Drink
A bottle with the battle
Four hundred and fifty years ago this month, a great victory helped to safeguard European civilisation. The battle of Lepanto…
When the stars align
We were in deepest Dorset, l’Angleterre profonde. The weather was also typically English: inundations followed by counter-attacks from the Indian…
Of vice and men
In the Levant, the grape has been cultivated for millennia, some of it used for wine. The hills of Lebanon…
Testing times
In London, the weather is a gentle sashaying mockery. An Indian summer reminds us of the sullen apology of summer…
In turbulent times, sherry
I sometimes wander through Trafalgar Square in the small hours when the traffic has abated and children are no longer…
To the gentlemen of Verona
There was a marvellous general of yesteryear called George Burns. He had a good war and a splendid peace. He…
A Rhine art
In an apparently benign — almost prelapsarian — setting, the Rhine is an epitome of the human condition. Scenery is…
A rosé future
Some time ago, I wrote that rosé should only be drunk south of Lyon, but one could start on the…
A time for New Zealand wines
‘The doors clap to, the pane is bright with showers.’ With ‘summer’ determined to do its worst, there is one…
French toast
It is hard to decide which is more depressing, the extension of the lockdown or the public support for this…
Haut topic
It seemed a suitable topic for a bank holiday. We were discussing Haut-Brion, a bank-breaking wine. There is a question…
A novel approach
The last Saturday of lockdown — inshallah — and we were discussing literature. Specifically, when does a detective story become…
Return to Alsace
Freedom approaches. Should we be humming ‘Va, Pensiero’ or ‘O Welche Lust’ — perhaps both. Thinking of Fidelioreminds me of…
When thoughts turn to Venice
We were discussing travel, that forbidden delight now tantalisingly close. Where would be our first destination? Forswearing originality, I chose…
A parcel of rogues
There is a more depressing subject than the lockdown. The evening began with a bottle of 18-year-old Glenmorangie. It was…
Haute cuisine for the homeless
A year of lockdowns has certainly passed slowly. But there are topics for thought. One disappointment has been the Church…
We’ll always have Paris
Some friends claim to be making marks on the wall to count the days until liberation. Ah, the forgotten delights…
Memories of Stellenbosch
Lockdown provides time to think, and to reminisce. A South African friend, trapped in Amsterdam, phoned the other day. Had…
My palate and the plague
Later this week, on Spectator.co.uk, I will resolve a mystery that has featured in a lot of Zoom traffic around…
Argentine conquests
When Napoleon III proclaimed himself Emperor of France in 1852, he unwittingly kickstarted quality wine production in Chile and Argentina.…
Open that special bottle now
Losing your sense of smell due to Covid is no joke when you make a living in food and wine.…
A toast to Lebanon
I was thinking about tragedy. Could one use the term ‘chronically tragic’? My first instinct is against. Tragedy is the…
Tales of war and lockdown
We were celebrating the end of lockdown by talking about war and deer stalking — over a business lunch, naturally.…
Ghosts of Christmas pissed
I feel like a prisoner, making daily marks on the cell wall to chart the approach of freedom. But will…
Johnson’s turnip bogle
At least in London, midwinter spring has not been entirely vanquished, and the trees are still a couple of strong…
