Your average UK wine drinker knows what to expect from your averagely-priced wine in a UK supermarket or multiple (and the average price is still under a fiver). They expect unexceptionable, reasonably well-made, “easy-drinking”, and – above all – consistent “Wednesday night” bottles. In a word, it’s about familiarity and, unfortunately, we know what that can breed.

When the same wine drinkers spend north of a tenner, they’re probably hoping for something to make their dinner party guests sit up and take notice. I’m not the only sozzled hack who is concerned that people no longer have any idea of what to expect from wines in between those price levels. The £6-10 range can – with careful selection – be a real sweet spot for value as the proportion of the price that actually represents the wine in the bottle, as opposed to taxes and fixed charges like bottling and shipping, rises exponentially with each extra pound spent. The problem is that the big winemakers and the big wine sellers have muddied the waters with so much systematic discounting.

Presumably, very few people are sufficiently taken with a particular wine that has been discounted from, say, £8.99 to £4.49 to subsequently pay the full price when there’s another, similar-seeming bottle from another of the big brands parked next to it which is now apparently on sale at half-price. There are so many that there must seem to be no reason ever to pay more than a fiver or so.

The poor bewildered punter, standing friendless and frequently clueless in the typical four-, five-or six-hundred bottle wine aisle could very easily be forgiven for asking themselves whether any wine can actually be worth seven or eight or nine quid or are they risking – in buying one – falling into the elephant trap that is the zombie, “un-discounted” wine? The answer, of course, is that there are many but so advanced is the erosion of confidence in that price-bracket that only careful selection or – better yet – buying from independent merchants can offer relief.

So there are two basic rules of thumb: the first is that the the better the wine is the smaller any discount is likely to be and the second is that any wine discounted by 50% (or more! – there are a few out there right now …) is probably only ever worth the discounted price in the first place.

 

Obviously, many wine merchants and supermarkets will deliver wine to you – by mail or other means – and, with most retailers having an on-line presence, the definition of “mail order” is very blurred these days. But there are differences in what the purely mail order and online merchants and wine clubs do, chief among them being that often the wines are “pre-selected” and if that sounds alarming it’s because most of the time it is. The sector – with about 5% of the UK market – is bestridden by Direct Wines, set up by Tony Laithwaite in 1969. They run The Sunday Times Wine Club, Telegraph Wines, Averys, British Airways Executive Wine Club, Virgin Wines – which was started by Rowan Gormley, who now runs Naked Wines – and of course Laithwaite’s itself (formerly Bordeaux Direct). I’m relieved that their Barclaycard Wine Service appears to be defunct because even the idea of having a credit card company that charges up to 27.9% interest against a base rate of half of one per cent choosing anybody’s wine gives me the willies. Dunno if the Richard and Judy Wine Club is still going. Don’t care either.

All of them have some good wines but they’re unlikely to send them if you don’t ask for them – why would they? Importantly, there has been a uptick in quality generally from some of their outfits and the fact that – to the astonishment of many in the trade – a couple of years ago Laithwaite’s took a delivery of their own in the form of Justin Howard-Sneyd MW from Waitrose, where as head of wine he took their list from primus inter pares among the grocers to nobody-in-second-place. Hopefully this signalled a seriousness of intent as far as quality is concerned. They don’t generally do anything much under six quid – presumably distribution costs are too high. (From Laithwaite’s, try Alegria Old Vines Cariñena £6.99, Alma Andina Torrontès- Sauvignon Blanc £7.99, Giesta Dão 2010 £6.99 – all by-the-case prices. A few favourites from Virgin: Ca’ di Ponti Grillo Sicily £6.99; Araldica Piemonte Barbera £6.99 Hans Lang Rhengau Riesling Kabinett Trocken £10.99; Juan Gil Monastrell £9.99).

I haven’t tried anything at all from Naked as they don’t seem to have much under 7 quid unless you subscribe as an “Angel” and agree to a regular £20 payment per month. The angel angle is that they “invest in independent winemakers” and the regular payment means you “get better wines for supporting winemakers directly.” Hmmm.

