Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Now, where do you think I read this bit of prose:

Finn. Max’s sister.
Sleeps in the running position
First throught the door
And good to party.
Complex fast and fine
Up for a touch of luxury
Day job chief of security
Night shift, loves the leather !
Finn…slide into it.

Was it:
a) On a Channel Four press release, describing one of this years Big Brother contestants?
b) On a dating website, one that caters for leather fetishists?
c) On the back of a wine bottle?

Its the latter actually. An odd label and name for an Australian white wine, Finn Off the Leash, sold by Oddbins for a hefty £11.49 a bottle and recommended in my recent Ten Best New World White Wines in the Independent. Here's the link: http://independent.net-genie.co.uk/Food_Drink/59883/the_ten_best_white_wines_from_the_new_world.html.

I recommended it because of the fact that, despite the slighty off putting, some would say pretentious, labelling, its actually a very good wine, made without oak, from a blend of Chardonnay, Semillion, Pinot Gris and Viognier. Its light and refreshing, but sufficiently complex and sophisticated to make it interesting and satisfying on the palate, although its a little overpriced for everyday drinking. I'd buy it to accompany a fine white fish like brill or turbot, or some simply cooked shellfish, for a decent weekend meal. The vineyard that makes it, The Lane, situated in the Adelaide Hills, produces a range of apparently quite serious, modern wines (although I've yet to try any others) and this wine is clearly attempt at even more 'fun' branding, designed to appeal to younger consumers. Finn, described as a 'contemporary drinking experience' is, as the label says, brother to Max, a shiraz/viognier blend.
While its part of a trend of wacky wine labels from Australia winemakers, all part of being fresh and different to distinguish them from their fusty old world rivals, in many ways its a more traditionally minded wine, very different from the oaked, tropical fruit flavours of the typical Aussie chardonnay. As I said in an earlier post, the Aussie winemakers, or at least the people that sell their wines over here, are moving away from the 'it's got to be either chardonnay or sauvignon' axis into more complex wines, using blends involving interesting grapes like viognier. Paradoxically, the French, of course, having embraced Aussie winemakers and single grape labels are now getting in on the act by now marketing their budget red wines with ironic names like Chat-en-Ouef. Compris?

Monday, May 26, 2008

Celebrated Max's 14th birthday last night with a trip to see the new Indiana Jones movie (huge fun but flawed, with astonishing holes in the plot) followed by pizza (Ask, competant, but not as good as La Porchetta, of which more at a later date) and then Champagne and chocolate cake at home. Well, not Champagne precisely, but Ridgeview, an exceptional, award winning English sparkling wine, which I developed a taste for when I wrote about English wines a while back. Like most English sparklers, its light, effervescent, dry but full of floral flavours, and the perfect summer celebration drink. It's served at many official Government dinners. The majority of people would be hard pressed to distinguish it from Champagne - it's made from classic Champagne grapes like chardonnay and pinot noir and pinot meunier, grown on chalk and clay on the Sussex Downs. While offering the deepest respect to Champagne, we should still support this wonderful, British product, low in food miles and made with love and care by a family business. Find it here http://www.ridgeview.co.uk/ at around £20 a bottle.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Here's the latest big piece I've done, for the Independent Saturday Magazine. A fascinating subject, I think. Although I can't say I've developed a taste for catfood.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people
/the-man-who-eats-cat-food-for-a-living-832554.html

