The Empress of Sichuan, Chinatown

Boldly going where other reviewers have gone before, we followed the well-beaten trail to one of Chinatown’s more upmarket establishments, the Empress of Sichuan. The smart image of this Tardis-recessive-interior restaurant was somewhat dented on the evening we visited by a bucket collecting the constant leak from upstairs; a Chinese water torture-lite for the couple at the adjacent table - Chinese water irritation, perhaps. On the ground floor, the restaurant seemed busy, but diners were being strategically seated to plug gaps; downstairs, one empty room receded into another. But this was London’s bleak midwinter week, and the streets outside were unwontedly cold; Soho was not pullulating as it should do and, across the river, the Tate had been gratifyingly empty. A good half of the Empress’s diners were Chinese, though, auguring well.

We gluttoned out with three starters. Lamb skewers were spiced like Indian curry, a flavour that seemed entirely incongruous for a Chinese restaurant – it wouldn’t have mattered, but the meat was unfortunately chewy. Sliced pig’s ear was much better; salty, pliable crackling soaked in oil infused with chilli and lots of raw garlic. But what really made the meal for me was our third starter, Lantern Shadow Beef; thin slices of dark, hard crunchy beef like jerky, oiled with sesame and – unexpectedly – juniper. Lovely.

In terms of the mains, shredded pork with black fungus was poshed-up sweet-and-sour pork, but the slithery black fungus was a gratifying extra. Steamed beef with rice paste was more interesting on account of the spice mix; the rice paste had been ground up with coriander, ginger and cloves, flavours that sit unexpectedly and refreshingly beside the beef.

Perhaps not an unmissable restaurant, pricier than the average Chinese, spicy in line with what one expects from Szechuan cooking, and one probably needs to tread carefully when ordering; but there is a lot of scope for interest here, and the Lantern Shadow Beef alone would tempt me to return. For that visit also remain the Dong Po pig’s joint and (maybe) the very very spicy fish soup. 

6-7 Lisle St., Soho

Jashan, Wembley

I’ve had plenty of perfectly good Indian meals in Scotland, and I tend to think Edinburgh is quite well-served by Indian restaurants - it’s only when I come south to the great bastions of British India that I am reminded how westernised the cooking in Scottish Indian restaurants really is. But these bastions of BrIndia are not always easy to find, at least for the locally unlettered. In London, forget Brick Lane, discouragingly lined with waiters trying to inveigle the unwary into their establishment; real sub-continental dining has moved on from here, replaced by an ethnic hotch-potch of stalls and eateries serving marketgoers and oglers. Which isn’t to say there aren’t some tasty morsels to be had in the market, as well as a lot of feed-the-masses slurry; but when we are on Brick Lane, it’s almost always as a scenic prelude to a very British lunch at St. John Bread and Wine. Hold onto your wallet on Brick Lane; not everyone is in search of a culinary morsel and a market bargain. I have felt the fast fingers flutter against my mobile-phone pouch. 

Jashan, by contrast, a vegetarian Indian restaurant in Wembley, feels like the real Indian deal. Rather unprepossessing in appearance, it is gratifying to see it is packed with diners, almost all Indian – certainly a good sign, even if this is a very Indian area. An alternative establishment along the street, glass-fronted and upmarkety, was devoid of clientele; the waiters forlornly peeked out at passers-by, emphasizing their restaurant’s desolation and the fact that Jashan was a good choice. This is eating in the community. It isn’t quite as monocultural as we thought, though; there is an odd bit of Szechuan crossover on the menu, but we didn’t feel the need to go near that.

We had fun deconstructing the pickles. There was a mint dip with fenugreek and chilli, and a tomato dip with fennel seeds. Dal Bhajjia, deep-fried lentil pakoras, were not onion-based as I am used to. Then the really off-the-wall stuff came. Bel Puri is puffed rice with sev – my best guess is that sev is deep-fried gram flour, tiny, crunchy strands coming as a textural companion to the slightly softer, still crunchy rice and the even softer pieces of veg; it’s more like something I’d expect in a South American restaurant. I certainly wouldn’t expect find it in an Edinburgh Indian.

Chana Masala, spicy chickpeas, was actually the most conventional, least spicy thing we had; I could find them in Edinburgh. Dal Maharani, black lentils with a creamy sauce, also came with kidney beans and a stocky sauce that was more savoury than creamy. Bhindi Chatpati were deep-fried, shredded lady fingers that had been marinated in chilli, and were intensely spicy, while Aloo Bhindi was made up of lady fingers marinated in turmeric and tamarind.

There is only one thing you should drink at an Indian restaurant, a salted lassi. At Jashan, they come sprinkled with ground cumin, whereas I’ve had black pepper and even garam masala on them in other restaurants. The rice and breads are not simple; our Ajwaini Methi Paratha was a whole-wheat flatbread densely green with bishopweed and fenugreek seeds - very herby - while the two different pulao (I say pilau, you say pulao) rice sides were almost unrecognisable as rice; the Nilgiri Pulao was intensely green from the coriander and mint run through it, while the Methi Paneer Pulao was a dish in its own right with chunks of cottage cheese and shredded fenugreek. Normally, rice is a foil to spice, but we almost needed another side as a foil to the spicy Nilgiri.

Great stuff; this was real off-road Indian. One expects to eat very hot food at a place like Jashan, although I was never obliged to reach with indelicate haste for the lassi. (I did, however, steadily get through two or three.) The spicy taste that went home in my mouth was a powerful blend of turmeric, tamarind, mint and cumin, not chilli.

Jashan, 1-2 Ealing Road Coronet Parade

¡Más vinos de España!

Or, that’s a bit more like it…

These Spanish wines formed the weekly Friday evening drop-in tasting at the charming local wine merchant Peter Green in Marchmont, Edinburgh, about a fortnight ago. I can’t quite remember what I went into the shop in search of, but I came out with something quite different. As well as a clutch of truly world-class wines, Spain shines at producing the simple, pleasant, and rustic, and ought to be a reliable supplier of good, economically priced everyday drinkers. These wines were therefore a salutary and very welcome antidote to the alarmingly over-priced Spanish wines I reviewed in my post of 23.11.10.

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Campo Flores 2009 Vino de la Tierra de Castilla £5.75

Floral, dry, simple but crispy – quite attractive at the price. It is made from a blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Verdejo, an aromatic variety native to Spain that has recently been producing more prominent wines. Verdejo has a certain affinity to Sauvignon and it is not unusual to see them blended.     

Cautivo 2009 Rioja £6.75

This is an example of “new school” unoaked white Rioja. Although oak aging often deepens the colour of white wines, I was interested to note the colour of this wine is still quite golden; apparently, then, deep colour is an intrinsic quality of the Viura grape. It is rather elusive on the nose, with very little fruit quality at all, just a hint of green apples; the slightly more prominent note is of parmesan cheese. Crisp, but hollow; “the enigma of unoaked white Rioja”. Viura is a grape that seems tailor-made for oak aging; it creates acidic wines that have the potential to age well, but, with little fruit quality of their own, they really want a bit of oak to offer an alternative flavour profile. Oak aging has somewhat gone out of fashion, though, perhaps as a reaction against some of the flabby, over-oaked Australian Chardonnays of yesteryear, and the winemakers of La Rioja appear to be striking out in search of a new, fresher, more “modern” style. The absence of oak aging, however, tends to leave “new wave” white Rioja feeling rather under-realised.

Having said all that, this wine would be a crisp (if simple) accompaniment to a nice roast chicken.

