About Last Night...

Speaking engagement. Islington Conservative Party.

About 25 people, many who were serious wine drinkers who would say things like, "I'm not a serious wine drinker, but I believe by blending the Inzolia with Chardonnay, the winemaker has achieved a crisper type of white, whilst retaining it's traditional Chardonnay profile."

IDEA: If you join the Conservative Party, then you can attend wine talks with Jacob Gaffney. Note: Jacob Gaffney is not a member of the Islington Conservative Party. In fact, he can't even vote.

Real wine drinkers. Test the water. While trying the Cefalicchio Chardonnay from a Biodynamic consortium in Puglia, declared that the wine smelled like steamed bananas... expected someone to shout, "you're bananas." But the only return fire was nodding heads of agreement. Real wine drinkers.

Aufidus 2004 proved to be the star. Not organic, but rustic. Winemaker tried to imitate a Roman-style wine. Swords and sandals to pair with rape and pillaging. A robust, rustic wine, like drinking a farm. Smelled of manure, which some people didn't like, for some reason, and wet leaves. Someone yelled, "Wet Autumn Leaves." The reply shot back from me: "Wet Autumn leaves that fell in the moonlight." Laughter. They knew I was joking.

Or was I?

Last week went up for a role in '28 weeks later,' the sequel to '28 days later.' The infected still rule England, save for a four-block area of London called District One. Protected by American soldiers. Casting was in character, talking to a reporter about being assigned to District One. Said Iraq was a more dangerous place to work. Said my wife didn't approve. Said shooting zombies best part of the job.

Acting work a bit dry, starting to get dehydrated.

A Matter of Taste

The Fox Network hates wine blogs. And rightfully so. They are the dullest things, put together by people who seem to feel empowered by the fact that they can drink wine and wow the world by telling you exactly what they think it tastes like. Some skill.

Come to think of it, what's with all this 'I,' 'I,' 'I'?

Is there some commandment in the wine-blog bible that says 'Thou shalt write wine reviews like the dairy entries of a ten-year old,'?

"I woke up this morning with a headache, could be hay fever, but I thinks it’s the Cono Sur Pinot Noir from LAST NIGHT, LOL! I had another bottle for breakfast, then I took a ride to Vinopolis on a London bus that, finally, didn't smell like French fries and farts."

Interwined is different. The name suggests a connectivity between the beverage and life. And so it is so. After the panning of wine blogs by Fox news, a look at the competition was necessary. Most herald themselves as "independent" wine reviewers. However, the wines they review are free samples.

So, if they drink a free Cono Sur Pinot Noir (It's not bad, but not nearly as good as some blogs would have you believe) then they've saved five pounds on wine that night. In essence, it's like the winery forking over the fiver directly. Nonsense. Why don't you buy the wine you feel like drinking? Not the ones where someone tells you "Your readers need to hear about this!"

Wish someone would give me free wine.

Interwined recounts the wines, purchased, over the course of the week. If the wine is memorable, for whatever reason, it gets noted.

Come to think of it, Interwined also lacks that fundamental wine review tool: a ratings system. The New York Times recently dissed the 100-point scale invented by Parker and employed by Wine Spectator. But they missed the allure of 100-points.

Since the vast majority readers of this blog happen to be teachers… or, at least at one point, have been taught, you know the allure of scoring 100 is a sweet and convincing draw. It means 'doing well', even if the grade was under-deserved. You all know that, at one point in your lives, you gave that underperforming bully a passing grade on more than one occasion -- or got one yourselves.

To quantify a quality. One comment to this post asked why review wine and why not taste test Gatorade.

Gatorade, of course, tastes consistent and that's its draw. Sweaty throngs in soaked t-shirts on the 1st avenue basketball court swirling and sniffing sports drinks is… well… a scene from a movie we'd all like to watch. The draw of wine is one that is incumbent within the prospect of expecting taste. And it works for so many other things.

For instance, organic milk. Like wine, the treatment of the cows, say, what it eats, affects the flavour. A review by this column found Rachel's organic milk placed in dead last, when compared to other brands, with little expression of the cow's personal characteristics. Other than the Moo, of course.

Top of the line was a surprise. Yeo Valley beat out Dutchy originals, although the latter costs twice as much. But then Yeo valley tastes like a creamy glob of grass crammed into a jar. There may be room yet for another milk blog on the net, but, as far as that subject is concerned, the Amish are years ahead of us…

Perhaps if the blog was peppered with neat little ideas, its allure will be enhanced.