The original mail order merchant, The Wine Society, is a very different kettle of fish.  Founded as a co-operative company in 1874 by a “committee of gentlemen” at the Albert Hall with the purpose of purchasing wines in “unadulterated condition” direct from the producers and offering them to the membership at the lowest possible price, it still does the very same. Another of the `Objects of the Society’ was `To introduce foreign wines hitherto unknown or but little known in this country’ and they were selling Californian Zinfandels and Australian wines 100 years ago, which is rather impressive. Anyone can join but forget the Groucho Marx line about not wanting to join any club that would have him – the quality of the wines is very high. My own Eureka! moment with wine was a Sancerre from the Wine Soc which had – alongside the usual quality of being a reasonably efficient inebriant – the hitherto unknown one of being completely delicious.

The Society’s White Burgundy is a fine thing for £7.50 and tells you everything you need to know about their standards. Down – but not dirty – at the Grogan’s Heroes price-level their Chilean Merlot  (£5.95) is made by Concha y Toro’s charming and dynamic (no, I don’t fancy him – well, not much anyway) Marcelo Papa. He’s one of the most important winemakers on the planet right now – one of a small number of people who are changing everything and I doubt that anybody makes more wine better than he does. It’s a big, fresh, rich, bright, saturated, minerally, fruit-cakey thing but not at all o.t.t. As for his Chilean Chardonnay – from cool-breezy Limarí -  I just hope I don’t get given it to taste blind because I  might get carried away.

Of the new(ish) wave of internet-only merchants, Swig and Slurp stand out (they’re separate entities, as evidenced by the third person plural, and anyway who would  name their business with a tautology?).   I felt a little thrill when I clicked on Swig‘s “Best Sellers” list and the first item on it was A.A. Badenhorst’s “Secateurs” Chenin Blanc from South Africa – sad, or what? – but it was one of the most exciting wines I tasted last year. According to their search criteria prices start at £7.95 so they won’t be troubling Grogan’s Heroes at the moment but they do have some very nice wine.

You can tell an awful lot about a wine by the company it keeps (and vice-versa) and although I don’t know much about Slurp I do know quite a few of their (relative) cheapies from some of our Local Hero merchants –  Ancora, Alpha Zeta and A Mano among them. Blimey, that’s just the ‘A’s! I’d better get on to them sharpish – see you later!

 

 

After 19 years of wedded bliss, Valentine’s Day is not what it used to be. Come to think of it, I’m not sure it ever was what it used to be. I’ve missed the last three (there is a God) but this year – for the same reason – I got off a red-eye from Los Angeles mid-afternoon on the 14th. Club Class  (“because I’m worth it”) notwithstanding, a shag was going to be, as they say, out of the question.

Nonetheless, I still had the strength in me to open a bottle or two. For fizz, and with an eye to ameliorating a fraction of the cost of that ticket, I plumped for stylish Pongrácz Rosé from South Africa. The design of the bottle alone is worth the money but the seductive strawberry fruit makes you wonder if it’s worth paying three times the price to have the word “Champagne” on the label.

For even less, it should be noted that Australian sparkler Griffith Park, which won a blind tasting by Which? magazine a couple of years ago against some, er, stiff opposition is still upstanding and setting a bench-mark for bargain fizz.

I wasn’t up to much in the way of dinner so had a couple of puddings instead. I surprised my soulmate (and, believe me, after 19 years you have to work on the surprises) with an English sticky. Yes, an English sticky – from Chapel Down, a delicate, late harvest number by the name of Nectar, made from a mix of unpronounceable German grapes and weighing in at a feather-light 8% abv. It’s the first English sticky I’ve liked and I’d drink it with the usual suspects or on its own but – in either case – with pleasure.

It is the diametric opposite of Harvey’s PX – the other pudding choice – and who would ever guess that they were made from the same basic stuff? This is a treacle-rich toffee-fest and it’s double the abv but deep within in it there’s still a streak of the same limey acidity that they share in their DNA and which makes sense of it all. Who knows – another glass and anything could have happened.