RED

El Primero (vintage foolishly unrecorded, surely young) Vino de la Tierra Tres Riberas £5.95

Notes of blueberries and yoghurt on the nose, with soft fruit and low tannins. It is made from Garnacha (Grenache), but has none of the white pepper notes the variety can so often throw up. Again, a simple but attractive wine, for drinking now, quite pleasant at the price.

De Alto Amo 2009 Rioja £6.75

The soft, brambly fruit on the nose of this wine is fairly classic Rioja. There are also slight mineral notes, but no sign of the oak aging that makes the more mature Rioja crianzas, reservas and gran reservas taste of vanilla. Young, attractive, accessible.

Giné Giné 2007 Priorat £10.75

Priorat is an area of Spain becoming widely known for producing some remarkable new wines, often combining Spanish and international grape varieties. Rather more complex than the preceding wines, this wine has clearly undergone some oak aging, with smooth vanilla notes integrated into a predominantly black fruit nose that also harbours slightly floral, slightly mineral notes. Still a little tannic on the palate, this wine would benefit from a couple of years in the cellar.

http://www.petergreenwines.co.uk/

Santi Dimitri

Puglia is the heel on Italy’s boot, the part of the country driving its spike past the Adriatic down onto the wider Med. I went to this tasting of the wines of the Puglian producer Santi Dimitri (held at the Scottish Wine Society in Edinburgh on 9.11.10) more in search of an insight into the area’s prevailing wine trends than in expectation of outstanding wines, rather wary of the flabby and overcooked wines not uncommon in particularly hot regions; but I was happily proven wrong. The strength of Santi Dimitri is in their complex and delicious reds, which inspired copious notes on my part; these are wines I would happily take home to dinner and to cellar. The Aruca, Sharav and Margia are rich, layered reds all drinking well now, but all with years of aging potential ahead.

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Ruah Salento IGT 2009  

Golden, with a slightly toasty nose that also has melon notes, this initially feels like a fairly common-or-garden Chardonnay. The palate has notes of talcum powder, maybe herbs, maybe a touch of honey, with relatively low levels of acid. An entry level wine, it is at least unusual in having a more interesting palate than bouquet. It is made from an indigenous variety called Fiano. Unlike many white varieties, Fiano grows well in the local sandy soils, and unlike many South Italian white wines which can fade within the year, this should keep its freshness for up to 2 years.

ROSÉ

Aruca Salento IGT 2009

I tend to think that the most attractive thing about rosé wine is the colour, and this is a very attractive strawberry pink with lovely highlights. The bouquet has notes of bubble-gum and red fruit. Much rosé wine everywhere, and especially in areas with a booming tourist trade, is fairly insipid stuff designed only for freshness. While this Salento wine is as light as most rosé, I am surprised by how attractive I find the red fruit notes, which are followed by the gently tannic suggestion of black tea. This would be a good match for fish cooked with tomato.

RED

Aruca Salento IGT 2007

This dark but not opaque wine is made from the classically south Italian Negroamaro grape, a variety particularly associated with Salento, where it makes both rosés (such as the Aruca above) and age-worthy reds.

The Aruca red is an impressive mix of firm fruit, almonds and Rioja-style oak spicy oak. Liquorice notes emerge on the palate (a classic Negroamaro note) amid the ripe cherry fruit. Interestingly, it has been matured in Hungarian oak, which tends to impart spicy notes to wine, complementing in this case the naturally spicy notes of the Negroamaro. Hot and leathery, it is rather like a Shiraz meeting a Rioja. Over time, raisined notes emerge.

Sharav Salento IGT 2007

This very slightly darker wine has a dusty nose quite suggestive of oak aging, mixed with smooth red fruits that show the wine is maturing well. It is made from a local clone of Italy’s Primitivo (itself the same as California’s Zinfandel). Although Primitivo can age well, this – clearly a very high quality wine – is beautifully smooth at the moment, dominated at first by notes of blackcurrant jelly with pepper, which are superseded by the very leafy finish. Again, this has been aged in Hungarian oak barriques (36 months), which helps marry some Negroamaro-style spicy notes with Primitivo fruit.

Margia Salento IGT 2006

Once again, quite a dark wine, although it is showing hints of a little more maturity round the rim. The bouquet is a mix of eucalyptus, cassis and balsamic, with the first suggestions of the Worcester sauce that some reds mature towards beautifully. It is a blend of Negroamaro (60%), Cabernet Sauvignon (20%), and Merlot (20%), but the Cabernet clearly dominates. Nevertheless, it is quite complex with a lot of personality, perhaps reflecting the maturation using a mix of Hungarian and French barriques. Given time, the eucalyptus notes blend with orange and farmyardy notes. Extremely expressive, well-structured with good tannins, body and acid, this is a wine that will age very well.

DESSERT

Serra dei Santi Salento IGT (vintage unrecorded)

The bouquet on this wine is reminiscent of a perfumed variation of cough mixture, with herbal notes behind. Sugary and viscous on the palate, the quite sharp acid nevertheless brings forward notes of sherbet lemons along with the grapey, raisined sweetness. Attractive and fresh despite the sugar, this would be a natural match for bitter chocolate, venison pate or hard cheese.

It is made from the local Aleatico grape (which has made it into some parts of the world as Red Moscatel), a typically perfumed red variety well-suited to dessert wines.

http://www.santidimitri.it/

Lilbert-Fils Champagne

This was N1’s birthday champagne, which we drank at home with quails’ eggs before going off to the Kitchin for dinner. It opened my eyes to how good non-vintage champagne can be.

Lilbert-Fils Blanc de Blanc NV Grand Cru          

Very appley attack, followed by classic brioche notes. There are subtly spicy notes in a slightly creamy texture, while the finish is dominated by the mix of lemon and oak; the champagne is really showing off its classic blanc de blancs / Chardonnay-dominated character. Granny smiths on toast, or blanc de blancs as it was meant to be.

It is classified as Grand Cru on the grounds that the three villages from where this champagne draws all its grapes – Cramant, Chouilly, and Oiry - all have Grand Cru status, as under the champagne classification system, a whole village has a single classification, unlike in Burgundy, where vineyards are rated individually. This champagne rating system is controversial, with critics alleging that such a broad-brush approach ignores terroir differences within a single village.

Kitchin

“Forewarned is forearmed”, I’d planned to call this review of N1’s birthday dinner at the Kitchin restaurant in Leith, Edinburgh, on 23.11.10. But quite apart from the fact that calling a spade a spade and a Kitchin a Kitchin gets me more hits from the google machine, “forewarned” turned out to be a false alarm. We’d been warned that the Kitchin’s wine mark-up reached four times retail, and our memory of their wine list from our first visit there, not long after they got their Michelin star in 2007, was not particularly good. So we decided to drink champagne at home before going down to Leithshire for dinner, enabling me to smugly report how we had avoided an egregious mark-up. But that was not the way it turned out; a perusal of the Kitchin wine list soon shows it is in line with the standard Edinburgh three times retail mark-up (as opposed to the more competitive two-and-a-half normal in London). It might err towards three-point-two, there may be some outliers, and there are no obvious bargains, but essentially, Kitchin’s wine list is priced as you’d expect for a smarter Edinburgh restaurant.

Kitchin certainly ought to be good; it comes highly garlanded, having just been voted UK Restaurant of the Year 2010 in the Observer Food Monthly Awards. The dining room is smart, as you’d expect, the average diner very casual. It’s rather a dark room, cosy for a wintry dinner, dingy for a summertime lunch, with a grand window into Kitchin’s kitchen. (“They don’t look very happy in there,” N1 observed.) With various shapes of squash along the wall, Kitchin is letting you know seasonal awareness is the theme, and we sat down to a bowl of vegetable crisps, arguing about what each was. Beetroot was obvious by colour, parsnip and carrot were fairly clear, but we didn’t know if another was swede or turnip. The crisps came with a cheesey choux pastry bunlet, while the breads that followed were unremarkable save for a sun-dried tomato bun with curry powder – an ingenious match which seems natural once you’ve tasted it.

