My friend Nick - in memoriam

Like many of you no longer in the first flush of youth I have lost many friends over the years, and I will never cease to remember them, and mourn for them, as long as I live. That I choose one of them for a named post is due to the fact that last year as a result of his and his wife's kind hospitality I spent just over seven months living with them every day, sharing the ups and downs - and many plates of food and glasses of wine - and became even closer friends than before.

Nick was a war baby, born in northern England in 1943 in, effectively, a single parent home, though his father was an intermittent presence early in his life. His mother, to whom he was devoted, brought him up amid post-war hardship in Leeds, where he eventually almost by default went to art school; he found his calling there. After graduation he made his way to London, eventually becoming part of the graphic artist/designer scene and ultimately creating his own company and carving a name for himself in what was then a field in an embryonic state. He was highly successful, creating some enduring logo and product designs (I've included two of my favourites) of which he was justifiably very proud. An unfortunate accident and the late 80s-early 90s recession ended his active professional career too early and introduced him to a life of infirmity and pain.

When we first met at the wedding of mutual friends in Italy in September 1996 the only hint to this was his walking stick, which almost looked like an accessory to this big, jovial man with the twinkly eyes; he enjoyed life to the full even if he couldn't walk as fast as everyone else. We discovered we lived quite near to one another in London and met up not long after we got back, quickly bonding (wine is only a temporary facilitator, you little cynics!) and becoming friends. Over the years we shared many happy, positive moments, but also sad or difficult ones, always with a glass of something and the terrific goodwill that only true friendship brings. My decampment from London and the less regular contact only made our few get-togethers more highly prized and enjoyed.

Nick's health problems got no better with age - do they ever - and he was forced to undergo an operation on, I believe, his spine. The pain, however, remained ever-present and mobility worsened, with him eventually having to use a wheelchair and/or a walking frame, making going out a test of endurance and limiting visits to his beloved pubs as his apartment block had no lift. Still he did not give up, gritting his teeth and venturing forth on a much reduced basis.

When my world caved in on me in early 2015 Nick and Jen (his wife) immediately offered me a bed in their home in Maida Vale as and when I needed it, if I wanted it, when I wanted it; in mid-January 2016 I moved into the spare room of their two bedroom flat and stayed with them as a guest (for free, yes, in London, where unscrupulous landlords charge hundreds of pounds per month for miserable rooms in horrid buildings in less than salubrious areas) until shortly before Nick's death. They were kind, understanding and generous hosts throughout.

Nick loved his home, and his neighbourhood, with a passion, proud of how far the little boy from Leeds had come. He loved the buildings, the pubs, the people, and he had many friends in the area from all walks of life. Maida Vale featured in his conversations and his photographs, its hostelries in his entertainment wish list, it was his home.

I called Nick a professional Yorkshireman because he loved to occasionally pretend he was a dim, somewhat hapless, northerner. Those who knew him even slightly were not fooled for he was never dim, but had an unconventional, inquisitive mind, a massive sense of humour and many interests. And if Yorkshire folk are meant to be tight with words and money Nick was neither, as he was both a good story (and joke) teller and massively generous.

In case you get the feeling I'm describing some latter day saint, or viewing my friend through rose-tinted spectacles, let me disabuse you of the notion. Nick had his faults, as do we all, and could be short-tempered and rude (he once called one of his customers a cunt to his face, for example), especially to his nearest and dearest. He was sometimes grumpy, drank too much, sometimes ate and smoked more than was good for him; in short, he was human.

To me he will always be the intelligent, interested conversationalist wanting to know about new things, ready to take the piss out of me (and of himself), an off the wall humorous remark never far away. The big Yorkshireman with the world-class brain, the word-class smile, the world-class heart, may have left this earth but not our minds, where his memory is alive and kicking. To say that I miss him is an understatement.

As, indeed, I miss all my friends who are no longer alive; their absence is a burning hole in my soul and I think of them regularly. And no, friendship does not die because the other person is no longer alive, at least not for me.

A quite exceptional lunch continued

Having left you salivating, dreaming of what came next, I promise it was worth the wait:

Lamb shoulder, cooked for many hours sous-vide with trompette des morts mushrooms and a sauce from its own juices was utterly delicious and, though fatty, had a lovely melt in the mouth texture and  rich yet delicate taste. Not being a great fan of lamb, especially fatty, I was seriously impressed by this well-executed dish, which played very well with our next two wines.