Hopefully the link works on the copy and paste principle. I cant seem to find a way of posting a direct link.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Had a wonderful time at the London International Wine Fair yesterday. It's a massive exhibition at the Excell Centre in Docklands, where almost every type of wine from all over the world is on display. This includes wines from countries not normally associated with winemaking such as Thailand and India as well as exotics such as wine made from pomegranates, which, unfortunately, I didn't quite get around to sampling. Two things struck me about the fair: firstly, despite the vast amounts of wine being tasted, this is a professional business and, even by the end of a long day, there were only a handful of people who looked as though they might have forgotten to spit often enough. Secondly, more seriously, is the absolute dominance of the big companies and big brands who account for most of the wines we drink in this country. Small producers of interesting wines struggle to compete and make themselves known. I chatted for a while with Monique Germain, representing a small co-operative in the Perpignan area of Languadoc-Roussillon, and looking for a UK distributor for its premier wine, Chateau Montner. She had a small counter as part of a bigger stand representing all the wines of the region. A typically full-bodied, earthy blend of Syrah Grenache and Carignan grapes and utterly redolent of the sun-soaked terrior of this Mediterranean fringe, of quiet little villages of red tiled houses and endless rolling vineyards that supply the local co-operatives. So many lovely wines are made there, the largest by volume wine growing region in the world and yet so few make it here, where we resort to the easy familiarity of Aussie brands and single grape labels that dominate the supermarket shelves. I really hope she finds someone willing to buy - but it's significant that the biggest crowds were elsewhere.
On a slightly different tack, I stumbled (well, there had been a few samples taken) into a remarkable tasting of fine sherries matched with equally fine chocolates, hosted by Peter McCombie MW on the Pedro Ximenez stand. Highlights were a Bodegas Alvear 2005, a relatively light sherry matched with white chocolate flavoured with cardamon and a Bodegas Navisa, a much darker, more full bodied sherry, matched with an Amedei Porcelana, the first chocolate in the world produced only with cocoa beans of a single genetic variety, called "Porcelana". Simply stunning flavour combinations all round, both sherry and chocolate enhancing each other stupendously on the palate. Matching wines with chocolate, is a whole new area for wine buffs, since they were previously considered almost incompatible. I think I've found the climax for my next dinner party...
Later, thanks to Karis Hunt of Ehrmanns, I experienced some even more interesting taste sensations at a fascinating vertical tasting of Tahbilk Marsanne wines dating back to 1979. Tahbilk is a family owned winery in the Oragambi lakes north of Melbourne which has the oldest Marsanne vines in the world, first planted in 1860. Marsanne is a rare grape, originating in France and normally found mainly in Rhone white wines. At Tahbilk, it seems to have reached its absolute zenith: the wine is made simply, with no oak, allowing the flavours to come to the fore. Now, its generally accepted that, apart from the very finest French wines, most dry whites - certainly those popularly consumed by most people like chardonnays and sauvignon blancs - should be drunk within a year or two of being made. Not so the Tahbilk Marsanne. As we tasted the wines going backwards from 2007 - dry, aromatic, medium bodied - they became progressively interesting: darker in colour, highly aromatic on the nose and complex on the palate. Amamzing aromas of honey and toastiness and flavours of tropical and stone fruits increased as we went back through the 2000's and into the 1990s. A bizarre but not unpleasant kerosene or petrol aroma were present in some of them, although as as the winemaker and owner of Tahbilk, Alister Purbrick said, it would be nice to find another description. Curiously, while the older wines had the aroma and appearance of lucious, sweet desert wines, they remained dry and elegant on the palate and easily drinkable, although you would want to relish every drop. Due to climatic variations, some years were obviously better than others, but I'd drink the 2004 and 1993 anytime, if you could still buy them. The 1979, a wine almost 30 years old, was perhaps, as Alister admitted, past its best, but the 1982 was still going strong. Anyone interested in Tahbilk Marsanne can get the excellent 2005 at branches of Threshers (for around £9.50) or the 2006 via the Wine Society for £7.50 a bottle (although you have pay the one-off £40 joining fee, its worth it) or at these independents: www.cambridgewine.com, www.stantonwineco.co.uk and www.gordonandmacphail.com.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Another rite of passage for my sons - or rather for the eldest, Leo - today. They come thick and fast at this age. He's starting his GCSE examinations, on which so much depends. He's been working very hard for months now and I really think he deserves to do well. It does take me back to my own schooldays, when they were called O levels. I can so easily remember sitting, revising and working, on glorious spring evenings, as we have had this month and gazing from my bedroom window at the sunshine and just longing to be able to go out with my friends. As Leo has been doing. Why do we have to have the most important examinations co-inciding with this glorious time of year - and the time in a teenagers' life - when they are just developing a serious social network. How did that happen? Re-schedule examinations for the winter months and watch the pass rate rise, that's what I say.
And, while we are on the subject, another rite of passage is looming. Leo wants to go to Glastonbury. Oh dear. Cue big discussions with him, and with his mother. At not yet 16, I'm inclined to think he's a bit young, but subject to some promises and strict rules, I suspect he will end up going and we'll keep our fingers crossed. The liberal parent will prevail. At least my niece, a festival veteran at 27, will be around, somewhere in the mud, if there's a crisis. I never did the festival thing when I was younger and don't much care for it now. I remember, back in the early '70's, some friends returning from one of the very first Glastonburys: still spaced, still covered in mud. Not for me. Yes, I know its different now, but I've never fancied sleeping in a tent, walking miles for the loo in the middle of the night or going without a shower for three days. And as for prospects of eating decently....well, thanks, but I'm not going to pay outrageous prices for endless boxes of takeaway noodles or tofu burgers. I'm happy to watch it on the television (although I miss the comforting presence of John Peel) and with my own food to eat...