Our “land and sea surprise” tasting menu began with a game consommé, with chives, cabbage, and the unexpected sweetness of a slice of grape. A terrine of leek and mackerel with dollops of mackerel pate, horseradish and beetroot evokes Russia as much as Scotland. Our surprise menu was indeed a surprise, as we aren’t getting entirely the same dishes as the table next to us at this point; no doubt, this was deliberate.

Razor clam next; we had this the last time we were here, too, so I suspect it must be one of the Kitchin’s signature’s; local, and relatively underused elsewhere, ideal for Kitchin to make a mark with. It was mixed with other seafood last time, and very salty; this time, it comes held in place on a celeriac purée and mixed with  pieces of chorizo, which are tiny, but have a large impact on the overall flavour of the dish.

The next dish is the Kitchin’s real signature dish; rolled pig’s head with seared scallop and a salad of pig’s ear. The pig’s head is a roundel of meat with a mixed texture, some gelatinous lumps, and cumin – my favourite taste memory of our previous visit here is of pork belly impregnated with cumin, a glorious match – while the pig’s ear is essentially pork crackling. The scallop was the softest I’d ever had; the texture more of cooked potato than scallop.

Halibut comes with beans, shellfish, fennel, and a very unseasonal basil pesto. Saddle of venison follows, perched on a pumpkin purée, a quince sauce making a delicious dark gravy for the venison, which is red and soft and not remotely liverish.

And so to dessert. What we got was no surprise at all, since we had made a point of asking if we could have what sounded like the most interesting of all the desserts from the main menu, millefeuille; Kitchin graciously complied. While the layered sheets of millefeuille were as good as one would expect (with another crisp making an appearance, an oven-dried slice of apple; is the crisp Kitchin’s concept of the essence of autumn, an attempt to symbolise dried leaves on city pavements?) the star of the dish was not Chantilly cream or chestnut parfait or syrupy apple but the darker-than-beetroot elderberry sorbet, fresh, refreshing, intense.

Coffee is, as ever in restaurants of this class, an excuse for petit fours, the last chance for the restaurant to show a flash of virtuosity before unveiling the bill and abandoning her diners to the streets. These comprised a chewy little pistachio macaroon that hinted at coconut, an almond financier looking for all the world like a scallop with its coral, and a powdery chocolate truffle; what I mistook for orange notes turned out to be discreet, embedded pieces of ginger.

Kitchin has spent the past few years competing with Martin Wishart’s for de facto recognition as Edinburgh’s most highly regarded dining spot. It looks like Kitchin has won, at least for the time being. While Wishart’s is fussier, more French, and more clearly aiming for that second Michelin star, Kitchin unobtrusively maintains a slightly heartier, more Scottish identity. If Kitchin were to aim more clearly down the second star route, they might to choose to offer a palate cleanser to start the meal; but perhaps focusing on seasonal appeal, as Kitchin does, is the most attractive way to maintain a high profile and a distinct identity.

¡Vinos de España!

This was a tasting organised by the Edinburgh branch of Villenueve Wines some weeks ago now, on 7.10.10. Villenueve have an interesting selection, although some of these wines seem pricey for what they are.

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Vinos Piñol, Portal Blanc, Tierra Alta, 2009 £8

This is a Catalan wine from the DO Terra Alta (or Tierra Alta, in Castilian Spanish) made from a very modern blend of Garnacha Blanca (that’s Grenache Blanc, which, despite the better known French name, is indigenous to Spain) and the more unusual Sauvignon Blanc, not indigenous to Spain and not at all common in this area.

It looks attractive, with a green tint that denotes its youth and its Sauvignon, and an effervescence that again goes with youth and freshness. But it’s a simple wine, without much fruit to offer on the nose, just a vague leafiness. On the palate, it’s slightly tart, with – I’m stretching here – perhaps a hint of the spice that Garnacha Blanca can offer. Very much an entry level white.

Izadi Blanco, Rioja, 2007 £10

White Rioja is principally made from Viura (known in other parts of Spain as Macabeo), a variety that produces typically acidic wine that takes oak well and can be (when handled properly) long-lived. It isn’t, however, a variety that produces a very characterful fruit flavour, which is why I’ve never really understood the attraction of “new wave” unoaked white Rioja, in which the wine is supposed to rely on its inherent fruit rather than its ability to manage oak into a structure that will mature well. A true adherent of old school white Rioja, i.e. the oakier the better, I was startled at a trade tasting a few years ago to discover that all but one of the offerings of new white Rioja was unoaked, and frankly, these were not very notable wines.

This wine, despite billing, is not one of the new school; it is still, thankfully, distinctly oaky. Viura is a great grape for acid, and this cutting wine is definitely one to pair with food – oaky white Rioja and smoked salmon, for instance, is a sublime combination. The oak character itself in this wine is very much American (in Rioja, unlike in most of the rest of the European wine industry, American and not French oak barrels are used) with notes of vanilla, coconut and a confected quality evocative of glue or nail varnish that can also sometimes characterise Portuguese wines. (Nicely, in my opinion, lest that sound like a negative tasting note.) Not a huge amount of depth, no subtlety, but enough punch and acid to sit nicely with your roast chicken. Quite reasonable for £10, these days.

Pazo Barrantes Albariño, Rías Baixas, 2008 £18

Albariño is Spain’s most famous white wine variety, produced principally in the Rías Baixas area of Galicia, Spain’s north-western province (above Portugal on the map). Its prestige inside Spain, not a country especially well-served by its white wines, is high, which has inevitably pushed up prices. As a variety, it is often compared to Viognier thanks to a typical peachy quality, although there are also less exuberant, drier examples.

This Albariño definitely belongs to the peachy-Viognier school, with a fair weight of fruit (peaches meet lemons) jostling with the acid. Clean, fresh, and fruity, fairly powerfully bodied for a white, but not cheap.

RED

Más de Bazán, Bobal, Utiel-Requena, 2006 £10

Utiel-Requena is a DO in Spain’s Levant, inland from Valencia. Often described as up and coming, it actually has a very long-established wine industry. Bobal is a variety indigenous to Spain’s east, not really grown anywhere else, and particularly well established in Utiel-Requena, partly because it proved relatively resistant to phylloxera (the aphid that arrived in Europe from America in the 19^th century and went on to devastate much of the European wine industry). Not known for its finesse, Bobal tends to produce simple, rustic wines that can be charming, or tannic and astringent.

This wine is dark, opaque even at the rim of the glass, which suggests it is relatively heavy-bodied. It has a hot (that is, smelling of fruit from a particularly hot climate/ vintage) and cherried bouquet, while on the palate, it is tannic with soft fruit, simple drinking. Rustic indeed.

Otto Bestué, Finca Sabina, Somontano, 2007 £13

Somontano is a DO in Spain’s relatively remote north east, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Again an area until recently known (inasmuch as it was known at all) for rustic, very local wines, it has supposedly been modernising fast, although I confess I have had many a so-so wine from the area.

This wine is made from a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Spain’s own Tempranillo for a fairly neutral, red wine character. The nose is rather reductive, that is, having had no oxygen for a long time, it begins with sulphurous, gassy whiffs which soon blow off naturally enough, revealing a cherried character. (Rather a typical Italian tasting note, cherries.) Quite tart on the palate, with little depth.  