IDEA: Need crushed ice for that high society cocktail party? Simply pour sparkling water in an ice tray and freeze. Once frozen, pop out the cubes, which shatter into a thousand pieces. Wrap in a cloth and bash. Open cloth. Behold, ten thousand pieces.

Speaking of which, in an independent tasting of sparkling mineral waters, Ballygowen came last, San Pellegrino did well, close to the top. But the yellow jersey went to Badoit, from the Loire. Rare that it is a natural sparkler, no carbon added, but rarer still that the bubbles aren't obtrusive. Smooth, flinty and solid. And priced like it knows it. Nearly double the others.

Then there are the wine bloggers who spend three paragraphs on one wine. Three paragraphs. By the time you get to reading about the unctuous nuances of some sesquipedalian Sauvignon, you begin to think, 'hey, this guy is WASTED.'

The new Interwined ratings systems will be based on ten…the 100-point system needs to be simplified. Something simpler and not as confusing for the masses. So, from now one, that's a ten if the wine is perfect, a five if it gets the job done and a score of one if it makes me angry. But no zeroes, because at least they turned their work in.

To be thorough, though, the ratings system will be to the tenth decimal point.

IDEA: Have you done your very best today to promote www.interwined.com as the best wine blog ever?

Penfolds Organic blend is a tidy number, £9. After a week of disappointing Australians, finally a glimmer of hope. Ripe fruits, smooth texture, little overt sweetness and a pleasing, yet short, finish. It used to be £7, but as its popularity grows, so will the price tag. 8.7

Got an email from a friend explaining that Australians keep the good wines for themselves, and export the junk to us. Most countries do this, notably the United States, where it would be difficult to find a decent American offering under ten. In London the prices hover around £6.

The Aussies further distinguish themselves by continuing to make a large amount of junk, which they think they can sell, and may yet, when it should be thrown away. This is based on large government subsidies to grape growers and so on. The EU is also experiencing the same problem. An MP in Glasgow has a bill in the House of Commons to get all the left-over wine in Europe distributed for free to his elderly constituents. He is sick of the urban poor paying taxes to support the rural rich, he told me. He is not a big wine drinker, but more like a big wine thinker.

The head of Simeon wines in Australia, David Clarke, last week told his shareholders that the wines all producers currently have in storage, but can't sell, won't be gone until 2009. Three years to sell the wines they've already made. The company posted an AUS$11.55 million loss for the year ending June 2006. Snowball that idea and some 2010 vintages will still be around in 2015. Thes are wines that should be drunk sooner than later.

The 2004 Grove Mill Sauvignon Blanc is a stunner, £7. Good with anything, even spicy sausage. Tropical fruits on the nose. Dry finish, light on the tongue. Two days later, the wine had mellowed to being almost buttery. It was smoother than Brazilian legs during Carnival. 8.5

2001 was not so good for California and Bonterra's Cabernet from that year shows it. Watery and thin, little identity, no wonder many bottles of it are available to buy now. Though it's not a complete wash-up. It was drinkable as a table wine. Serve with dinner. 7.7

Same for 2004 Valdevieso Merlot. It holds it own, but can't hold your attention. 7.7

The 'Taste the Difference' 2003 Connawarra Cabernet from grocer Sainsbury's, was on sale for half-off, £4. Odd, the wine is brand new, but its 'normal' price is listed at around £8, when it was never available before. This smacks of a corporate direct marketing selling technique, but the wine was aptly named. The difference tasted was that the wine was closer to liquor in terms of alcohol content. The fumes alone are flammable. Hard to taste anything else when a wine is pimped out with so much silly sauce. A day later, ripe fruits, mainly blackberry, tinge of oak, still strong. Price was right though. Eight pounds would be a joke. 7.0

Finally the 2003 Heartland Petit Verdot from the Limestone Coast of Australia. Poor Petit Verdot can't hold its own in Bordeaux. It's mainly used to add aroma while toning down the strength of the Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Merlots grown there.

Didn't you know most Bordeaux are blends? Two other grapes are rarely used, so those are the big four. Whites will see Sauvignon Blanc, Semillion and sometimes Muscadelle. Burgundy will with be Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. Want more on France, just ask.

jacob.gaffney@yahoo.co.uk

The Heartland gave off wild aromas violets, black cherry but still very rustic, like an old leather belt that will never give up holding onto pants. Also a bit of rust and a hint of mint. But, the label threw me. It was a picture of a shovel plowing, by lantern light, into what appeared to be a steaming pile of steamy little rocks. It's as if the winemaker moonlights in the fabled dung mines of the Naracoorte Caves. 8.9 points, mainly for controlling a late harvest grape most people won't bother with.