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

A bit late getting back with this, but here's another recipe from Sunday:

Potatoes with fennel, lemon and olives.

For four/six people as side dish:

One bag small waxy potatoes, like charlotte or nicola. No, I dont know how much those bags weigh, several pounds I guess.
One head of fennel
Two or three organic, or at least unwaxed, lemons, depending on size.
Handful of pitted black olives

Wash or scrub the potatoes and cut them into small chunks, smaller than roast potatoes.
Wash and chop fennel into small chunks.
Chop olives into quarters
Cut lemons into eigths, reserving half of one lemon.
Mix up all the ingredients with about four tablespoons of olive oil
Spread it all out on a roasting tin
Squeeze the remaining half lemon over everything and then add sea salt and black pepper lavishly.
Roast in middle of hot oven, about 220 electric, gas mark 7 for about three quarters of an hour to an hour. The potatoes need to be cooked through and browning nicely.
The idea is to get lemon flavoured potatoes with fennel, so you can pick out the charred lemon bits when you serve, because they have done their job. Or warn people.
Variations: use preserved lemons for a stronger taste, or omit the fennel and add dried oregano.
Goes well with roast chicken or fish.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

A friend suggested that I provide a daily recipe, something I'd love to do, but suspect I will not be able to find the time. However, my intention is to provide regular recipes, so here are some of the things that I cooked for Sunday's wine tasting, which everyone seemed to like:

Stuffed squid and red peppers.

Delia Smith, I think, said life was too short to stuff a mushroom. Well, could not agree more. Why would you want to? And how? But squid, well, squid is just natures way of providing something stuffable....
I can't provide exact measurements here, it depends on your squid, which can come quite small, which makes them a bit fiddly to stuff, or very large, so you end up with something that looks a bit like a salami.I had two biggish ones, about seven inches long, which the fishmonger had cleaned.I also had the tentacles, wings and the head, minus eye and beak. I filled them with a pudding bowl full of stuffing, and had some left over.

Stuffing ingredients:
The squid tentacles etc
Rice, cooked or uncooked. I used some plain, cooked, basmati rice, left over from friday's curry.
A handfull of capers, rinsed and chopped
A handfull of black, pitted olives, rinsed and chopped
Some pine nuts, lightly toasted.
Some chopped parsley or coriander or both
Some chopped onion or shallots, plus a couple or three cloves of garlic.
A beaten egg.

Method: Soften the onions and garlic in some olive oil for a few minutes, then add the finely chopped squid bits and cook for a minute or two.
Mix this with all the other ingredients, mixing in the egg at the end. Salt and pepper copiously.
Having rinsed and dried the squid tubes, ease this mixture inside using a spoon and your fingers. Careful with the small squid, because they tear easily. Squeeze it down the tube until you have a sausage like creation. It gets messy; deal with it. You might need to use a toothpick to hold the ends.
The only caution here is to remember that if you are using uncooked rice, leave plenty of room for it to expand in the cooking process. I prefer to use cooked, its easier and there's less worry that the squid will cook before the stuffing.
Lay the squid in a shallow baking dish and splash on some home made tomato sauce, thinned with a little water, so the squid are bathing, but not drowning. You don't have any tomato sauce to hand? Shame on you. Learn how to make it. It's a doddle.
Cover with foil and put this in a medium oven, say electric 160, gas 4, for about 20 minutes covered, and a further 10 minutes uncovered. Leave them to cool for about ten minutes afterwards. If you have used small squid, serve one or two per person. If you have the big ones, then carefully, using your sharpest knife, slice the squid sausage into serving portions about three-quarters of an inch thick, which you lay lovingly on a plate, surrounding by a puddle of sauce. In theory, the egg binds the stuffing, so that it largely stays within in the rings. But dont get stressed when it doesnt. This is rustic cookery.

