewhat bewildered children and the possibly even more bewildered Mr R.
The scene that is playing itself out in my head takes place at the first wine tasting stop of the film, the Sanford Winery. Miles is giving Jack an introductory lesson in wine tasting. At the end of the process he delivers his expert opinion of the wine (citrus, strawberry, passion fruit, asparagus and nutty edam cheese - what can it possibly be?) Clearly impressed by his friends knowledge and enthusiasm Jack declares 'you could work in a wine store'. Miles, who has a lot more on his plate than Wine Goose responds with a whispered 'yeah, that'd be a good move'. I break out in a cold sweat. Before I know it I have parked the car and doused myself in Eau Dynamisante. I take 10 deep breaths, plant my sunglasses on my head, and I march in.
The manager greets me less deferentially than in the past. As the shop has been busy earlier in the day he asks me to tidy up the shelves. I wander off and do a few laps of the floor. Then I settle down to the task of rearranging bottles and use the opportunity to familiarise myself with the wines I don't know. There are lots of them, to my personal relief and professional horror. I keep my head down and ears pricked. The average customer is a lot more knowledgeable than I had anticipated, and has a lot more buying power. I am flabbergasted by the quantities being purchased. Then it gets busy and I am assigned to the till. The last time I stood this side of the counter was as a student working a summer job in a London pub. Back then I added up the round of drinks in my head, keyed in the total, and then returned the change - also calculated in my head. All so much quicker than scanning barcodes and knowing which combination of buttons to press to allow credit card payments. Thanks to recent experiences with supermarket self-service checkouts I am not wholly disgraced - only one customer asks if this is my first day.
There is an afternoon lull and the manager suggests it would be a good time for me to take my break. Break? Yes that's correct - I have half an hour to myself. Off I go to the local coffee shop and sit down in a comfy chair. I finish a large coffee before it hits freezing point, and read the newspaper from cover to cover; two things I last achieved over five years ago. Bursting with caffeine and enthusiasm I return for the second half.
While I am clearing glasses from the tasting counter a lady approaches and asks to try the Sancerre. I look around frantically but discover that yes, she is speaking to me. Before today I had imagined that I would spend most of my time at this very counter, discussing the characteristics and qualities of each wine on offer, with customers listening respectfully before offering their own thoughts. The reality so far has been that as soon as anyone looks vaguely interested in pouring themselves a glass I scuttle off to straighten up the New World section. But right now I have no option but to smile my 'what good taste you have' smile and pour a small amount into her glass. She takes her time to check the colour, swirl the liquid, sniff it,and eventually taste it.
'What do you think?' I ask brightly. I then go on to espouse its superb qualities - 'this Sancerre offers intense green fruit flavours with predominant notes of gooseberry. On the palate it has exceptional flavour intensity... '
'It's not bad, but not as good as...' she mentions a rivals offering. 'They have a really good Sancerre'.
I mumble my protestations - surely at this price you cannot find a better balanced example from the heart of the Loire Valley - but she is not for turning. In an attempt to salvage the situation I suggest she try the exceptional Rioja we also have open, but the lady is not a red wine drinker. She leaves empty-handed. Disappointed, I return the bottle to the counter and am taken aback when I see another open bottle of Sancerre. I remove the cooler wrap from the white we were discussing and am horrified to discover that she was not in fact tasting Sancerre, but the altogether steelier Italian Gavi. As we've already learnt from Miles, wine tasting is not an exact science. And as the sceptics say, a glimpse of the label is worth fifty years experience.
The day ends and the manager sends me off with a bottle to try at home. As I'm not really sure what I'm in the mood for, he inevitably suggests a bottle of Riesling. This time it's German. Loosen Doctor L Riesling 2006. Wine experts, affectionados, call them what you will, all rave about Riesling. I'm not there yet. Yes, I enjoyed it. What I liked was the slight sweetness (I think the technical term is 'off-dry') combined with a lovely, crisp acidity. I also liked that it is low in alcohol, at just 8.5%. 'Very drinkable, and very enjoyable at the end of a hard day's work' was the verdict of the exhausted Mr R. Widely available, €11.49
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Character Assassination
As visitor numbers to the Wine Goose site continue to climb, with the global audience now into double digits, Mr Q has requested that his anonymity be preserved. In a transition similar to that experienced in Dallas in 1984, when Donna Reed briefly replaced Barbara Bel Geddes as Miss Ellie, he will henceforth be known as Mr R. Let's hope he doesn't wake up and find that his life with Wine Goose has all been a dream.
And so to dreams - to dream of drinking wine forebodes joy and consequent friendships. For a young woman to dream of drinking wine indicates that she will marry a wealthy gentleman. To dream of breaking bottles of wine foretells that your love and passion will border on excess. All this and more from the Global Oneness dream interpretation website.