Sonsierra, Gran Reserva Rioja, 2001 £18

Gran Reserva on a Spanish wine indicates that in the case of red wines, it must have been aged at least five years (with a minimum of two in oak), which will naturally lend the wine an immediately mature, oak-dominated character.

Rioja is made principally from the Tempranillo grape, Spain’s best, and while it is generally mixed with smaller amounts of other varieties, the Sonsierra is pure Tempranillo. On the nose, it offers notes of wet dog hair, and that port-like glue note along with the fruit. On the palate, I am surprised by the relatively youthful, juicy quality of the fruit – I wouldn’t guess this were a Gran Reserva. Subtle hints of cinnamon and nutmeg also emerge with the brambly fruit. I confess I was a little disappointed considering given what this is; aging might mature it somewhat, but this doesn’t have the depth to go long distance.

Teófilo Reyes Crianza, Ribera del Duero, 2006 £20

Like Rioja, in Ribera del Duero – another of Spain’s great wine-producing areas – they depend principally on Tempranillo (under its local name of Tinto Fino), although here they also mix it with Cabernet Sauvignon. Crianza is another term related to the age of the wine, meaning it has spent at least six months in oak.

This dark, powerful wine has spent a full year in American oak, adding a vanilla character to its strong notes of brambles and black fruit. Far too tannic at the moment and never destined to be a truly great wine, this will nevertheless improve with aging. The intensity of the style could leave me believing it were a Californian wine.

SHERRY

González Byass, Oloroso Dulce “Matusalem” £16/ half bottle

Without going into the details (today) of sherry production, Oloroso is one of the richer, nuttier styles of sherry. Brown in colour, tawny gold at the rim, it smells of walnuts, quite like some port, but without any of the fruit that port would also carry. Medium sweet, with notes of dry toffee and a complex, lengthy, syrupy palate.  

No.1 Sushi Bar

It’s a bit naughty of the No.1 Sushi Bar (Tollcross, Edinburgh) to include wasabi peas on their list of starters, when really these are not starters but bar snacks, crunchy carriers for those who like having their nostrils and upper palate tickled by wasabi, that peculiarly Japanese, mentholyptic alternative to chilli. It’s a shame – fresh peas prepared with wasabi sounded like an exciting culinary innovation, but they turned out to be Oriental supermarket snacks poured out into a bowl and priced up accordingly.

We’d popped in for a quick pre-cinema, and No.1 Sushi essentially did the business. It’s rather like a sit-down equivalent of Sushiya, with stork-print wallpaper for low-key Eastern elegance, but still with the Japanese television going, tonight showing sushi preparation aimed at English speakers. For a real starter, we had dumplings filled with vegetables and bean curd, a natural mix of textures from very mushy bean curd via the vegetably softness up to the slightly crisped dumpling dough (fried, not steamed), and which only really took on flavour fulfilment when properly dipped in the soy-based dressing they came with. Deep-fried bean curd is something that looks alien and exquisite, like squares of Spanish leche frita with shavings of Autumn-dried oak leaf, that once again has a quite simple flavour really needing the soy dressing to bring it out. Presumably without soy sauce the Orient would have been obliged to evolve a different cuisine. We didn’t try any sushi, which is rather unfair on a restaurant with this name, but N1 has at least enjoyed their dragon rolls in the past.

For a winter-filling main, we went for traditional style ramen with Udon noodles (they’re the thick, wheaty ones), one of the great Japanese staples. N1 compared it rather unfavourably with the ramen at Tang’s, where she found the meat meltingly soft. The broth certainly needed a little salt to properly bring out the complexity of flavours that make it up. Dessert – what else but green tea ice cream? This was the way it should be, not too sweet, with a powdery, crumbly texture.

Fremiets revisited

Fremiets 2004 Domaine Jean Boillot Volnay Premier Cru

I wrote about this wine in my post of 25.10.10, and last weekend we revisited it at a more leisurely pace over dinner. We paired it with hare on the grounds that Burgundy is supposed to like game, although perhaps in retrospect and at least in relation to this wine, that should be qualified to game birds. Hare turned out to be much stronger than we expected, with a liverish taste and texture (admittedly ours was a bit well-done) quite like venison, and definitely too much for this fine, fragrant Volnay. In the end, we decided it was much better enjoyed on its own, after dinner.

The bouquet is dominated by notes of raspberry and orange, beautiful red fruit aromatics. There’s a little bit of a whiff of childhood about it for me, as the sweet, slightly boiled fruit reminds me of Rowntree’s fruit pastilles and, later on, the distinguished fruit boilings we were given at the end of our dinner at Per Se. Boiled fruit is often cited as a negative quality in “cooked” New World wines, but subtly and in such a fine structure as here, it can be an attractive quality.

Given time, notes of black tea come through prominently amid the fruit. Hints of other typically Burgundian qualities, such as leafiness and game, are never more than very residual qualities. I found it becoming meaty last time (not gamey), but that doesn’t stand out at all this time – ah, the vagaries of tasting. It has a very soft mouthfeel, which suggests to me that it is not a wine that will go on for ever and ever, and when we last drank this, it was felt it was probably a wine for early consumption. On the other hand, TNB ( http://www.finewinediary.com/index.php ) finds it still too young, and I am intrigued to know how it will age. Will the aromatics simply fade out with the soft tannins, leaving little behind, in which case it should certainly be drunk now? Or are those primary fruits going to change with the rich acid into attractive secondary qualities?

There are still two bottles at home. We will give the Fremiets the benefit of time and the doubt and report back in a few years.

Bordeaux Dinner 11.11.10.

These notes were taken over dinner at Hewat’s in Causewayside, Edinburgh. Everyone associates Bordeaux with powerful, earthy red wine, but the whites tonight were a salutary reminder that - when you can find it - white Bordeaux can be stunningly good. As for the reds, the left-bank classed growths from the 90s generally felt still a little hard and tannic, while those from the 80s were becoming more open and attractive.  

I was struggling so much to keep up with notes on the wines that I rather neglected the (competent but uninspiring) dinner.

Moët et Chandon Grand Vintage 2000

A champagne aperitif. Not very bready, really a mix of green fruit and buttercream, a delicious balance of cream and acid with a “not very ferocious” lemon character. Definitely showing Chardonnay character, even without the real toastiness Chardonnay often supports, this is quite a cut up from the Moet NV. Very pleasant to drink now, this no doubt has the potential to be a deliciously rich drink ten years hence.

WHITE

Château de Fieuzal 1999 Pessac-Léognan

A mix of oak and candles on the nose in a fine, delicate structure. It tastes older than its contemporary, the Louvière, and seems a fairly classic example of Sémillon character, although it is made from equal amounts of Sauvignon and Sémillon. Like the Louvière, a brilliant match for our smoked salmon starter. Evolves relatively little over the evening.

Château La Louvière 1999 Pessac-Léognan

Even lighter than the Fieuzal, to begin with there is a relatively small amount of oak in a predominantly citric bouquet, and a slight oiliness on the palate. As the evening progresses, it shows a variety of herby and woody notes (I thought of thyme and pencils), but most prominently gooseberries (classic Sauvignon character) in an otherwise very floral bouquet. The Louvière is 85% Sauvignon to 15% Sémillon, and the dominance of Sauvignon clearly shows through.

Château Bouscaut 1967 Cru Classé Pessac-Léognan

I wrote about the ‘89 Bouscaut in my posting of 5 November, and have since been persuaded to “go old” and try the ’67. The colour is extraordinary for an ostensibly white wine, between apricot and pink. It is exceedingly smooth, with gentle notes of almond, orange, dried apricot and toasted butter. There is no trace of the lemon quality left that lingered in our ’89. Beautifully mature, it doesn’t feel like it’s a bit past its peak.

