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!

 

 

Private brands are basically the same thing as own brands, only with made-up names so that people who think they’ll look mean for serving a bottle that shows the name of the supermarket where they buy their wine, don’t have to worry. They’re all those Castellos de This and Châteaux de That when, really, there’s no such place.

What happens is that the retailer does their research and then tells the supplier – often a co-operative or a mid-size producer – that they have room for, say, five-thousand cases of an up-front, medium-quality reserva Rioja if they can get it on the shelf for xyz pounds a bottle in X weeks time. The winemaker does their sums, taps into their bit of the world’s ocean of surplus wine, and … Bingo! “Baron de Alava” – or, for all I care, our old chum “Windy Bottom” – is born.

Most of the majors now send their own experts – not just their buyers – out into the world to work with producers to make and market private brands. A few even become mini-brands in their own right and get sold to other supermarkets. It’s all about “positioning” and they’re pitched above the “own labels” at around the same level as the big international brands and attract customers who want to feel they’re getting a wine made by “real” people in a “real” place rather than by a bunch of machines owned by a corporation. As it happens, they often are … it’s just not the people or the place they think it is.

If you’re sad that the grapes in your wine are not being lovingly harvested and vinified in his shed by a friendly, slack-jawed yokel in a beret, skip the rest of this paragraph. The big producers need to be very nimble to sell all their “juice”. An Aussie firm that is a humungous provider of supermarket own-labels also sells its own brands in direct competition with the separate labelling of the same wines as supermarket private brands while – get this – supplying millions of cases of wine made under contract for some of its biggest, household-name, competitor brands. They’re all there, side by side, on the shelf.

M&S, who don’t sell branded products, were the first UK retailers to do private brands when they wanted a separate tier above their own labels and decided that “Chevalier de Hows-Your-Father” had more cachet than “M&S Chablis.” Meanwhile, the Wine Society approached the problem of different quality levels equally successfully with its “Exhibition” range and this seems to have been the model for the “tiered” own-brand offerings elsewhere.

Margins are better on private brands than on “real” brands because there are fewer marketing costs involved and the good ‘uns are among the best-value wines on supermarket shelves. They tend to come and go quite quickly – presumably an algorithm somewhere is doing the math – but a few current favourite bargains are listed below. (It also counts as a crash-course in getting the hang of the dodgy names thing.) As ever, reading our knowledgeable and conscientious (and, not infrequently, irresistibly attractive) newspaper wine writers is the best way to keep up with it all.

Marks and Spencer: Perez Burton, Soleado, Valdepomares, Falleras, Secano, Clocktower, Cobborah, Corriente del Bio Réserve de la Saurine. Marquès de Alarcon

Sainsburys: Spanish Steps, Flor de Nelas, Marquès de Montoya, Elegant Frog, Rio de la Vida, L’Esprit de la Cité

Tesco: Gran Tesoro, Viña Mara, Palais des Anciens, Villa Taurini, La Leyenda, La Terre, Fern Bay

Waitrose: Cuvée Chasseur and Cuveé Pêcheur, Whale Caller, Moncaro, La Rectorie, Montgravet, Eva’s Vineyard, Fontaine du Roy

Asda: Gran Vega, Marques del Norte, Pleyades, Mas Miralda, Le Monferrine, Villa Ludy, Château Salmonière

Co-op: Villa Pani, Rocca Vecchia, Les Crouzes

 

An example of a private brand label

 

 

Queen Victoria wasn’t quite halfway through her interminable reign; “Far From the Madding Crowd” was selling well at Hatchards and Winston Churchill had his big, baby face at his mother’s breast.

1874 was the year and the gathering one day of a “committee of gentlemen” at the Albert Hall marked the establishment of a co-operative company the sole purpose of which would be to purchase wines in “unadulterated condition,” direct from the producers, and offer them to the membership at the lowest possible price.

The boskily be-whiskered witnesses to the birth of the Wine Society wouldn’t be in the least surprised that, in its 137th year, it should have added a Hungarian Cabernet Franc and a Ciliegiolo (I’m saying nothing – you can look it up in my book!) to its range of wines and be celebrated by the National Retailer Awards as their `Portuguese Wine Retailer of the Year’.