What to do with leftover stuffing:

Take a jar of the small, spicy, Spanish red peppers sold in most supermarkets. They are about the size of a large cherry tomato. Drain, rinse and dry. Carefully spoon leftover stuffing into each one. Push it in with your fingers. Yes, it's fiddly, but worth it. When you run out of stuffing, you are done. Or you can put whole pitted olives in them, or anchovies, or many other things left lying around the fridge. Surround the squid with the peppers, or cook and serve them separately, with more tomato sauce.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Fabulous weather for early May. So on Sunday, when I had some people over to help choose new world white wines for the Independent's ten best column, it was great to be able to sit in the garden and drink and eat the afternoon away. I was deeply grateful to my sisters' partner Phil, who was an invaluable assistant not only because of his good palate and knowledge of wines, but also because he helped me sort out the garden beforehand. It looked like a bit of a bombsite, because I'd chosen last week to try and fit in a bit of reconstruction of borders and so forth, which I hadn't quite managed to complete on time. I'm not really one for planting flowers, but I find it enormously therapeutic to spend a couple of hours on a warm evening, the birds still singing, doing a bit of light landscaping.
Anway, back to the wines. The full ten best will be published in the Independent soon - you can see some of my earlier ten best columns on wine and other drinks here: http://independent.net-genie.co.uk/Food_Drink/ - but a few random thoughts, which I don't get space for in the 25 or so words I'm allotted each bottle in the column. Firstly, I was slightly gobsmacked that, among all the wines I was sent by a cross section of supermarkets and online wine companies that there were so few Australian chardonnay's, which for years' has been seen as the atypical New World wine style. I think that, among several dozen bottles, there was only one Aussie chardonnay, a couple from Chile and one from New Zealand. Maybe the wine trade realises the public's taste for big, oaky chardonnays from down under is waning and it is trying to divert us onto other, possibly more subtle grapes. My girlfriend Cathy, from Melbourne, unashamedly adores her big chardonnay's, so was a bit disappointed not to have more to try. By contrast, there were dozens of sauvignon blancs to sample, mostly from the Marlborough area of New Zealand, almost all of which were excellent, although some had this slightly sulphorous, almost bitter finish to them, which is not to everyone's taste. And they all tended to taste very similar. The whites which varied most from bottle to bottle and divided opinion were those made with the Viognier grape, which can be a far too perfumed for me unless it is part of a blend, and so I was really surprised to find two terrific examples, which will probably feature in the final ten. Similarly divisive are those from the Reisling grape, which are, I think, mainly just too light weight and floral to drink with food. They do make an excellent aperitif, however. The best comment of the day though came from my friend Louise, who pronounced that the lavender scented bouquet of one particular reisling was 'just like the kind of perfume you'd expect the Queen Mother to have worn...'