Domaine de Chevalier 1983 Cru Classé Pessac-Léognan

Still very fresh for a wine of this age, it begins by offering lemony notes along with a surprising saline quality. It has quite a fine structure, with sharp acid. A few woody notes emerge, and then – in the manner of the Louviére, but more powerfully – it becomes highly floral, as part of what I’m now assuming to be a classic Bordeaux Sauvignon style – in fact, it is made from 70% Sauvignon and 30% Sémillon. This wine is from one of the very few Bordeaux estates to be called domaine instead of château.

RED

The multiplication of Bordeaux classification systems can occasionally confuse, and it is worth noting that, for example, the Smith Haut Lafitte is a premier cru in the Graves classification (since Pessac-Léognan is a sub-region of Graves), and not in the 1855 classification of the Médoc (which nevertheless does include Graves wines). All the other reds of this evening are from the Médoc and do fall under the 1855 classification, bar the two Soutards, which are right bank wines measured by the Saint-Émilion classification.

Château Smith Haut Lafitte 1994 Pessac-Léognan Premier Cru

The Smith Haut Lafitte still seems fresh, and even a bit closed. It has fairly thick tannins, black fruit, hot wood, no real secondary notes yet. I found this to be the most simple of the reds, but there was at least one vote for it as wine of the evening. I suspect a few years careful aging might make it a very different wine.

Château Langoa-Barton 1994 Saint-Julien Troisième Cru

An absolutely classic Bordeaux nose of cassis and cigar box, followed by softer notes of lead pencils on the palate. It still feels a shade too young, but has more to offer than the Haut-Lafitte, and is certainly at the beginning of its drinking window.

Château Langoa-Barton 1996 Saint-Julien Troisième Cru

1996 was a better vintage in the Médoc than 1994, and that shows through very clearly when comparing the two Langoas. The 1996 has a similar but more complex nose with leafy notes, and an attractive smokiness also showing though the classic cassis and cigars. Over the evening, the 1996 goes on to exhibit a perfumed quality before, interestingly, entering a dumb phase, which may suggest it has quite a lot more development to do.

Château Pontet-Canet 1995 Pauillac Cinquième Cru

A fairly heavy nose, with notes of gravel, earth, wood and, eventually, beef stew among the black fruit. Powerful, tannic, too young, needs time.

Château d’Armailhac 1995 Pauillac Cinquième Cru

Another 1995, this is again a bit too young, although this is less obvious than with the Pontet-Canet. Lighter than the Pontet-Canet too, with floral notes but an overall less complex, less attractive nose.

Château Pichon-Longueville 1989 Pauillac Deuxième Cru

Fairly classic Cabernet character, the sort of sweet cassis that can evoke Ribena. Also some lovely, unusual curry spice notes in a juicy, very smooth structure. More developed and considerably more attractive than the previous two. Definitely one of the best reds of the evening.

Château Leoville-Barton 1988 Saint-Julien Deuxième Cru

Gravelly with notes of tobacco, and mouth-wateringly acidic. N1 thinks it is too acidic – certainly it calls for a good steak, at least at this age. Powerful fruit dominated by a mineral character, I probably would have guessed this were from the Graves in a blind tasting. Got more votes than any other as the best wine of the evening.

Château Lagrange 1982 Saint-Julien Troisième Cru

Intense cassis with subsidiary vegetal and tobacco notes. Extremely smooth palate. This is drinking beautifully now, but as a serious wine from such a good vintage I would also expect it to be able to go on for a good long time yet. Lovely structure.

Château Beychevelle 1986 Saint-Julien Quatrième Cru

Sadly, just a touch corked, this was the only bad wine of the evening. Still plenty of good qualities, such as liquorice and black tea, show though, advertising an attractive wine underneath. I’m not sure of the “wet leaves of Autumn” note is part of the wine per se, or the corkiness.

Château Soutard 1970 Grand Cru Classé Saint-Émilion

Notes of plum in tomato sauce, this is very moreish if perhaps a little faded. The Soutard is our first right bank wine of the evening and it shows in the soft fruit, more rounded character, although the very smooth character is also a function of age.

Château Soutard 1990 Grand Cru Classé Saint-Émilion

This is a stunning wine, showing much better than its very much older brother. The bouquet is a mixture of liquorice, classic “wet dog” and highly floral aromatics – quite a complex blend at the beginning of its drinking window.

DESSERT

Château Lafaurie-Peyraguey 1997 Premier Cru Sauternes

Repaint the house! – is my initial thought (admittedly after 16 other mostly unspat tasting measures) on smelling this premier cru sweetie, as the luscious apricot fruit has alcoholic notes so intense it evokes housepaint. There’s so much power here, in a wine very young for what it is. A real botrytis beauty, with subtleties no doubt destined to emerge, but for now, I would give this some cellar time.  

Fortification for salarymen

Experience (multiple visits) continues to suggest that Sushiya remains Edinburgh’s best Japanese restaurant. I am especially partial to their vegetable tempura which, at its best, comes as a work of art with crispy batter clinging to the vegetable in pendant, alien forms. I confess it wasn’t quite so artistic on our visit last week – no strange branches of batter at improbable angles - but it still tasted as good. Shame that our sushi rice was a little tired, and had probably been around for a while, but everything else was lovely.

Japanese-style eggplant came marinated in soy, ginger, spring onion and bonito flakes. Absolutely delicious, even if it needed to warm up a little, as it came fridge cold. The marinade gave me a very vivid taste memory of Boston’s stellar Japanese restaurant O Ya.

Grilled ox-tongue skewers came with a peppery marinade, and a slice of lemon. The marinade was spot-on; the lemon was a mistake, as the lemon juice rather swamped the surprisingly light flavour of the meat. I am sure ox tongue isn’t always so chewy, but it tasted good and I don’t consider the texture to have been a problem.

A bowl of their traditional ramen, the heart of our meal, comes steaming and full of goodies, including bean spouts, bamboo shoots (surprisingly sweet), half an egg, pork (which has been in some kind of sweet marinade) and of course the ramen noodles themselves, in a beige broth tasting of miso and egg. This hearty kind of food, a defence against the ferocious northern Japanese winter, is the counterpoint of the image of Japanese cuisine as being composed of sculpted, precious little cuts of raw fish on miniature roundels of rice. 

We’ve had a lot of fun in the last couple of years learning about sake. Sushiya doesn’t give one much choice in the matter, since sake culture has yet to reach Edinburgh (unlike London, where it can feel there is nary a street without a Japanese restaurant, and sake lists can be very developed). The Hakushika Ginjo is a fairly low-end sake, frankly a little rough, short on the palate, with slight (fairly typical) notes of melon and cucumber. But every sake lover has to start somewhere, and for the time being, this is what there is in Edinburgh.

Dessert was green tea ice cream, matcha-heavy and not too sweet. Lovely.  

Sushiya does really look the part; I’ve never been to Tokyo, but the narrow room with high tables, barstools, TV playing unsubtitled Japanese TV and a counter behind which you can see sushi getting prepared correspond exactly to how I imagine a noodle bar ought to look. It’s small, cosy and sometimes steaming. You wouldn’t want to linger here; it feels more like a fast-turnover sort of place that, in Japan, would be fortifying salarymen against another epic shift in the office. 

The many forms of lemon

Château Bouscaut Cru Classé de Graves 1989 Pessac-Léognan

Chardonnay – from dry, oaky white Burgundy to exuberant, tropical New Worlders – is a basic touchstone of wine drinking, and the first grape variety many people learn to identify by taste. It takes oak aging very well, and while there is a wave of unoaked Chardonnays now coming out of the New World, Chardonnay remains the natural, default assumption when oak taste is prominent in a white wine.  It can come as a surprise to the palate when an unidentified, oaky white does not otherwise correspond to a Chardonnay profile.