Insert BIG FINISH here.

The Tank Man

A quick note: I will be voicing some characters on today's afternoon play, The Tank Man, on BBCs Radio Four.

The Tank Man

Enjoy.

A Question of Taste Bud Marketing

After publishing the Tea Time blog, an email hit my inbox (jacob.gaffney@yahoo.co.uk) from one of my sources. After interviewing Matthew Brown of Echo Chamber, a company that spies on businesses for other business, for an article for Wine Spectator, he then read my entry, and responded. I have always told people, that when I'm wrong, I will say so and Matt says there are, in fact, decent Tea merchants in this world, and argues that Twinings is simply providing a product made to the specifications of their consumer. Fair enough. Thank you, Matt.

Here is what Brown had to say:

Like the blog – good fun to read – love the trailer too – very high production values and you come across really well – I’d love to see the full thing on telly.

As for your rant about Twinings tea conformity – take a look at my review of T2 Tea Too in Australia –

http://www.echochamber.com/secure/outofworldmain.asp

T2 is a fantastic chain store that sells only loose leaf teas, and revels in the varieties, inconsistencies and ‘vintages’

This ties into two trends we talk about – ‘Authetiseeking’ and ‘Anti-Big’ (anti corporate and anti homogenous) So it just goes to show that there is a market for every taste!

Hope we can hook up for a drink when I get back from Dallas

M

Tea Time for Vin de Table

There will always be Grange. DRC. The hard-hitters down Napa-way. These wines, and countless others in the super-premium market, will always have a name, a face, good years with the bad -- an element apparent when price tags are slapped on bottles.

And there will always be Vin de Table, that daily drinkable that ends up every night on dinner tables across the world. It is those wines, those average-joe offerings wine producers present to us that this column is devoted to. Think typically £5 to £10 per bottle.

Critics fill novels with information on how to best spend your tenner. Books which spend more time gracing the grimy surfaces of coffee tables and the rarely dusted Ikea 'Bonde' book cases, than in the hands of serious daily wine drinkers.

These are wines, granted, that are rarely noteworthy. In fact, all the wines sampled this week had not a single word written, until this moment. Summed up here, the Marks and Sparks white Burgundy 2004 and San Tommasi 'Giani' Sicilian white, both served at a friend's finally-off-of-probation celebration. Both were good bargains, excellent and crisp. Both were served cold and felt proper, and tasted too similar, coming not only from different countries, different climates and different soils.

Also, three nights were devoted to Bonterra Organic 2004 Shiraz Carignan Sangiovese. All three bottles were great, with or without food, fresh and clean. But, a greater point was that two bottles tasted exactly the same, but the third, same year and perhaps shipped on the same crate, tasted distinctly different. For whatever reason, this one tasted a bit rusty, with a slight hint of earth. This later lulled and flavours further diminished. I love it. Micheal Laroche once complained that he opened a case of one of his wines and found twelve different tastes.

Laroche may feel frustrated by inconsistent flavours, but I call it character.

Now, about the show, several prospects are up in the air this week. I will wait until 'it' happens, or likely doesn't happen, before filling you in.

Instead, an anecdote. The Times Foodie-at-large, Tony Turnbull, devoted his weekly column to the hard-working Tea tasters at Twinnings brew HQ. According to Turnbull, the team taste 700 blends a week, taken from up to 27,000 different tins, in order to achieve a consistent flavour year in and year out.

Head tongue, Jeremy Sturges, explained that tea leaves are an agricultural product, with flavours varying greatly, even from plantation to plantation, depending on weather, harvest time, whatever. (Beginning to sound familiar?)

Their job is to sip and spit until they come up with a formula to get that morning nip of English Breakfast tasting the same, literally for your entire life, regardless of what went down on the farm. This is true, and even though each tea has a character, an identity, a fact Twinnings could care less about, presumably each tea ultimately ends up entirely drinkable.

However, I doubt Sturges has spent any nights with someone holding back his hair, while he spews up his guts after a heavy night of binge drinking a bad batch of Lapsang Souchong. 27,000 tins, each one different, yet forced together in a factory, in order to taste the same. (Said hyperbole and non sequitur is intended to vindicate Twinings and its employees from any wrongdoing and, thusly, nullifies any future-filed libel lawsuits.)