Clos de Tart is a proper walled clos and a real monopole, belonging to only one owner, the Mommessin family, great Beaujolais negociants and producers. Thirty years ago Clos de Tart seemed a bit neglected and the wine was invariably lighter than its neighbours, but this is no longer the case. We were very fortunate to have two examples to taste, from the 1998 (a difficult vintage) and 1999 vintages.

5. The 1999, tasted first, had everything you would expect including deep colour (which I didn't!) but was a bit subdued, reserved, though very distinguished, full of red berries, excellent on nose and palate and very long; a gorgeous wine with life ahead of it.
6. The 1998 in contrast was more exuberant and up-front, ready, with more acidity and tannin, a complete, big wine but perhaps not as balanced and closer to the end of its life than its sibling, showing better with food than on its own.

The final savoury course was somewhat unusual for Greece - haunch of venison from northern Greece braised and served with fried potato gnocchi and a touch of truffle essence. Venison, local or otherwise, is not a meat that is commonly found in greek restaurants partly due to scarcity and, I think,  partly due to the Bambi effect; on the strength of this lunch it is a pity, as it is a versatile, tasty, healthy (lower fat) meat. Here it was cooked to perfection, soft and tasty, with the slight crunchiness in the gnocchi creating a bit of a texture contrast, and the potato taste complementing the meat nicely. My friend Anthony, sitting next to me, gave me some of his as well, as he felt full whereas I... better stop here rather than reveal my unfailingly greedy nature (as far as food is concerned).

The final red wine of the day ended up being two, as we were obviously appearing a bit underwatered and underprivileged, and they both came from the vineyard exactly next door to Close de Tart at the top of Morey. Clos des Lambrays is an amazing vineyard, to my mind the best in Morey,  that has produced some stupendous wines over the years and I was privileged thirty years ago to work with the last surviving of previous owners the Cosson family, the gentle giant that was Henri Cosson. I have tasted and enjoyed many vintages of this fine property, and was even allowed to sell four - 1958 (light, seductive, nearing the end of its life), 1951 (a big wine and much better than it had any right to be in an indifferent vintage), 1941 (a war vintage, light and insubstantial but still drinking beautifully in the late eighties) and 1938 (big, complex, with deep colour and endless nuances of pinot noir, gorgeous and long). When I opened my last bottle, which had suffered various indignities in transport and storage, in the early part of the 21st century a greek wine merchant present accused me of putting a fake label on it, as it was impossible for a wine that old to be so vibrant, more fool he. But this is part of another story to be told at a later date, perhaps.

7. The Clos des Lambrays 1999, lighter in colour, with amazing strawberry notes on the nose and palate, chewy, tasty, tannic and long was an excellent example from this vineyard, which has recently joined the Moet Hennessy etc. stable, as so many others before them. To my mind it lacks the incredible depth of the best of the Cosson era wines, but perhaps I'm being sentimental... then again, perhaps not.

8. The 2003 was a little extra treat, thrown in at the end of the red flights, just to keep the palate wet and to help the venison go down; it was so much better than a spoonful of sugar (pace Mary Poppins)! Served from a magnum - all the other wines were bottles - this was another cracker. Younger and from a magnum, this was 'darker colour, concentrated red berry nose, incredibly exuberant rich red fruit on palate, good acidity and tannins, long...'

I am very glad we looked at this as well, as it completed an incredible sextet of red wines which, with their similarities and differences - and remember, these vines grow within a few hundred metres around this tiny village, the Tart and Lambrays literally next to each other, use the same grape variety and similar production methods - illustrate why Burgundy is such a fascinating place, its best reds complex, subtle and beguiling. There is nowhere else like it.

If you thought that with the red wines gone we were nearly finished, think again, for it was time for dessert: a ball of passion fruit with

singed merengue, honey and coconut milk. Looking at the description on my menu I was prepared for disappointment, as often desserts in Greece are over-sweet, lacking texture and finesse, but I need not have worried. This little ball was beautiful in both taste and texture, complex but reassuring at the same time and very good indeed with our final wine.