With St Valentines Day approaching, Wine Goose is encouraging to Mr R to surprise her with a delicious bottle of Prosecco, an Italian sparkling wine made from the grape of the same name. Do not expect the body or complexity that you will find in a chardonnay-based sparkling wine like Champagne. (How very French not to provide any translation of their official Champagne website). Instead the vat-fermented spumante is light, bubbly, fresh and gently fragrant. Brut is the driest version, while 'dry' is confusingly the sweetest, and 'extra dry' is somewhere in between. The best Prosecco comes from the hills between the towns of Valdobbiadene and Conegliano so look out for either of these names on the label, and you will be rewarded with more intense fruit flavours. Sweet dreams.
And so to dreams - to dream of drinking wine forebodes joy and consequent friendships. For a young woman to dream of drinking wine indicates that she will marry a wealthy gentleman. To dream of breaking bottles of wine foretells that your love and passion will border on excess. All this and more from the Global Oneness dream interpretation website.
With St Valentines Day approaching, Wine Goose is encouraging to Mr R to surprise her with a delicious bottle of Prosecco, an Italian sparkling wine made from the grape of the same name. Do not expect the body or complexity that you will find in a chardonnay-based sparkling wine like Champagne. (How very French not to provide any translation of their official Champagne website). Instead the vat-fermented spumante is light, bubbly, fresh and gently fragrant. Brut is the driest version, while 'dry' is confusingly the sweetest, and 'extra dry' is somewhere in between. The best Prosecco comes from the hills between the towns of Valdobbiadene and Conegliano so look out for either of these names on the label, and you will be rewarded with more intense fruit flavours. Sweet dreams.
Friday, 18 January 2008
House Wine
"Any objection to the house wine?" asked our host at a recent dinner to celebrate his lovely wife's birthday. All present shook our heads and mumbled incoherently to one another about our lack of wine knowledge. And so he proceeded with the order. The staff at the restaurant in question, La Taverna di Bacco, responded by plonking 2 bottles of white and 2 bottles of red onto our long narrow table overlooking the River Liffey. A good start; few things irritate Wine Goose more than watching a wine waiter circle a large party with a bottle of each hidden behind his back. Take it from me, asking for more information about the wine on offer is generally a waste of time - at most you will be rewarded with a quick flash of the label. Further probing might be rewarded with a heavily-accented and intentionally incomprehensible mention of the country of origin and/or the grape variety.
When the wine arrived my mind drifted back some 9 or 10 years to another occasion, on which Mr Q and Wine Goose celebrated a significant birthday in a restaurant with a large group of friends. A few minutes were spent wondering what had happened to the intervening years, then I remembered the house wine. It was served in a carafe, and was surely a 'blend' of the roughest, cheapest wine available in Dublin at the time, plus the previous night's leftovers, all finished off with any returned 'corked' bottles. Be thankful for small mercies, wine 'recycling' was not really an option for Dublin restaurants - we Irish customers have never subscribed to the international practise of leaving a small amount in the bottle so that the staff can keep au courant with the wine list. And in those days our understanding of corked was lumps floating on the surface. As I recall, we polished off several carafes.
So what exactly is house wine? From honourable European beginnings, when locally made wines reflected the restaurants cuisine, they rapidly became a rip-off. House wine was the safe option for those unfamiliar with many of the wines on the leather bound 'telephone directory' handed to them by a snooty sommelier. Unscrupulous restaurateurs weren't slow to pick up on their diners desire to make their choice before dawn, and it wasn't long before quality fell and prices rose. Not only bad to drink, they became one of the biggest money-makers in town, with restaurant price per glass approaching shop price per bottle.
Discerning diners (and winers) are gradually stamping out this practice. And some restaurants never pursued it in the first place. Nowadays, a good restaurant wine buyer or consultant should pay particular attention to the house wine. The next time you're in a restaurant take a tip from Alice King and order a glass of house wine to drink while you're perusing the menu. Her theory is that it sets the tone for the list, and if it's bad, the rest of the wines are also likely to be poorly-chosen. The opposite should also hold true!
Top marks to Il Taverno di Bacco. At €23.00 a bottle their house wines tick all the right boxes. Importantly, they are well-priced, suit a wide range of the dishes, and don't overwhelm the food. From Piedmont, the Deltetto Langhe Favorita 2006, with it's delicate orange blossom flavours is a medium-bodied delight. From Puglia, the Palama Salice Salentino Alba Rossa 2005 boasts fresh, clean fruit and earth flavors.
When the wine arrived my mind drifted back some 9 or 10 years to another occasion, on which Mr Q and Wine Goose celebrated a significant birthday in a restaurant with a large group of friends. A few minutes were spent wondering what had happened to the intervening years, then I remembered the house wine. It was served in a carafe, and was surely a 'blend' of the roughest, cheapest wine available in Dublin at the time, plus the previous night's leftovers, all finished off with any returned 'corked' bottles. Be thankful for small mercies, wine 'recycling' was not really an option for Dublin restaurants - we Irish customers have never subscribed to the international practise of leaving a small amount in the bottle so that the staff can keep au courant with the wine list. And in those days our understanding of corked was lumps floating on the surface. As I recall, we polished off several carafes.