“100 years ago we were selling Californian Zinfandels and wines from Australia and one called `Boujas’ from `Asia Minor’ alongside the Musignys and Chambertins and Lafite,” says Sebastian Payne MW, the Society’s long-serving chief buyer. “One of the `Objects of the Society’ established by the founders all those years ago was `To introduce foreign wines hitherto unknown or but little known in this country’ and we’re still doing that today.” He’s right of course, and one of these days I must get to grips with the Cour-Cheverny (made from the romarantin grape, as if anybody needed reminding).

The demutualisations among the building societies and other co-operative organisations saw a few changes to protect the Society from the threat of takeover but otherwise the structure remains as it has always been. Membership involves buying a single share in the company (for £40, and a bequeathable asset) and anyone can join – the Secretary will `propose’ those who lack the acquaintance of an obliging member to perform the same office. “Today’s members are a pretty mixed bunch – we’ve always had lots of doctors since the days when the original offices were behind Harley Street, plenty in the arts, a royal,” notes Payne. Indeed one of those doctors – father of my then fiancée – was responsible for my own Eureka! moment with wine. It was a Sancerre, I’m tolerably sure the cuvée `Les Roches’ from the excellent Vacheron, and it had – alongside the usual quality of being an efficient inebriant – the hitherto unknown one of being completely delicious.

Sampling their wines I am always struck by their faithfulness to their origins – “typicity” in winespeak. In short, they do exactly what they say on the tin. Any neophyte wanting to satisfy themselves about quite what characteristics distinguish, for example, a New Zealand Pinot Noir from a Chianti Classico or a Beaujolais need look no further than the mixed cases of “The Society’s” and, better yet, the premium “Exhibition” ranges. The Kiwi Pinot will be all about bright, jammy, black cherry fruit, while the Italian cherries will be red and have that subtle bitterness and crunch which finishes with something almondy. The Beaujolais – especially if it’s the “Exhibition” Juliénas from the drop-dead gorgeous 2009 vintage – will be as giddy and Turkish-delightful as you could wish a `Beauj’ to be but it’ll have depth and a serious side too, as befits one of the big sisters of the 10 crus of the appellation.

There are 1,000-odd wines, so it’s hard to do more than scratch the surface but a handful of whites make the point. The Society’s White Burgundy is a painfully-researched perennial favourite which glives a glimpse round the door of Burgundian glory for £7.50. Léon Beyer’s Alsace Sylvaner is another substantial everyday white that is hard to beat anywhere for £7.95. I’ll be happy with Fefiñanes fantastic Albariño £14.95 for the time being while I wait and hope that they get some more of Allende’s White Rioja 2007 (I think it was £18) – my favourite Spanish white. If I’m pushing the boat our for something with pud it’ll be hard to resist Château de Fesles Bonnezeaux (£27/50 cl) for its perfection of mineral-boned, Apple Charlotte essence.
Wonder what they’ll be selling in 2148?

 

Published in The Daily Telegraph- Winter 2007

Peter Grogan journeys to the Herts of darkness to find the wisest buyers of wine

The first bottle of wine that really did it for me was a Sancerre from the Wine Society. A girlfriend and I pinched it from her father and I’ll always be grateful to him for that eureka moment of discovering that wine could provide a lot more pleasure than just the effects of the alcohol. I cursed him, though, the other day, as I trudged around Stevenage in the wind and rain trying to find the headquarters of this cooperatively owned wine merchant, founded 133 years ago.

The Society, in which each member owns a single share, fits somewhere between Waitrose – which in itself is unusual in being an arm of the John Lewis Partnership, owned by its 64,000 staff – and grand old wine merchants such as Berry Bros & Rudd and Corney and Barrow. At the station, I was told that “the wine place” was “across the footbridge and round the back of Tesco”.

Standing in front of Majestic Wine Warehouse, I damply reflect that it and, for that matter, Tesco wouldn’t be the forces they are today if the Society hadn’t blazed a trail in cutting out the middlemen. “I don’t think many people in Stevenage know we’re here, really, but that’s OK,” says Pierre Mansour, the Australasia and America buyer, after coming to rescue me in his car.

When it comes to wine warehouses, you have to hand it to the Society. Standing in the middle of its 175,000 sq ft facility – that’s two and a half football pitches – Ewan Murray, who’s in charge of tastings, enumerates: four million bottles, 90,000 active members who together spend more than £1 million a week, and a list made up of 1,000 wines from 20 countries.