9.  Chateau Yquem in Bordeaux is often referred to as the best or the most expensive white wine in the world, and it is certainly one of them. At its best capable of quite amazing richness, but complex and delicate, fine and never overpowering; our 1997 was inching in that direction. I wrote 'a nose full of complex raisin aromas, sweet, creme brûlée, honey and melon on the palate, long and lively, a unique experience among sweet wines.' To be honest, Yquem at its best - and this came close - is simply mind-blowing, a life-enhancing wine that justifies its very high price. Alas this too has ended up in corporate hands after several hundred years of ownership by one family, joining the LVMH stable like Lambrays. It is to be hoped that Yquem will not just evolve into a soul-less brand in years to come, part of a product portfolio of luxury goods for wealthy people; the 1997, first vintage under the new ownership certainly does not go down that route.

The end, as you probably deduced, was now approaching and we were served impeccable little (I assume homemade) chocolates and coffee - I had a good double espresso in a little glass cup.

10. And with the coffee came a distinguished Marc de Bourgogne (burgundian grappa for the uninitiated) from the next village along (Chambolle Musigny) and the great estate of Comte Georges de Vogue. This was a bit of a brute, with a massive, alcoholic nose, aggressive and coarse on the palate, strong and alcoholic. Marc in Burgundy, with very few exceptions, is coarse but I had hoped for a little more finesse from this estate. Of course by now my palate was also exhausted... perhaps a little tipsy as well, as the blurred photograph of the marc bottle may suggest!

By now you also are in need of a rest, if only from imagining what we lucky people 'suffered' through. I apologise for the missed photographs due entirely to me having too good a time and promise the next piece will not involve wine (or food) though, as always, it will contain bits of my inexhaustible wisdom...

A quite exceptional lunch

Wine is something that involves passion, both to make and to appreciate, and most people in the wine trade truly love what they do. It is not easy to make a lot of money working in wine, but there are other benefits: people who work with wine in one way or another have the great good fortune to attend rare events, both in their professional and private capacity, that are not available to people outside the trade, and drink some incredible wines. Of course interested amateurs can also have some cracking times and, if wealthy enough, taste wines that ordinary mortals can only read and dream about, but rarely do they have access to or knowledge of some of the more esoteric and interesting things insiders share.

Recently I was fortunate to be invited to one of these events, a spectacular lunch hosted by a friend who has been involved in gastronomy and wine since his days as a university student in Paris in the 1970s. Over the years he has amassed not just a wealth of knowledge about food and wine and co-founded the Greek Academy of Gastronomy, representing Greece on the board of the International Academy, but also created a superb wine cellar with the love of an amateur and the knowledge and keen eye of a professional. He has always bought wine that he would like to drink, albeit perhaps someday in the future, never for investment purposes, with his heart firmly in the European tradition; the value of this can vary from relatively day to day stuff to some extremely unusual, rare and sometimes very expensive bottles. And he likes nothing better than to share these with his friends, all like-minded souls.

The theme of his latest 'event' (held to celebrate the New Year and the feast day of saint John, after whom he is named) was the Grand Cru vineyards of Morey Saint Denis in Burgundy, an area that I have known and loved since the mid-1980s, and to share these he invited some of his closest wine buddies from the trade, the Academy and fringes, all either trade or knowledgeable, experienced wine lovers. What an event this turned out to be, held in Athens on a cold, quiet Sunday lunchtime in early January 2017 at the small, low-key but excellent Simul restaurant.

The restaurant is in a quiet residential street in the affluent district of Kolonaki, near the Hilton hotel. It occupies a minimalist but warm ground floor space elegantly done up, and in the middle of the Greek financial crisis is a brave new venture by a passionate young couple: he is the Head Chef and she runs Front of House. The service is friendly but efficient, the cooking accomplished and everyone is keen not only to please but to learn and improve; this makes a change from gastronomic destination restaurants that presume superiority and dislike criticism, constructive or otherwise.

But there was very little to criticise at the lunch, and this to reach perfection rather than to correct glaring errors - of those there were none. The menu, designed to accompany the wines, rather than the more normal other way around (incidentally our host is an acknowledged master at matching wine with food, widely admired for this by his friends the world over, including the current President of the International Academy), was relatively simple but beautifully executed and fulfilled its role.

The first dish to be served was a single fresh  grilled scallop on a bed of potato 'risotto' (mashed potato, flavoured with herbs and bits in it). To my mind scallops are better when pan fried and slightly caramelised, as it gives them a firmer texture, but this was nicely cooked, delicately flavoured and the accompanying mash was delicious despite the silly name.