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Only a few days in and already this blog is getting a bit mixed up about dates....this entry relates to Sunday, although there is already a post datelined Sunday, which I wrote on Saturday night and I haven’t had a moment to write this until now...doh!
Anyway...on Sunday afternoon I underwent a right of passage with my two sons: I took them to a football match. Or rather, we all went to see Arsenal play Everton, seats courtesy of my old friend Alan, to whom much thanks must be given. It wasn’t much of a match, a bit of an end of season affair with not a lot at stake, but it was just great to be there and the players did a lap of honour, as it was the last home game of the season, which was a nice moment. We all enjoyed it.
It was the first time we've been to a proper Premier League match together, although the boys are Junior Gunners and have been several times to matches at the old Highbury and at the Emirates, which is a fabulous stadium. Born and brought up in Islington, where a Gunners flag flies literally and figuratively from almost every rooftop, it’s the natural thing to support their local team.
Now the reason why I've never taken them to a match before is simple: I just don't have the football gene...it's not in my blood in the same way as it is with Alan, a Gunners season ticket holder who has been supporting them for more than 40 years, since he was a schoolkid at the Angel. That's dedication to a cause.
I didn't grow up like that - there was no real fanaticism for football in Birmingham – unlike Manchester or Liverpool - and I didn’t live close to the City or Villa grounds. Of course the game was not as omniprescent then as it is now, but it was still a huge passion for many, particularly among the working classes, where it was very much a father and son affair. But my father was not remotely interested in football and I dont remember any school friends ever supporting any team, even the local ones. I played rugby at my grammar school and, so far as I can recall, never kicked a football around in the park with anyone until I had kids myself. So, apart from puzzlingly being a supporter of Spurs when they won the double sometime in the Sixties, when I was about eight, and remembering the 1966 World Cup only because it was on the television on the day of my sister’s birthday party, football mostly passed me by over the next few decades, whether it was Kevin Keegan’s perm or those penalty shoot-outs. And while I might have caught a bit of that on the television, I never felt it in the same way as, appparently, the rest of the nation did. Even my mother was more interested in football than I was. When we bought a house in Islington, some would comment on its proximity to the Highbury stadium; I was indifferent.
Then, of course, the kids grew up, I played football in the park with them many times and they eventually followed the local tradition of becoming Gunner’s supporters, although not, I’m glad to say in any kind of fanatical or anorak-style fashion. (Not like the ten-year-old I sat next to on the bus the other day, who appeared to have memorised ever Arsenal result and player since about 1956)
I began to enjoy their support with them. I read Fever Pitch. We bought them the Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp shirts and celebrated with thousands of others in Upper Street when they won the double in 2002. But I still didn’t quite get it, didn’t quite see what all the fuss was about until about three seasons ago, the one that ended with the defeat in the Champions League final. Suddenly, I realised the beauty and ambition of the football that Arsene Wenger wants his team to play, the purists way, even if it means defeat, and came to understand why football can be ‘the beautiful game’ although I prefer the ‘working class ballet’. So, as they say in the Mafia movies, I’ve been sucked in. I’m now an Arsenal fan. I’ve got the Sky Sports subscription as much for me as for the boys. I’ve taken to shouting at the screen and punching the air. I read the match reports avidly and have developed an addiction to Radio 5 Live.
And on Sunday, I even asked Alan about season tickets. Only a two year waiting list, apparently. I may not have been born with the football gene, but I think its growing in me.
Now, as it happens, Alan is about to become a father any day now and while his joy will be certainly unconfined, I think a part of him will regret not being able to celebrate both the birth of his son and Arsenal winning the Premiership and the Champions League all in the same month. But, he will also know that, as his son grows up, there will be many more moments they will share together supporting their team. I’m sure his season ticket will be booked and his Arsenal home shirt bought as soon as he is out of his Arsenal babygrow. Undoubtedly, this is a boy who will be born with not just the football gene, but the Arsenal gene.

One footie foodie footnote. Max refused to have anything to eat before the match, saying he preferred to eat there. Now, I’ve bought them up to eat well and I like to think that, compared to many teenagers, they have relatively sophisticated tastes. But, as I reflected , watching Max scoff his slice of fast food pizza out of a cardboard tray, while watching the action, sometimes its not what you eat, but who you are with and where you are that really counts….

Sunday, May 4, 2008

I'm not an eco-fascist - I have people around me who more than compensate for my failings on that score - but I try to do what I can to re-use and re-cycle. What has got me really mad for many years and long before it became an issue, is the over-packaging of foodstuffs. When I buy my fish now, it gets sealed in some kind of foil bag and then put into another carrier bag - what happened to just wrapping it in paper and shoving it in your shopping bag? Supermarkets - yes, I'm not afraid to admit I shop there - are terrible offenders. Marks and Spencers, much as I admire their fresh food and applaud their policy on sustainable fishas well as their recent decision to drop free plastic bags, are among the worst at packaging their food in all manner of cardboard, cellophane and plastic products. And don't start me on Easter eggs. But its small things as well - recently, someone, with the best intentions, bought me a box of posh Earl Grey teabags. The box was sealed in its own cellophane wrapping, which I suppose is fair enough. I then opened the box to find two further separate packages of 20 or so tea bags, each also covered in cellophane. But that's not all: each tea bag was, as the posh style demands, in its own paper wrapper and individually tagged, with a string, so we dont have to use a spoon to fish the bag out of the kettle or cup. Making a simple cup of tea leaves behind a messy litter of wrappers, tags and strings, as well as the bag. I know it's all biodegradable, but it's not necessary in the first place, is it? And I might be less grumpy if it was a nice Earl Grey, but it's not, its bitter and tastes nothing like the real thing. It's a rubbish teabag in every sense of the word.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Tuesday, April 29