But no one will be showing off, because the Wine Society has that very British mix of competence and reticence that makes it seem like a sort of Bletchley Park of the wine trade. “No one here earns a bonus, including me,” says chief executive Oliver Johnson. “So everyone’s focused on quality rather than margin.” It also means that the Society is seldom beaten on price.

Those 1,000 wines include some I’ve never heard of and I’m feeling a little nervous as I prepare to meet the six buyers. They are some of the best “noses” in the business but I soon discover they’re also an easy-going lot who wear their learning lightly.

Everyone makes mistakes, however, and Master of Wine Sebastian Payne, the Society’s long-serving chief buyer, tells of a mix-up on his predecessor’s watch. After a long day’s tasting, the cellar master calamitously ran wines from casks of three different classed-growth Bordeaux châteaux into the same vat for bottling. Rather than a disaster, the resulting blend was an immediate success. “It was baptised ‘The Society’s Centenary Claret’ and it went down very well with the members,” says Payne.

Talking to members a few days later at a Society tasting in London, it seems less surprising that we British – already the most sophisticated wine consumers in the world – look set to overtake France as the biggest spenders. Members, who come from all walks of life, spend on average £6.75 a bottle.

It isn’t a fortune, but it’s two-thirds as much again as the UK average. Joining is easy. That share costs £40 for lifetime membership (bequeathable to a promising Godchild) and you don’t need connections to join. The Secretary “proposes” those who don’t know an obliging member.

The big numbers, which are small compared with the supermarkets, give the Society the clout to buy what it likes and focus on many smaller, family-run wineries. The list is particularly strong on France with, for example, a lavish 16 wines from the stunning 2005 Beaujolais vintage.

But Chile and New Zealand shine, too. Some members prefer the Society’s Choice, a pre-mixed case of wines costing £6-£8. Others pick and choose from the more expensive “Exhibition” range, made up of perennial favourites such as New Zealand Pinot Noirs and Chilean Merlots.

As it is essentially a mail-order business, browsers will miss out unless they’re within reach of the showroom. The good news is that there’s no minimum purchase and mixed cases start at under £5 a bottle.

For subscription customers, wines are chosen to suit a budget and sent out each month. It’s called “Wine Without Fuss”, a phrase that neatly sums up this old-fashioned yet forward-looking wine merchant.
# The Wine Society: 01438 740222; www.thewinesociety.com.

WINES OF THE WEEK

2005 Dourthe Barrel Select St Emilion, 13% vol (£10.49; Waitrose).

Richly fruit-cakey, with the subtle hints of violets and tobacco that usually cost more than this.

The much-hyped 2005 Bordeaux vintage seems to be walking the walk. A fillet steak would be the perfect accompaniment.

2006 Co-op Fairtrade Cape Chenin Colombard, 12.5% vol (£3.99; Co-op).

Co-op leads the way in Fairtrade wines and this is from the biggest project in the world. An attractively perfumed nose and perky melon and apricot fruit.

The price will comfort those who’ve opened their post-Christmas credit card statements.

2004 Ravenswood Old Vine Zinfandel, 14% vol (£7.50; Wine Society).

A century of experience with Californian Zinfandels means the Wine Society knows a thing or two.

This is intense stuff, meaty and spicy with a big slice of blackberry-pie fruit and a hint of liquorice. Terrific value.

2005 Bonterra Chardonnay-Sauvignon Blanc, 13.5% vol (Majestic; £5.59 for two or more to February 5).

Feeling out of touch? Try this – it’s from California, it’s organic, it’s got a unique new screw-top and it’s a blend of grapes to make French blood run cold.

It’s also very crisp, fragrant and very more-ish.

The Daily Telegraph

Published in The Daily Telegraph 12/ 18/2006

Vinho verde, the characteristic young wine of northern Portugal, is under-appreciated outside its home. But that’s changing, says Peter Grogan

The “green” in the title refers to youth rather than colour. But there is no doubt that vinho verde is big in Portugal.

Massive, in fact. In the average wine aisle of a British supermarket you will find 500-odd different wines. Imagine, if you will, 3000 bottles in a Portuguese supermarket, every single one of them a different vinho verde.

And then there are uncounted millions of bottles filled with cloudy, still-fizzing wine from the taps of all those gleaming vats that don’t come into the reckoning and, in any case, seldom travel further than the end of the lane.