So what exactly is house wine? From honourable European beginnings, when locally made wines reflected the restaurants cuisine, they rapidly became a rip-off. House wine was the safe option for those unfamiliar with many of the wines on the leather bound 'telephone directory' handed to them by a snooty sommelier. Unscrupulous restaurateurs weren't slow to pick up on their diners desire to make their choice before dawn, and it wasn't long before quality fell and prices rose. Not only bad to drink, they became one of the biggest money-makers in town, with restaurant price per glass approaching shop price per bottle.
Discerning diners (and winers) are gradually stamping out this practice. And some restaurants never pursued it in the first place. Nowadays, a good restaurant wine buyer or consultant should pay particular attention to the house wine. The next time you're in a restaurant take a tip from Alice King and order a glass of house wine to drink while you're perusing the menu. Her theory is that it sets the tone for the list, and if it's bad, the rest of the wines are also likely to be poorly-chosen. The opposite should also hold true!
Top marks to Il Taverno di Bacco. At €23.00 a bottle their house wines tick all the right boxes. Importantly, they are well-priced, suit a wide range of the dishes, and don't overwhelm the food. From Piedmont, the Deltetto Langhe Favorita 2006, with it's delicate orange blossom flavours is a medium-bodied delight. From Puglia, the Palama Salice Salentino Alba Rossa 2005 boasts fresh, clean fruit and earth flavors.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Abstinence
Abstinence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. As part of our 'New Year New Us' (fitter, slimmer, healthier) resolution Mr Q and Wine Goose decided to give up alcohol and caffeine for January. It's easy enough to begin with. Weeknights at home are usually very tame - a simple supper followed by TV then off to bed after the 9 o'clock news. Friday comes and instead of rewarding ourselves with a glass of wine for getting through another busy week Mr Q settles for a Becks non-alcoholic Beer and Wine Goose sips a glass of Amé. It's no substitute for the real thing so we set about filling the void with mountains of cheese. When that's all gone we raid the remnants of the children's selection boxes.
Watching the soaps on TV we have a more heightened awareness of the omnipresence of alcohol. These people spend all their time in the pub. Mind you their houses are so garish I'm not surprised. Don't the creators watch any design programmes? And when they do get home, usually to resolve a massive crisis in their lives, it's all done over a bottle of wine. Some time when I run out of other things to do I must calculate how many alcohol units the characters in Fair City consume during an average week.
11 days into the project and instead of losing weight and looking fabulous, we have piled on additional pounds and look miserable. Mr Q plans a nice dinner of veal with mushrooms and garlic served with creamy mashed potato and baby vegetables. He reasons that such a fine meal deserves a fine wine, and he cracks.
Not a man to do things by halves, he produces a fine Italian Amarone della Valpolicella - La Serra 2001. Amarone is one of the world's biggest, fleshiest red wines, made from semi-dried grapes in a Verona Hills tradition that dates back to the Byzantine Period. The traditional Valpolicella grape blend (Corvinone, Molinara and Rondinella), plus up to 15% of other local or international grapes authorised for the region, is used to create a truly powerful wine, with alcohol levels ranging from 14% to 16%. La Serra is rich and savoury, boasting a gamut of flavours reminiscent of Christmas - plum pudding, raisins and almonds with just a hint of cherry. €39.99.
Watching the soaps on TV we have a more heightened awareness of the omnipresence of alcohol. These people spend all their time in the pub. Mind you their houses are so garish I'm not surprised. Don't the creators watch any design programmes? And when they do get home, usually to resolve a massive crisis in their lives, it's all done over a bottle of wine. Some time when I run out of other things to do I must calculate how many alcohol units the characters in Fair City consume during an average week.
11 days into the project and instead of losing weight and looking fabulous, we have piled on additional pounds and look miserable. Mr Q plans a nice dinner of veal with mushrooms and garlic served with creamy mashed potato and baby vegetables. He reasons that such a fine meal deserves a fine wine, and he cracks.
Not a man to do things by halves, he produces a fine Italian Amarone della Valpolicella - La Serra 2001. Amarone is one of the world's biggest, fleshiest red wines, made from semi-dried grapes in a Verona Hills tradition that dates back to the Byzantine Period. The traditional Valpolicella grape blend (Corvinone, Molinara and Rondinella), plus up to 15% of other local or international grapes authorised for the region, is used to create a truly powerful wine, with alcohol levels ranging from 14% to 16%. La Serra is rich and savoury, boasting a gamut of flavours reminiscent of Christmas - plum pudding, raisins and almonds with just a hint of cherry. €39.99.
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