That was my instinctive reaction when I tasted this wine, even though I knew perfectly well there was no Chardonnay in it. It is dry white Bordeaux, which in general is made from Sémillon, Sauvignon Blanc or, as on the case of this wine, a blend of the two. It smelled initially of lemons and dusty oak. Now lemon must be the most common tasting note of all in a white wine; probably more white wines than not could be plausibly described as having lemony notes. (I once got in trouble for writing elsewhere that one wine offered in a tasting “smells fresh and lemony; but so does washing-up liquid, and this is not much better, so let’s move on.”) And Chardonnay, while it is more classically fuller, tending towards melon and in some cases tropical fruits, may often have lemony notes to offer.

The Château Bouscaut ’89 did not remind me of Chardonnay at all, despite its oak and lemons. Where Chardonnay would be rich and melon-like, the Bouscaut is dry, not full. It has a very slight smoky note rather integrated with the oak, and a waxy texture that makes me think of candles in churches. Waxiness is a fairly classic Sémillon note, and it can come across in Tokay, too.

This is a good wine. Better vintages of it from the sixties are still being drunk (by the proprietor of Raeburn Fine Wines). No doubt the lemony quality in such old wines will have become quite attenuated, hopefully against the growth of attractive secondary qualities in among the wood, although it might by then be wood and not a great deal else. As for us, it went surprisingly well with our quiche lorraine (and egg can be a bit of a wine killer), although it struggled against the cumin in our sautéed cabbage, and did not perform particularly well against the chestnuttiness of roasted Red Hokkaido squash or the very evocative “Autumn woods” taste it took me a while to place of roasted Harlequin Squash. 

Burgundy dinner 25.06.10

These are notes I took earlier this year at a Burgundy dinner in the Vintner’s Rooms, Edinburgh. Looking back, it seems that notes of tea and coffee made more consistent appearances than the famous Burgundian farmyard smells. The Fremiets is showing especially well now, and after the dinner we acquired 3 bottles for early consumption, but coming from a mediocre vintage, we wouldn’t expect it to have a distinguished long-term cellar life. The Clos St.Jacques is a beautiful and powerful creation with a potentially long cellar life ahead.  

WHITE

Corton Charlemagne Grand Cru Rapet 2004

This seems rather closed, rather too young, and I am also surprised by how unoaky it is. I can’t perceive it as doing much more than sweet pea, with a slight woodiness emerging in cream. Clearly a fine wine in waiting, I think a few more years in the cellar may be in order for this one.

Drouhin Meursault Perrières Premier Cru 2002

A much darker gold hue than the Rapet indicates a longer stay in oak, which very much comes across on the bouquet as well. Altogether it offers a rather riotous nose, and I struggle for comparators, going through glühwein and spiced pears before settling on cinnamon and Malvern pudding.

RED

Hudelot Noellat Clos de Vougeot 1983

Burnt rubber and strawberries quickly give way to violets wrapped in parma ham, then pencil shavings emerge, before being substituted by prunes and old age. Pinot Noir does not make the longest-lived of all fine wines, and this wine, clearly at the far end of its drinking window, breaks down before us in about 20 minutes.

Les Groiselles 2002 Domaine Digoia-Royer Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru

A very bright shade of cherry red, this, still looking rather young. Does do a bit of farmyard, a bit of Chinese cooking, but still seems young and ungiving; may have another 10 years to go before it’s really firing on all cylinders.

Les Narbantons 2002 Maurice Ecard Savigny-les-Beaune Premier Cru

This darker wine offers a classically Burgundian stink, rustic and tar driven, a real muddy fields, pheasants in garages wine. Definitely one to go with the stronger pieces of game.

Fremiets 2004 Domaine Jean Boillot Volnay Premier Cru

Quite a startlingly attractive nose on this wine, a very aromatic mix of raspberries and roses. Also quite structured, it develops decisively from the initially aromatic nose to a more meaty (but not gamey) one; cured ham rather than hung grouse. Pinot Noir is typically characterised as making wines that smell of raspberries or strawberries, but I find strawberry a much more common note; this is the only one of tonight’s wines that I can really say smells of raspberry.

Lafarge Clos de Chenes 1994 Volnay Premier Cru

A furious debate rages at table about whether this wine is tannic or tart; I’d say tannic by the standards of the previous reds, with distinct coffee notes.

Les Vaucrains 1993 Chauvenet Nuits St.Georges

Again, I find this wine to be driven by a strong coffee note. The fruit is less prominent, which is not surprising given its age, but it has an attractive earthy, mineral quality.

Les Perrières 1993 Chauvenet Nuits St.Georges

This wine, of the same vintage as the Vaucrains, also proceeds from the neighbouring vineyard. Given that, I’d perhaps expect them to be more similar than they actually are. However, the Perrières has quite a volatile nose, again offering Chinese food, and whereas the Vaucrains was coffee-like, this is much more reminiscent of black tea.

Clos St.Jacques 2002 Sylvie Esmonin Gevrey-Chambertin Premier Cru

A lot of power and concentration is immediately apparent in this wine, both perfumed and earthy (again, rather than gamey as such). Having noticed either tea or coffee qualities in the previous three wines, the Clos St.Jacques noticeably does both. Gives a lot now, but feels like it still has a lot hidden from view.

Opal Fruits! Made to make your mouth water!

Viña Esmeralda 2009, Catalunya, Torres 

“Esmeralda” means “emerald”, but this is a pretty pale yellow, with a green tint, like many a Sauvignon. It’s very fragrant on the nose, an unusual meeting of grapes and grapefruit, with the perfume of roses. It’s quite tart in the palate, with a fair flavour, even as it seems to lack depth or concentration. There’s not much body or length, and it’s very much an up-front experience, even if, after a while, I decide it’s leaving a leafy aftertaste not unlike green tea. 

Actually, I’m surprised by how good it is, for a not much above entry-level wine. I used to drink this as a student, and our happy memories of what then seemed to be lovely wine usually turn out to be very rosé-tinted reflections now betrayed by our more educated palates. Consulting some very fusty tasting notes that were long ago scrubbed off the Edinburgh University Wine Appreciation website, I discover I found the 2000 vintage to veer towards the confected, likening it to candied sugars or Appletise. This leads me to believe that either the 2009 vintage is very good, or simply that it is still very fresh. In fact, when, after 24 hours, I take off the vacuum seal, I discover it has acquired something of a confected character, now smelling of lime Opal Fruits (“made to make your mouth water!”)

It would be (and is, in many a seafood restaurant) a good match for white fish or shellfish, fulfilling more cheaply the function of the often sadly overpriced Albariño. It doesn’t do anything different in the glass, so one glass can feel like enough. On the other hand, the unusual notes do mean that it is said to be one of the few wines that can successfully accompany artichokes. It is also a good example of varietal character. It’s made from 85% Moscatel (whither the unusual grape-like character, an unusual exception to the paradox that wine, while made from grapes, rarely tastes of them) and 15% Gewürtztraminer (whither the classic grapefruit and rose petals).

Plum and rosemary crumble

Gran Recosind Criança (Crianza) 1999 Cellers Santa María

I’ve been drinking a lot of this recently, which I think is a steal at £11 from my favourite wine merchant, Raeburn Fine Wines. It’s a gem from Spain’s DO Ampurdán – Costa Brava (Empordà - Costa Brava in Catalan), up against the French border, where the Pyrenees meet the Med. This area is not known for world-class wines, as opposed to Priorat and Penedés back along the Spanish coast, and being a mass tourism area, it produces its fair share of mediocre rosé sold on easily to the tourist market (hello again, Provence), but this is classically styled Spanish crianza ideal for those of us who like a bit of age on our wines.