A few minutes’ drive out of Oporto and the vines that stripe the countryside of the Minho region start to appear. “In late summer the sight of the grape-bearing garlands along every road gives almost pagan pleasure,” wrote Hugh Johnson in the 1970s.

Aside from the stainless steel vats, the basic production methods, at least at the domestic level, would be recognisable to the pre-Christian inhabitants of the region.

The grape varieties grown for vinho verde (which sounds like “been-yo-beard” pronounced with a light Scots burr) are not much travelled themselves. The main varieties are the laurel-scented loureiro, the charismatic trajadura and the crisp arinto.

Alvarinho is the only vine to have upped sticks, but only across the Spanish border into Galicia, where it is known as Albariño. Back in the Minho, it is the principal grape variety in the district of Monção, where it makes arguably the finest, if not the most characteristic, vinho verde.

The squeamish export market, frowning on the cloudiness and the fizz, has required that the “better” wines have their rough edges smoothed off but, refreshingly, some of the less improved varieties have spirited themselves on to those supermarket shelves.

Very little wine of poor quality gets past my wife. Presented with a glass of non-vintage Morrisons vinho verde, poured from its irredeemably naff bottle, she was sceptical.

But the scintillating little bubble and fresh acidity which Hugh Johnson found “so marvellously refreshing” worked their magic, and Mrs G deemed it an excellent spritzer. I, for my part, agreed with Johnson that “it’s all too easy to gulp it like beer on a hot day.”

The cordial relations between England and Portugal, enshrined in the 1386 Treaty of Windsor -still active and unaffected by recent sporting events – remains the longest-lived such agreement in the world.

It will not, I hope, be put in jeopardy by my opinion of the red wines of the region.

Any robust survey cannot possibly ignore them, not least because they have only recently been overtaken in terms of volume of production by the white wines.

The fact that they seem to be effectively unobtainable here is, hopefully, because by some mechanism or other – possibly a clause in the treaty – they have been declared illegal on the grounds of tasting so horrible.

The excellent Monção Co-Operative produces some delightful whites, but even their flagship reds remain very disappointing.

But the last couple of years have seen sales of vinho verde rising at a rate to make even a rosé salesman blush and the good news is that this renaissance does appear to be quality-led.

The basic production methods would be recognisable to the pre-Christian inhabitants of the region

In the vanguard is Portugal’s largest wine company, the family-run Sogrape.

It produces everything from an annual 20 million bottles of Mateus Rosé to a rather smaller number of bottles of Barca Velha, the iconic red wine of which Jose Mourinho famously sent a conciliatory case to Alex Ferguson after an early touchline spat.

Don Hewitson, the proprietor of the Cork and Bottle wine bar off Leicester Square, central London, stocks Sogrape’s Quinta de Azevedo, and enthuses about vinho verde.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” he says. “It has lower alcohol content, usually around 10 or 11 per cent, which is just what you want in the summer. Plus it’s beautifully crisp and has a nice little spritz.”

Wines of the week

2005 Alvarinho Soalheiro, 12.5% vol (£10.75; Butlers Wine Cellar, 01273 698724. £11.99; Handford Wines, 020 7221 9614; Philglas & Swiggot, 020 7924 4494). This is a big, lush wine, with a perfect balance of ripeness and acidity and that je ne sais quoi – honeysuckle, perhaps – that Albariño always reveals.

2005 Quinta de Azevedo, 10.5% vol (£5.25; Wine Society 01438 740222. £4.99 for two or more at Majestic until August 28, then £5.49). Ghostly-pale, “new style” vinho verde with just a prickle of fizz, a sherbetty nose and tingling green-apple acidity. A Granny Smith in a glass and great with oysters.

2005 Quinta do Ameal, 11.5% vol (£8.48; Corney & Barrow, 020 7265 2400). 2005 has produced some unusually rich, full-bodied wines. Barely a hint of spritz, but a lovely, laurel-scented nose and a lip-smacking savoury tang. Not a typical vinho verde, but very classy none the less.

NV Gazela, 9.5% vol (£4.49; Morrisons). Yes, it’s non-vintage, and the labelling is rather startling, but after an hour in the freezer – yes, really – this is as refreshing as a wine can be. Drinking it within an hour or so, to keep the fizz going, isn’t going to be a problem.

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