I arrived here an agnostic but now I am saved. Pasty-faced and larded with doubt I had no idea which was the true path but now I am the keeper of the knowledge. The only way is – no, not by Essex – but to head west down Pasadena’s East Colorado Boulevard to Barney’s for some Lagunitas IPA: then to double back making a right down South Raymond to Lucky Baldwins for the big stuff; then an optional left (but you’ll be passing anyway so it would be rude not to) up Green back to the Dog Haus for some cleansing, hop-crackle-away Iron Fist Kolsch. And before you’ll know it, or maybe afterwards – I’m hazy on the details – you’re back at the Sheraton for last orders. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

At Lucky Baldwin’s – and just what Baldwin did in another life to get this lucky can only be guessed at – the beers were consulted and cajoled upon, and then served forth, by – embarassing though this may be – what can only be realistically described as some sort of household goddess. And one that I now know and praise as being of an emergent pantheon of craft-brew beeresses that Zappa would have written not just three words but whole albums about. Sarah wouldn’t even have been born, or thought of, when Dylan wrote his hymn to her so there’s another glorious mystery, but now she is here below amongst us.

I don’t remember the names of the beers with which she bathed my sins away (mere trivia, but hops do have an antiseptic quality – *yawn*) so I may have to slink back later on to retrieve a list as mine was sodden to pulp by the time we left. But this I know: Frank was right. The way, the life and the truth – it’s all here – just give the boys “titties and beer”.

 

It’s an ill wind alright. The demise of the high-street chains in the ‘noughties saw a profoundly encouraging spate of start-ups of small, independent wine merchants devoting themselves to purveying carefully-selected, high-quality wines across (almost) the whole price range. More encouraging still is that a number of them are cautiously expanding. Most deliver nationwide but if you’re fortunate to have one nearby it adds something special if you can walk in and have a nice chat and, often, a nice glass of wine as well – some of them seem to be in permanent tasting mode, with a few bottles open all the time. No names, no pack drill – it’s a hard life for some of these chaps (eh, Marc?).

Some have the Enomatic storage and dispensing systems which allow them to offer customers (and casuals) the chance try before they buy and, better yet, to taste high-end wines in small doses without the wine deteriorating (or breaking the bank). Basically, you put some credit on a card they give which you use to pay for a small (but not necessarily tiny – they come in different measures) glass of a few (or all) of the dozen or so wines they have “on taste” as they say in the States. Others have a corkscrew and some glasses. And maybe a fridge.

(Selfridges pioneered Enomatic in the UK, only to find that silly Westminster Council refused – and persisted in refusing until quite recently – to countenance the sale of wine in “non-standard” measures like 5cl. It shows just the sort of flexibilty and forward-thinking that we’ve come to expect from our dynamic local government people, doesn’t it?)

When I was writing my book, I would have been lucky to find more than a handful of the 3500-odd recommended wine producers in it in my patch of north London. But three excellent places have opened up in Stokie in the past 18 months and I recently did a piece for the (equally excellent) local mag – N16 Magazine – to see how many I could find now.  I stopped counting at 100. None of the new places are solely dedicated to booze, which may be one of the ways forward – Le Parc and MeatN16 also sell food and Homa is a restaurant with a side-line in off-sales.

Elsewhere in London, among my favourite local heroes are (in no particular order) Planet of the Grapes, Vinoteca, Highbury Vintners, The Bottle Apostle and The Sampler. Longer-established Jeroboams, Roberson and Philglass & Swiggot also deserve the same plaudits. Out in the sticks, The Secret Cellar (Tunbridge Wells, Wadhurst and Oxted), The Butler’s Wine Cellar, Quaff, Ten Green Bottles  (all in Brighton), Cooden Cellars (have a guess), South Downs Cellars (Hurstpierpoint and Lindhurst), Fareham Cellars (is “eponymous” correct in this context), Noel Young (Cambridge), Symposium, (Lewes), Wine Therapy (Cowes) and Corks Out (Warrington) deserve particular praise – and there are many more. Let me know if you have one that I should know about. There’s no point in recommending individual wines because all these fine folk only sell good wine, which is rather refreshing. The Association of Direct Wine Merchants brings together some up-and-coming and decidedly individualistic folk too so, with just a minimum of effort you really never need open a dull bottle again.

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