To accompany this we were served two wines, both from Chablis and from the same producer, Raveneau, whose style of wine is more subtle, and for me representative of the area, as he does not use new oak:

1. Grand Cru Blanchot 2006, with marked difference between the two bottles tasted, the first of which was perhaps more evolved. My tasting notes read 'Rich and delicate Chablis Grand Cru nose, distinguished and minerally but slightly flat palate' (1st) and 'more restrained, bigger/more powerful' (2nd).

2. As a little extra treat, as we ploughed through the first one rather quickly, we were served a 1er Cru Butteaux from the same vintage, and it really was a treat despite being less highly rated. I noted a complex chardonnay nose, creamy but steely fruit with acidity on the palate and very long aftertaste, with the second bottle being fuller and 'all butter'.



Our excitement was growing now, as it was time for the main event, the Grand Cru wines of Morey St. Denis of which there were two absentees (Clos St. Denis and Bonnes Mares), perhaps to await future occasions... purely a suggestion! Morey is the second of the great villages going down the Cote d'Or from Dijon, mainly a red wine place as far as top wines are concerned and producing some very fine wines indeed. The next two wines were very much representative of the finest Morey can do and served with a  lovely fillet of greek veal with a madeira sauce and porcini mushrooms. The meat was beautifully tender and surprisingly tasty for veal, with the sauce and mushrooms completing the taste profile of the dish, not dominating as sometimes madeira sauce can do.

Ah, the wines, the wines, both from Clos de la Roche, from two of the best producers in the area over the last 30 years; different in style but not in excellence, two beauties (alas I neglected to photograph the bottles...):

3. Domaine Dujac 2000 was an explosion of pinot noir - delicate characteristic colour with an amazingly vibrant nose bursting with strawberry fruit. On the palate it had elegant but explosive endless fruit, for my taste typical of burgundian pinot noir at its best and with a very, very long aftertaste - quite exceptional and seductive, despite a somewhat difficult vintage, and good for another couple of years.

4. Domaine Hubert Lignier 2001 was deeper in colour, more restrained, with a very distinguished pinot noir nose, perhaps more modern in style and more tannic, whiff of green-ness but with good spicy fruit on nose and palate, very long and better when paired with food. Improved in the glass so probably needed a bit more air to begin with.

To be continued!

Air Travel

What is it about air travel that inspires people to think of glamour and excitement? Why do we still use the term 'Jet Set' to describe an elite bunch of people that hop on planes at the smallest provocation to go somewhere in pursuit of the good life and gasp in admiration? And at which point and why do we think that the high life enters into the equation?

Pfui (pace Rex Stout)!

Many moons ago air travel was a rare thing, exotic and expensive. It was wildly inefficient, uncomfortable and also slow by today's standards, but faster than other modes of transport at the time and, more importantly, novel. There was a sort of rakish glamour in air travel, its primitive ways and in the luxury the airlines piled on to compensate during this, the golden age for travellers, and the prices meant that the only regular users were either very wealthy or travelling on business, which led to the assumption that they were a special breed - the Jet Set, important and impossibly dashing.

Now fast forward to 2017, when countless airplanes are crisscrossing the sky in all directions, almost anywhere in the globe is accessible and most destinations are not beyond the economic means of all but the weakest financially members of society. Airports are now massive affairs resembling shopping centres, with the odd counter or two hundred to accommodate the vexing business of shunting luggage around and a constant throng of people moving hither and thither. Glamorous this  most certainly is not, and airports, despite the existence of 'elite' lounges to add a touch of comfort for the more frequent and higher paying customers, are largely dispiriting crowded affairs. Far from being exciting, air travel is now a routine, mundane form of transport like any other, a way of getting from a to b quickly.

How glamorous were the 'olden, golden' days of air travel, though? Not very, actually, if my memory serves me well. Journeys were time consuming affairs, the planes were noisy, slow and ponderous, and the airports were very basic indeed. True, things were not as crowded on the ground or airside, the staff were more cosseting and the food & wine side was less plasticky and more like real stuff, but travelling in itself was not particularly pleasant and before the advent of the modern jets rather slow. I suppose it was safer - on main routes, at least - but then there was so little air travel generally occurring. And the terminals themselves were largely basic, to say the least; but then the fewer people travelling did not spend hours in them. I suppose everything was more amateurish or learn as we go along, for this was a whole new way to travel and previous experience based on travel by ship or road turned out to be irrelevant or useless.

