Selfless Little Creatures

I was studying the label of a charming bottle of sweet wine when I noticed a phrase on the back which caught my interest.

It stated that the vines were grown on a 'bed of oyster shells'. At first I thought that this was a great piece of marketing to rebrand plain old limestone, or the writer of the label was feeling particularly flowery in prose, or indeed that there was an unbelievably successful oyster bar nearby with a questionable dumping policy. I am no paleontologist so I did a little research in the name of becoming less clueless.

It turns out that a long long time ago, in the Tertiary period, when the dinosaurs were dead (and Richard Attenborough was probably already thinking about bringing them back to life), lots of 'exogyra virgula', or 'comma' shaped oysters to us, turned into full stops deciding that life was dull, and the future of wine was a priority in their tiny bivalve minds over and above self preservation. This was a great sacrifice, provided that it is actually possible to distinguish between the wine aroma of a long dead fossilized oyster and that of any other dearly departed calcium based sea creature. What of the unrecognised molluscs, like clams or mussels, that also probably donated themselves to the cause? I have never seen a bottle acknowledging their services to the vine.

I presume then that a trained nose, on say a Chablis, can pick up the sent of the oyster bed beneath. But I imagine there are many other fossilized creatures other than oysters there, and I am guessing that a bright over enthusiastic paleontologist, much like 'Ross' from 'Friends', has confirmed that the majority of the limestone in these regions is oyster based?

My own Stradivarius

I was invited to dinner at a friend's house the other night. Word has got round about my websites Radio 2 appearance, and so naturally the conversation turned to wine.

My friend challenged me (after I had already consumed several glasses of champagne) to a blind tasting of the wine carefully presented in a fine decanter at the meal table. I do not claim to be a wine buff, in fact I claim to be clueless, but despite this, judging by all the expectant faces, the pressure was on. A good wine palate is like a finely tuned Stradivarius, with Yehudi Menuhin at the helm. Conversely I felt like one of the 'chuckle brothers' playing the spoons.

I grabbed the glass, swilled round the wine, stuck in my nose to gather the aroma and sipped. I dragged the wine through my tongue with a dramatic gurgling sound and swallowed. These actions were a culmination of watching food and wine programs and emulating what I had seen with little or no understanding. At this point I 'pondered', as indeed you are meant to, giving an air of intimate knowledge as to the hidden depths within. I then blurted out 'Bordeaux, Cabernet Sauvignon'. My friend's face went pale. He was in shock. I had managed to 'assess' the wine correctly. Wow, the spoons were cast aside. My over excitement would be my downfall as I had forgotten that the word 'assess' should have been replaced with 'guess'.

Later on in the evening I was challenged again, with two more wines. I got these so wrong it was embarrassing, and all the kudos I had just gained evaporated like a red puff of super heated Rioja.

I think I will leave the blind tasting to the professionals, and get on with enjoying the wine rather than over analyzing.

Fashion Faux Pars and Bogeys

I have just returned from a long weekend in Spain (near Malaga).

It is an annual golf event with a few friends to battle out to win our own 'Invitational' championship, and is really an excuse for us to get together and chew the fat over good food and wine, interspersed with more than the odd San Miguel.

Golf is a strange game, but presents a good challenge, especially as we are all not regular players. We deal with this lack of practice in our own peculiar way. Beer is the drink of choice on the course, mellowing the continuous battle with the late night Spanish brandy hangover. Fashion faux pars enable us all to blend into our surroundings so as not to be noticed too much by the ever present course marshals buzzing around in their dictatorial buggies. My new 'novelty' (my friends term) club for the trip even disguises the embarrassment of a wayward drive with a complimentary 'ping' sound irrespective of direction (much to my annoyance at times).To summarize our trip is a bit like 'Caddyshack' meets 'Happy Gilmour' with more that a sprinkling of 'Tin Cup'.

Evenings were spent drinking copious amounts of the finest red and rose Rioja, and mainly eating as much meat as we could find, with the odd fish skillfully proffered upon us by an attractive waitress. We were staying in the hills behind Malaga, slightly sheltered from the coastal 'tack', and enjoyed very good food and wine. Despite the beauty of our surroundings the Spanish seem to have an OCD for building sites. A stunning vista is rarely continuous, as just further on there is always another looming crane waiting to interrupt the tranquillity. At times one might be tricked into thinking that there are more cranes than people, especially during the afternoon siesta.

Victory was not mine but all in all it was an amazing short break in 25 degrees of Spanish sunshine. A cold wet Luton was a depressing welcome home from our scheduled flight

Chocolate Face Chase

Curries are a bit like buses, none for a long period then, bang, my unaccustomed delicate taste buds are cluster bombed with what feels like a Phal cunningly disguised as a Jalfrezi.

This week has been my curry cluster and I have really enjoyed it. Wine and curry are not perfect partners, so it's been Kingfisher and Tiger beer all the way. You cannot beat the generous gulps invoking a cleansing refreshing break from the self inflicted fire within. The Naan also helps calm the heat very nicely, but on the flip side fills the stomach too quickly.
My brother's birthday meal was my last curry this week.

After tackling the bewildering offerings on the table with ease, as I was now curry adjusted, the wafer chocolate mints appeared, and immediately a friends eyes lit up. He proceeded to challenge my brother to a 'Chocolate Face Chase'. I had never seen this before, but the idea is fairly simple. You start with the chocolate on the open plains of your forehead while tilted back. Gradually the ambient heat of the curry house starts to melt the outside of the chocolate. It is then your job to guide the vessel over the rough terrain ahead and into the waiting mouth. Nose size, balance and control are crucial to success. My brother succeeded with aplomb. What a great game. Reading this back maybe it was one of those 'you had to be there' moments, but I have not laughed so much in a long time.

The curry week has cast shadow over my wine consumption, but I hope to punctuate the end of the week with a few choice glasses.