The smoothed-out fruit on the bouquet, a mixture of plum and raspberry, immediately gives away the fact that it is an aged wine, and it comes with a whiff of the classic Spanish-beloved American oak vanilla. On the palate, the tannins are smooth, and it has the feel of a mellow wine not destined to be cellared much longer. N1 insists it tastes strongly of rosemary, and we compromise on plum and rosemary crumble.

I could believe this was Rioja (the soft, plummy fruit and that American-style vanilla are classic Rioja characteristics), and it is a surprise to discover there is no Tempranillo in it. In fact, it’s a blend of 80% Cariñena (that’s Carignan to the French, but it is actually believed to have originated in the Spanish province of Navarra) and 20% Garnacha (that’s Grenache to the French, but it is believed to have originated in the Spanish province of Aragón). You can find Garnacha in Rioja, but not Cariñena, which is too busy making the rosé for the tourists.

Toujours at the rosé factory

Provence Masterclass, Edinburgh, 6.10.10

I’ve never been at a tasting with seven different rosé wines before, and I confess to being no great fan of the stuff. I have heard rumours that there are rosé wines that mature and show development – I have been told on good authority that the Château Musar Rosé is one such – but have yet to taste any myself. Since 78% of the wine produced in Provence is rosé, it only seems appropriate that it formed the backbone of this tasting. However, it has not much improved my opinion of the stuff, even if a couple of the rosés we tasted were above the calibre of those that thoughtlessly appear at summer barbecues; it just doesn’t seem to be a style of wine capable of rising beyond a certain, fairly low level. What was more of a surprise were some unexpectedly attractive reds; I’m sure it wasn’t just relief at finally getting beyond the torrent of rosé. Still, all kudos to Rose (no relation to the wine) Murray Brown for putting together a tasting that gave us a good sense of what the region has to offer. Hitherto, it seems, the vignerons of Provence have found a ready market in a relatively undemanding tourist trade, and so have grown lazy; but there are welcome signs that may be beginning to change.

WHITE

AC Cru Classé, Côtes de Provence, Rimauresque Blanc 2009

With pear drops and green leaf on the nose, I couldn’t guess what grape variety this was made from. In any case, it didn’t seem to be very good, bringing back memories of pub wine, with a lemony, slightly soapy palate. I speculated it might be either Sauvignon Blanc or Chenin Blanc, but in fact it 90% Rolle / 10% Ugni Blanc. Rolle is the same as Vermentino, a rather promising variety, while Ugni Blanc is the same as Trebbiano, a not very promising variety. (Italian varieties are prevalent in Provence thanks to the not-so-far-away influence of Sardinia.) I would have expected something better from a Cru Classé, but that may not mean too much in terms of Provençal white wine – I couldn’t get past the olfactory association of pub wine.

AC Cassis, Clos Sainte Magdeleine 2008

Cassis is a small appellation around the port of the same name, not so far from Marseille. The typical local wine is supposed to be a herby white ideal for accompanying the local Bouillabaisse soup. This wine, blended from Marsanne, Clairette and Ugni Blanc, is said to be a good example of the style, although I struggled to pick up any of those apparently typical herby notes. The bouquet is creamy with the faintest, questionable hint of oak aging – I never learned if it had actually spent time in barrel. The palate is light, pleasant, and peachy, if also short and rather simple. I was unimpressed to learn it retails in the UK at £16.75, considering what else one could find for the same money – although these days £17 stretches considerably less than it used to in wine, as in everything. Still, given that white wines make up only 4% of the wine produced in Provence, perhaps we are lucky to be tasting any whites at all; and those that are there can command a premium for rarity. It’s a shame I can’t summon more enthusiasm for this wine, as the photos on the website make the estate and the area look gorgeous, and now they probably aren’t going to invite me.

http://www.clossaintemagdeleine.fr/

ROSÉ

AC Coteaux Varois en Provence, Château D’Ollieres Rosé 2009

Bit of a blank, this wine; I could detect almost nothing on the nose. The palate was similarly void, lighter than most whites, with just a slight tannic tang. At least it wasn’t offensive in any way, and it gave me a new appreciation of the two whites. Clearly one for fresh, thoughtless drinking.

AC Coteaux D’Aix-en-Provence, Les Quatre Tours “Signature” Rosé 2009

At least there is something showing up on the nose here: peach melba yoghurt, which I would always expect to be a white wine note. On the palate, it is short, simple, relatively sweet and swiftly forgettable. The word “signature” in the name was always going to be a bad sign.

AC Côtes de Provence, St.Tropez Cuvée Carte Noir 2009 Les Maîtres Vignerons de St.Tropez

This has a little more bouquet and a little more body. It smells of a mixture of grapes (a strangely unusual tasting note in wine), dilute blackcurrant juice and coconut. With a little more going on in it than the previous two rosés, I wouldn’t object to a glass of this at the proverbial picnic on the terrace. This wine comes from one of France’s sunniest spots, and the long sunlight may have brought the fruit out, giving it that extra bit of flavour for the same runoff of juice.

AC Côtes de Provence, Sainte Marguerite Rosé 2009

A lovely colour, this wine; while the previous two rosés have been an identical shade of salmon pink, this is tinted more like onion-skin orange; beautiful. But not much flavour to boast of; there is a tiny touch of pepper (that, I guess, will be the Grenache in this Grenache / Cinsault / Mourvedre blend) in some white-wine-style citrus. Not very exciting. From another coastal estate near La Londe les Maures.

AC Côtes de Provence, Domaine Sainte Lucie “Made in Provence” Rosé 2009

From the same AC as the St.Tropez and the Sainte Marguerite, but this time from deep inland in the Sainte-Victoire mountain area, the influence of a cooler climate is very noticeable in that it is much lighter-bodied. It is quite fresh on the nose, with an attractive note falling between grapefruit and orange. Definitely a cut up, a pleasure to sip, and £1.50 cheaper than the Sainte Marguerite.

AC Côtes de Provence, Château Coussin Sainte Victoire Rosé 2009

Another wine from the Sainte-Victoire mountains, this is more of a grey-salmon colour. Sometimes the best thing about rosé wines are the attractive shades they can assume, although this is also the most enjoyable of the evening’s rosés. What is most obvious on the nose here is that it has had a small amount of oak aging, and comes across as almost Chardonnay-like, although with added white pepper.

AC Côtes de Provence, Château Miraval “Pink Floyd” Rosé 2009

Apparently Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” was recorded at this Château, hence the name – I suppose we cannot begrudge them a connection with a rosé wine. This one has a more intense reddish colour than any of the previous rosés. The nose is very clearly strawberry. It is fuller-bodied than any of the previous rosés, although I really preferred the zing in the Coussin Sainte Victoire.

RED

AC Côtes de Provence, Château Rimauresque Rouge 2006

A dark but not entirely opaque wine, the nose is a pleasant mix of cumin, jam, and smoke. Not very tannic, it is quite fresh and immediately drinkable, probably without any cellar potential, but pleasant at the moment. A picnic alternative for those who don’t want the rosé.

AC Bandol, Domaine de la Tour du Bon 2006

Notes of parma ham, leather and lavender, together with a little dust from the oak on the palate. Tannin and acid in moderation in a wine that is moderate rather than huge, but has attractive flavours. Although this does come from a very hot coastal area, the fruit is not baked (more jellied). Made from what one might call a French country blend of 55% Mourvedre, 25% Grenache, 15% Cinsault and 5% Carignan. Very pleasant.