Also,Turnbull admits he "never realised tea-making was so complicated." Insert a volcano like rage into my skull now. But, not that it's our JOBS to know everything beverage-related. Equally shameful, years ago, I selected the tea service for Le Pavillion hotel in New Orleans. Back then, I could pick you as a Darjeeling freak or an Assam junkie by the moment you sat down and begged for scones. But I still, likewise, had no idea.

Good tea-making, as Turnbull now realises, is so complicated because it aims to destroy the very essence of Tea. Ironic. Tragic.

The same is happening to wine.

Presumably, tea merchants from years back – Turnbull's text marks 300 years for Twinings -- would offer the different types of teas available, depending on available sources. Today, the concept of selling vintage teas to me is as exciting as it is unlikely to ever happen again. Imagine stepping into a tea merchant, the bell on the door chiming your entrance, and as the dear old tradesman in the back shuffles to take your order, your senses are overwhelmed with the finest brews from China and India. "Care to try the 2006 Lady Grey, sir? Just in, blended with the finest biodynamic oranges handpicked by a thousand shoeless orphans?" Not going to happen.

Ditto for vino. At least at the cheaper end. Big producers are consolidating, marketing, moving quickly, in order to create consistent wines year in and year out. It's is a solid corporate business model, as we see with Twinings.

Prepare. Wine shops with two categories are coming: old world and new world. The former being, if we are luckily, separated by country, the latter, by grape -- as it pretty much is already. All other opinions don't really matter, and probably, have even less merit.

Think about it. I have, and that is why, this week, I don't find this column amusing. Not even one bit.

Down Under

Last week focused on Cabernet, with some harsh words directed at the cheaper-end of Australian producers. Not fair. This week takes a look at more Australian buys from between the £5 and £7 pound mark. Primarily Shiraz, that great Australia grape: peppery, bold, cocky even… well maybe not, but still very self-assured.

There is this rule of thumb in the wine trade, that blends tend to taste better. By using Shiraz as the backbone, winemakers may add Merlot, for elegance, or more Cabernet, for added rustic flavour. With this in mind, I headed to my local Costcutter corner grocery store to check the selection. More in a few paras…

Today, my friends, was a day of complete rejection, capping a week of almost daily, brutal kicks to the crotch. Last week began typically enough. The weather in England returned to gray, and not a moment to soon, all of the sunshine was beginning to make me angry. Yes, a nice steady drizzle is the type of summer that is all the rage in London these days.

I also went up for a rather humiliating casting -- as a spokesman for frozen meatballs, sold in Turkey. I don't speak Turkish, and, apparently I also can't fake eating, and tremendously enjoying, a frozen meatball. I also had a casting as the lead in indie Brit Flick '3366.' The director said that the part of my performance he enjoyed most was my choice of footwear. Baby blue crocs, baby. (He was noticeably wearing navy blue crocs, how gauche.)

In the mail I received a letter that was so thin, it may as well have had the word 'REJECTION' written in bold, right next to the 'air mail' stamp. It was from Banyan Productions, a Canadian outfit that provides a great deal of content to the Travel Channel. It was signed by Nicole Maxwell, in Development. I won't say much about what the letter said, except it that it probably took longer to type my address than the actual body of text.

I also pitched a Duero travel piece to the fantastic American Express-owned magazine, Travel + Leisure, only to find out they wrote a similar piece a few months ago. Also, I was told to lay off the wine-travel stories as one of my former freelance colleagues had landed that sweet and enviable position of Wine and Spirits Editor at the magazine. I guess I could write a travel piece on the best way to get to the bottom of a bottle.

That last line probably went a little too far.

Back to Australia.

This will be brief. After taking Monday and Tuesday off from the sauce, I returned with a renewed vigor. Ready to tackle the average Ozzie vin de table. I started with, and these are all 2004, a Shiraz Merlot blend… I'm reluctant to name names here. But it's a big producer (aren't they all from down under?) Initially it tasted a bit rusty, unpleasant, but after an hour or so, it became decent enough to drink. The alcohol levels in these wine seem almost purposefully jacked-up, as if a nice buzz will make you forget your worries as well as the lazy winemaking. The bottle was left unfinished.

Then it was a Shiraz-Viogner. Not a typical blend, but still remarkable similar to the previous evening. Again, not finished. It also burned my throat. What are they thinking? That stuff hurts, man. I then tasted another blend, the next night. I'm getting in too deep with this. Over my head… Speaking of heads, the next night, I drank a Yalumba. You see, for me, a true wine should give the drinker a ironic feeling. A contradiction where the wine washes away the stress of the day, and relaxes, whilst still enabling the drinker to feel invigorated and alive. No, this wine… this wine… just made me feel WEIRD. The next day, my head hurt.