My mother just called for a quick chat (well, 30 mins plus is her idea of a quick chat) and asked for my recipe for garlic soup, which I’d made when she was visiting at Easter. There are many variations on garlic soup, some with bread, some with eggs poached or stirred into the broth. Mine is about halfway between simple and complex, omitting eggs. Here it is :

Garlic soup for four
Take four to six cloves of garlic, depending on size, remove any green bits in the middle and very finely chop. Put a generous pinch of saffon into a cupful of hot water and let it infuse.
Sweat the garlic in about six tablespoons of olive oil in a thick bottomed pan for a few minutes; keep the heat low, it must not burn.
When the garlic has softened, add the following: generous pinches of cayenne and paprika, the leaves from several sprigs of fresh thyme and some chopped fresh parsley. Stir until the spices have released their aroma
Add about 300grams of fresh breadcrumbs and stir until they have absorbed most of the oil/garlic mixture. It should be almost paste-like at this point. Add a tablespoon of tomato passata or chopped tomatoes and cook for a few minutes longer, keeping the heat low. Tomatoes aren’t vital, actually, and be careful not to use too much, otherwise you have a tomato soup, rather than a garlic one.
Add about 2.5 pints of water or light chicken stock and the saffron water. Stir it all in well, bring to a gentle boil and simmer for about fifteen minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.
You could do as the French and omit the tomatoes and poach some eggs in the soup, making it more of a full meal. Or beat in some eggs as thickening, the Spanish way. If you stay with the tomatoes, some chopped fresh basil added at the end is good, but not essential. Either way, enjoy!

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Down to Surbiton to see old friends G and B, and their son L, an amazing, bustling ball of dark eyed, curly haired energy, demanding and giving entertainment all the time. Before and after eating a great fish pie (topped with cracked filo pastry, which works really well) and a fabulous tiramisu (the oldies are the best) we played football in the garden and Top Trumps at the table. B and L soaked each other with water pistols. And L spent ages sitting on Cathy’s lap, fascinated by her jewellery. He told us he had three girlfriends and I’m not surprised. I’d almost forgotten – my own sons being now both well into teenagerdom – just how much sheer fun a five year old can be. But demanding as well. He capped the day by, completely accidentally and inavertently, poking Cathy in the eye with a stick he was waving and she spent most of the journey home with a tea bag pressed to her eye. G and B were distraught and felt terribly guilty, but it was just one of those things. It didn’t spoil a splendid day and Cathy will live. I remember how my own son, Leo, aged 18months, had once jabbed me in the eye while I was bathing him. I could barely see out of it for two days and was still in pain a week later. Such are the pleasures and pains of parenthood.

The duality here had me thinking about how fascinating it is that some wines open up in the bottle, so they taste better the day after being uncorked. Last week, Cathy and I drank a bottle of Alchemy Shiraz Grenache 2006, an excellent wine by Aussie winemaker Linda Domas (Oddbins £8.99) over two nights. Full bodied and fruity driven, but with enough tannins and subtle spice to reign in the Shiraz on the first day; day two was a much mellower drink, more balanced with the Grenache even more to the fore and marginally better. Now on Saturday, I opened a bottle of Adnams Selection Chilean Estate, a blend of Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon and Carmenere. I was my licking my lips with pleasure, thinking that here was a terrific new world version of those blended reds from the south of France, with all the concentrated, robust, spicy, black-berry fruit flavours I love. The perfect pizza/pasta wine, although with it I ate grilled Italian sausages, some pepperonata and cannnelli bean mash, which worked perfectly. But, finishing the bottle tonight while catching up with the Sunday papers, it tasted a little, well, flat, by comparison. Still drinkable, but definitely past its best. Should have drunk it all in one go, I suppose. (Adnams £6.99)