For me as a young child there was certainly a whiff of excitement in standing on an observation balcony watching a plane coming in to land, taxi to a stand with a waiting ladder for disembarkation and being able to actually see the person one was expecting - in my case more often than not my father - walk down the stairs, wave vaguely in our direction and walk across to the arrivals area to go through all the formalities while we made our way downstairs to press our faces against the glass and wait for him. It was certainly a more personal, involved experience and I remember it fondly.

My only experience of a long flight in the late 1950s I remember less fondly, though hazily, as an interminable affair, with a long stopover for refuelling; I dare say any of my co-passengers still alive probably remember the existence of the blond restless little boy less fondly also, as I serenaded them while they were trying to sleep and made my older sister cringe with dismay and embarassment.

Reminiscing apart, I did have reason to be grateful to the rampant commercialism of air travel during my recent enforced long visit to Heathrow, as I was able to avail myself of the services of a pub run by the estimable London brewer Fuller's and enjoy a pint (or two, who's counting) to help pass the time. I was also able to wander around the shops and kill some time looking at all sorts of goods, from books to booze to luxury leather ware, naturally without buying. And modern architectural trends have made the spaces slightly more airy and pleasant than their 70s and 80s predecessors; some terminals are even stylish in a mass market sort of way. Convenient these modern terminals may be, but I cannot bring myself to actually like them; rather, I have learned to accept them.

But if its glamour you're after do not search for it in air travel, unless you believe it consists of free canapés or drinks in an airline lounge, or turning left (pace TPT) when you enter a long haul flight. The Jet Set is now more to do with package holidays and cheap flights, crowded airports and shopping. Romance and glamour have moved on to pastures new...

New Year(s)

Well, I certainly hope that my New Year will go more smoothly than at the lead up and start, when I spent several hours at Heathrow Terminal 2, was eventually shunted on to another flight, faced further delays and eventually reached my destination (never you mind, nosey!) well into the morning of the 1st day of 2017.

Now why is it that we have such high hopes when January 1st comes around? Why do we think that the world, or our bit of it anyway, will improve just because the New Year has come around?Why did we not think the same on December 27th, for example, or any other day? Then again, what makes every diet 'start on Monday' or some other day in the future, near or far, but not here and now? Hard to say, isn't it, other than allowing us the opportunity to dither further, change our mind, defer, delay, postpone and ultimately even cancel. Grown up we may be - I am, anyway - but there's a little bit of us that remains forever childish and indecisive, even when we know that we must, absolutely, do something.

'New Year's Resolution' is virtually always an abused term, describing something that is either never started and almost certainly never seen through, a pipe dream of sorts. We determine to be healthier, wiser, less greedy, more sober, better people, to help others, be kind to our families and fellow humans/animals/the environment/everyone; oh how virtuous we feel at that point! Yet soon after we are willing to forget all this, temporarily we think, other things being more pressing, only until next week/month when the omens will be better... Hah!

So every year starts with the 'out with the old in with the new' mentality, with optimism that the good things will be triumphant in our lives, only to slowly renege on this and back away as 'nothing can change anyway' and 'what will be will be'. In short, we lack willpower (myself not excluded) to see our resolutions through, so we allow the bad things (the things that needed changing/improving) within and without us to continue. Should this be so?

A wise man (M. Scott Peck in 'The Road Less Travelled', but probably others too) once wrote that 'love is not effortless, love is effort-full', and the same can be applied to life in general and, most certainly, to any life worth living. Often this can be hard, swimming against the tide, requiring sacrifices in order to achieve the desired outcome, so we relax and go with the flow instead which is much easier. And we like an easy life, not the effort-full nonsense, we like relaxed; there is little 'cost' to go with relaxed so why should we strain ourselves?

This would all be less absurd if it didn't happen every year with monotonous regularity. The resolutions that singularly failed to be implemented last year (or the year before, or the one before that etc. etc.) are going to come true THIS time for sure; we are determined. Not like last year, or the year before etc. etc., but REALLY determined. But of course we are, dear boy, of course we are...

I now stop myself from making resolutions, new year or other, about anything, or almost, on the basis that it is futile; something always gets in my way so it will never happen... what about you? Do you still lay down plans on the 1st of January? Do you stick to them? Hah!

Come on, let's make this year different to the ones before, skip the resolutions but actually get out and do things to help people, and ourselves. Don't announce it to anyone, not even to yourself, just get on and do things: lose/gain weight, do something that benefits others, travel to unknown places, change jobs, change the world.

Happy 2017, make it worthwhile, truly memorable.