I capped the Australia tour with a Rosemount 100 percent Shiraz. Frankly, I shuttered when I took it off the shelf. Maybe it was feeling the eyes of the shopkeeper on my back as if to say 'you sure have been drinking a lot this week.' But, mainly it was the label. The label was shouting 'I've been designed to grab your attention, and hold it, so you don't care if I'm any good on the inside.' Luckily, by mid-week, I was decanting the wines and letting it sit for an hour before trying. This burned off the alcohol and brought out the tell-tale spiciness of the Shiraz. Spiciness? What kind of description is that? What kinds of spices? Fresh marjoram? Year-old garam masala? Some one should develop an electronic nose or something to sort this out. How about it science?

Electronic Wine Nose


Funny thing, my wife refused to take part in this mad experiment and asked again for a decent glass of white. I was in the middle of a red wine tasting. RED wine dammit. In a moment of brief introspection, I remembered the piece I was currently working on for Wine Spectator magazine, where white wine may be as good as reds, in terms of cardiovascular health. How salubrious.

At any rate, I wasn't about to spend my vast wine knowledge on someone who rarely gives me wads of cold, hard cash, so I just grabbed a cold bottle of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc from Concha y Toro. Screw cap (which is superior to cork when it comes to a 'drink now' status.) It was lovely, crisp, almost the color of water.

Three nights later she gave me the same request, even though she still had a glass left in the old bottle. I'm sure it would've been fine. But, I went into the store and grabbed another bottle, same shelf, same place… same COLOR. Only when I got it home did I notice it was the Chardonnay. But the label looks exactly the same! And how can a Chardonnay not retain any of it's straw-like hue? It was a decent wine, but c'mon guys. Give us more credit than that. Surely, when people buy wine, they don't just grab any familiar bottle and don't care if it's a Chardonnay, a Sauvignon, an Albarino, a Viogner…

Or do they?

Cabernet Sauvignon Retrospective

Cabernet Sauvignon. It's everywhere. All at once. It seems most wine has a trace of it somewhere. All of California, Australia, Bordeaux, Spain, Italy. So I decided to try a few different offerings in order to get a feel for future blog tastings.

But, before that, the TV pilot was turned down by Channel 4! The commissioning editor, Meredith Chambers, didn't even want to see it and rather canned their involvment based on my one-paragraph email. She said the idea was interesting and 'just might work.' Onward and upwards.

I will back post some blogs of rejection emails soon, promise. But real quick, the BBC is not accepting independent projects right now. Cable television, here we come.

So Cabernet. Luckily, I love the grape. Started several evenings ago with Sterling Vineyards Napa Valley 2003. Wasn't sure on the vintage, and paid £13 for it at Budgens. The website said to expect "cherry, cassis, blackberry and a hint of black oilve," umm, yes. I got that, except the black olive. I would also elaborate that the wine is seamless. Just a really lovely wine, with great balance and strength. It still suffers from that California sweetness, which is sometimes downright offensive, but not here. Nice.

The next night, Concha y Toro 2004 Chile. Cabernet Sauvignon. Looking at the bottle I thought I should have started with the cheapest first, instead of working my way backwards. Londis, £5. At this price, you should be happy if the wine is drinkable and not unpleasent. Actually for five pounds, a wine won't have much to reveal, and shouldn't have to. The Concha Cab is just OK, I would tell you all about it, but I think you all have probably had it, and know what I am talking about.

The next night. Jacob's Creek 2004, £5, Costcutter. I have avoided the 'Creek', well, forever. Something about it, besides having a like name, rubs me the wrong way. And as soon as I tried it, I realized what bugs me about the wine is, in fact, the taste. This wine is evil. Pure.

It smells awful and things only get worse from there. I will leave it at that.

So, I opened the Wolf Blass 2004 President Selection Cab, £8 Costcutter. You know, Wolf Blass used to kick ass. Popularity has turned Wolf Blass into the wine world's Pearl Jam. What about the music? It should have been so much better, especially following the Jacob Creek. I'm not going to go more into this one either, except stop buying it until I get a written apology from the Australian wine industry.

Dear Aussies, what have you done to this grape!?!? I will hunt down a decent Australian Cabernet for between £5 to £8, or, so help me god, I will stop eating at the Outback Steakhouse.