Friday, April 25, 2008

You know how it is, you are feeling a bit ho-hum, not exactly down in the dumps, but not full of the joys of spring either. Then you open a bottle of something and, suddenly, life looks a whole lot better. This happened the other night – I broached a bottle of cold rose from the fridge, thinking of a glass or too as an aperitif before dinner. Yes I know I said earlier that I don’t oftend drink rose in April, well, there are exceptions to every rule and, in this case, I wa glad I made it. When I took the cork out, there was a distinctive ‘pop’ and I realised that this was a Vino Frizzante (okay, I missed the miniscule lettering on the label and it wasn’t the champagne-style cork normally found on prosecco). Rosata del Veneto is a fizzy pink from Venice, (well, the foothills of the Dolomites, rather than the island itself, where, to my knowledge, there is little room to grow grapes). I felt instantly on top of the world. As light and effervescent as an Italian operatta, as refreshing to the senses as the first sight of St Marks Square, this the kind of bottle we see too rarely in the UK – a cheapish and cheerful sparkling aperitif, or drink it, as the Italians do, with fish. £5.00 a bottle, if you order 12 from Laithwaites, otherwise £5.99. And at 11% alcohol, its easily quaffable.


Thursday, April 24, 2008

An annoying day. Trying to write an article for the New Statesman – well a supplement on crime (I used to be a crime correspondent, for the Birmingham Post and then the Independent, many years ago, and still keep a working eye on the subject) – and keep being interrupted by internet problems and my sons, who are at home because the teachers are on strike. Both need to revise for their exams, but need constant nagging to do so. The internet connection keeps slowing down, the telephone keeps cutting out and the television also froze, all of which prompted groans from me and frequent complaints from the boys. Tiscali, who just fitted a new wireless router, tell me that its because my BT hasn’t got room for them all, therefore the internet will be slower when the tv is on. I think I’m going to kill someone at Tiscali. This never happened with my Homechoice service (a good little company which got taken over by Tiscali.) Felt a bit fractious by the end of the day. To settle my mind, I went to swim 40 lengths and to console my spirit, opened a decent bottle of red this evening……


Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The weather is better now, and the need for those warming bottles of red wine to accompany the meat-based stews and roasts of winter and early spring are much less - although its only in the sultriest weather that I feel able to forgo my nightly glass of red.
I’ve got some very decent white wines in the house in preparation for a piece I’m writing for the Independent, so I thought it would be a good idea to try a couple of them with some nice fish. The excellent if pricy fishmonger in Muswell Hill had some fine looking gurnard, so I bought a couple. Gurnard was previously often only used to bolster fish soup or stocks but, when so many other species have been over-fished it’s getting the revisionist treatment by chefs and food writers and being seen more in fish shops. And rightly so, its an excellent fish, a bit like red mullet in texture. It works well with strong flavours, so I made a simple Medittereanean fish stew (well, the evenings aren’t that warm yet), using a stock made from the heads and tails and stockpot veg. I then sweated some onions, garlic, fennel, parslay and chilli flakes, added some white wine, some passata and let it cook for a bit. Added the drained stock, saffron, some small boiled potatoes, a few black olives and bubbled it for about twenty mins until the potatoes were almost done. Then I added the gurnards, cut into chunks and cooked for another ten minutes or so, throwing into some raw prawns right at the end. Terrific, big flavours, every mouthful watched from bowl to mouth by my cat, Fifi, whose paw occasionally, but almost without her appearing to notice, strayed towards the edge of the bowl. But apart from a few small morsels, it was too bony to give her a taste, because she’s getting on a bit (18 years…that over 80 in human terms) and I didn’t want to risk getting a bone in her throat.
Now, normally, with rustic, garlickly fish stews like this, I like ice cold, bone dry roses, but while that feels the right thing in the garden on a warm summer night, in April, gently chilled whites are called for. As an aperitif, My girlfriend Cathy and I finished off the Iona Elgin Sauvignon Blanc (Waitrose £9.99) from South Africa, a lovely, elegant, benchmark Sauvignon, full of grassy, lemony flavours, with plenty of depth and decent finish. With the meal we had a Farnese Pecorino 2007, (Laithwaites £7.83) made with the rare Pecorino grape (yes, I’d not heard of it either and its nothing to do with the cheese) made near Italy’s Adriatic coast. It’s an absolute stunner and winner of several awards. With just enough oak to make Cathy feel she was drinking a Chardonnay from her Australian homeland, it’s a full bodied wine, full of character and sufficient minerality to give it a nice crisp palate. It went magnificently with the fish stew. So, there you go, one unusual fish, partnered with one rare wine. Life’s not all about cod and chardonnay you know….