AC Bandol, Château de Pibarnon 2004

A very similar shade as the Domaine de la Tour du Bon, only going pale at the rim with age. The fruits on the bouquet are more dried than jellied here, mixed in with some herbal backnotes. Still fairly tannic despite the age, so it ought to be aereated before serving. It’d be lovely with veal or venison. This is made from 90% Mourvedre / 10% Grenache.

Coteaux des Baux de Provence, Domaine de Trevallon Rouge 2000

Rather a grand wine (with a bit of age on it) to end the evening. It has a well-mixed bouquet of cherry tunes and beetroot; given a bit of time, wet slate and mushrooms emerge. Concentrated but with very smooth tannins, this goes down a treat now, but would not object to more aging.

Italian Wine Dinner at Martin Wishart’s

This dinner was hosted on Monday 27.09 at one of Edinburgh’s one (aspiring to two) Michelin-starred restaurants, Martin Wishart. Zubair of Raeburn Fine Wines supplied and introduced the wines, and it was these, and not the food, which really drove a fascinating evening. The restaurant sometimes seemed to be struggling with the number of covers all getting the same dish at the same time, and the re-pours of the wines for some diners seemed frankly arbitrary (which is to say, I never got any). The service at some of the finer restaurants can seem trapped between the Scylla of stilted formality and Charybdis of false bonhomie, but at least at Martin Wishart the formality is unobtrusive and the bonhomie not too forced. 

Prosecco di Valdobbiadine, Casa Coste Piane, Santo Stefano

Prosecco is Italy’s answer to cava, a light, simple sparkling wine, made in the Veneto. This rather cloudy prosecco is superior by prosecco standards – there is a touch of champagne breadiness to the bouquet and, as it opens out, a gently buttery note joins the green fruit. It is very dry for a kind of wine I would more usually associate with slack sweetness. The cloudiness comes about as it is fermented in bottle and left on its lees. Coming from 100 year-old vines, it must be one of the more distinguished expressions of prosecco available – however, at £11.99 a bottle, it’s not much more expensive than rather more ordinary prosecco.   

The prosecco was accompanying the amuse bouches. For once, I can thank my allergy to crustaceans; instead of crab marie rose, I was given a beetroot macaroon with horseradish in the middle; it looked like a tiny purple hamburger, and was quite lovely. There was also a little slab of pastry, cheese and olive (gruyere en croûte) and a delicious, gooey, tiny deep-fried slab of pig’s trotter on toast.

2003 Solea DOC, Azienda Agricola Roagna, Barolo, Piedmont

This is a wine that confused me – white Barolo. It was the unusual deep orange, almost rosé hue that first alerted me that something strange was up. Although Barolo is a village and not a grape variety, I’d always understood that it only produced red wines from the Nebbiolo grape variety. That turns out to be half right; this wine is made from 80% Blanc de Nebbiolo, that is, the juice of the grapes but not the skins, where the colour and tannins reside, and 20% Chardonnay. The nose is also very unusual. It starts off without any obvious fruit quality, instead reminding me of liqourice and corn flakes. Nor is there any oak taste per se, although it does have a texture I associate with oak-aged wines. It turns out to have spent an amazing five years in oak barrels, hence the deep colour; however, all old barrels, hence the lack of oak flavour. What is most surprising of all is the way it develops, covering a much further distance than most wines do over an evening; it becomes gravelly and dusty (that oak again) and with time, develops an orange note that reminds me intensely of Puligny-Montrachet. By the end of the evening, it tastes like I have a glass of white Burgundy. 

The Roagna was set against smoked Shetland salmon. Wishart’s smoke their own salmon, and I have to admit it was extremely good. It came with a fine foam of konbu vinegar supplying an idiosyncratically Japanese taste, and a sweet and vinegary soused pickle, which was frankly too strong both for the salmon and the wine. 

2009 Contadino Rosso IGT, Frank Cornelissen, Solicchiata, Etna

Turkish Delight in a compost heap, cloves in rotten fruit? On a slightly more prosaic note, cherries are the most accurate fruit comparison to the bouquet, but this fine wine offers up some intriguing notes. Sicily is said to be home to some of Italy’s most extraordinary wines, and this is certainly unusual. Coming from vineyards that never had to be re-grafted as a defence against phylloxera (the bug never quite made it to this very arid area), it is made from old vines of obscure local varieties, most importantly Nerello Mascalese. I find it remarkable that such a young wine can taste so like a well-aged one. It has been produced according to strict organic principles, and I suppose the lack of oak aging probably allows it seem smoothly older than it is. The palate is as unusual as the bouquet, and we come up with cabbage toothpaste and a passing note of rosewater. Letting it hang around in the glass for a while, it passes through a Darjeeling tea phase, then a powerful note of lead pencil, and ends up reminding me of black pepper in balsamic vinegar, which we like on strawberries. I was fascinated by this wine, though D.L. thought it was well-made but simple, and L.S. (among others in the room, I think) found it downright distasteful.

I was enjoying the wine so much I paid less attention than I might have to the roast monkfish and red wine risotto accompanying it (at this dinner, the food accompanied the wine, not vice versa). Still, it went well enough, monkfish being a stronger white fish, and the wine being light for a red. The risotto was very tasty, although a little underdone.

1998 Barolo Brunate, Poderi Marcarini, La Morra, Piedmont

Rather more classic wine territory now, provoking sighs of relief from some people. What I found really striking was the move from a very young wine that seemed already aged to perfection to a much older wine that still feels young, and which I would want to cellar rather than drink now. It comes from one of the “Grand Cru” terroirs of Barolo, Brunate, and it is a powerful, structured wine. It is fleshy, fruity (dark fruits), creamy and tannic, smelling of tar and violets, with two years of oak aging that show though. The fact that it doesn’t go through a gamut of transformations over the evening as the previous wine did underlines the fact that it probably isn’t at its best yet.

Barolo hits at much the same sort of food area as red Burgundy, and this went perfectly with the roast (but quite rare) grouse.

2005 “Ka!” Passito IGT, Viticoltori de Conciliis, Prignano Cilento, Campania

Chocolate, vanilla, and walnut dessert whip were all tasting notes I toyed with for this sweet wine until, along I think with the whole table, settling on salted caramel. Most unusually for a sweet wine, it seemed to have virtually no fruit character at all, but eventually I found a little lychee in with the chocolate sauce. Lovely, in any case, not too sweet, with a good measure of acid to balance against the sugar. It’s made from classis sweet grapes, a blend of Moscato (Italian Muscat) and Malvasia. You wouldn’t want it beside a slab of chocolate ice cream, but it’s ideal with the pastry dish Wishart’s have for us.

Dessert is tarte aux pomme with a glob of caramel ice cream. The tarte seems just a little tired, as the pastry was clearly made earlier, although as D.L. remarked, it’s all a question of perspective; if it turned up at his canteen at work, he would certainly go for seconds. 

The petit fours that come with coffee are fun. There is a delicious rubbery lemon bubble that bursts in the mouth releasing lemon cream. We first encountered these sort of bubbles two years ago in Spain at Arzak (black olive filled with olive liquid) and, even better, Martín Berasategui (squid filled with squid ink – how they managed to seal up the squid ball I don’t know). Then there’s a capuchin hat of biscuit, black chocolate and white chocolate, a boiled sweet that is clearly made out of strawberry jam, and a chocolate and pistachio macaroon that once again looks like a tiny hamburger. It’s these sorts of culinary odds and ends, not the main courses, where restaurants really get to show off their creativity, which is why tasting menus can work so well.