After the sadness, a small measure of joy

My day (Tuesday 8th January) started  with a mad, frantic dash across Athens to attend the memorial service for my classmate and childhood friend DJP, who died a couple of weeks or so ago in London (see my previous post). Most of my day before and after the event was filled with sorrow, tears, despair for a loss so unexpected. I fully expected to go to bed full of sadness.

Life is a funny old thing, though, and little events help to transform our mood and outlook - so it was today with me. Sometime yesterday I'd arranged to go and see my friend AJC, whose wife was out on a bridge night the following evening, for a bit of cheese and wine, little expecting that it was going to turn into a total mood-changer. To my mind we were going to have a couple of glasses of plonk with some cheese and, maybe, a bit of something else, tasty if unremarkable. It was not to be.

Andy brought out a few bottles of Greek wine that had been lurking in his cellar since the late seventies or early eighties, none of them particularly special  or highly rated, but adequate, workmanlike bottles. Expectations were low and this was more an event to please his wife, by clearing out and throwing away things well past their sell-by date, rather than a tasting with high expectations - well, we were right and wrong!

The wines to be tasted (all red) were the following:

1. Tsantali Cava 1966 Naoussa, decent level.
2. Tsantali Cava 1976 (2 bottles), both good level, one slightly less than the other.
3. Achaia Clauss Chateau Clauss 1973, slightly reduced level, just above shoulder (Bordelaise).

We started with the 1976 Cava (a designation much in fashion at the time, hinting as it did to special selection, more careful winemaking and extra time in the cellar both in barrel and bottle) from the well-known Northern Greece producer Tsantalis, and the bottle with the slightly lower level. The cork, predictably, disintegrated but came out, albeit in bits and pieces. The wine, made from the Xynomavro (sour black) grape and possibly from the Goumenissa area where Tsantalis has holdings (no indication on the bottle), had a nicely aged deep brick-brown colour and a clean stewed fruit nose, typical of aged xynomavro; on the palate it lacked fruit and freshness but was clean, dry but fading, near the end of its life but still there and drinking just fine, an interesting, rare if unremarkable 42 year old wine.

Our next choice was the 1966 Naoussa, a wine that should age well but whose cork was even more of a problem - part of it came off on the corkscrew but the balance went the other way and into the bottle. Still, we decanted and ran it through a sieve, admired its robust brick-red colour and... alas the wine was corked, badly, and undrinkable. From the same grape variety (Xynomavro) as the previous wine, it looked to be quite rich, with more colour but stank!

The Chateau Clauss at 45 years old turned out to be remarkable, and how. Whilst the cork was a pain in the neck, disintegrating and forcing us to decant, the colour was fairly deep, reluctantly revealing its age with a deep, vibrant centre. The nose was spice and cooked fruit, still lively, even a bit complex with some length - who knew Greek wine could age so well? I think that the grape varieties involved are Mavrodaphne with a touch of Cabernet Sauvignon, which makes sense but I cannot be certain. I CAN be certain that this is a seriously good wine which at its best would have been absolutely stunning. Indeed I have a vague recollection of drinking this wine with my friend around twenty five years ago and that it was well-balanced, with rich spicy red fruits on the palate and a reasonably long finish, a rarity for that time. Alas this wine is no longer made, which is a pity despite the fact that its Chateau name was misleading and altered at some point; Achaia Clauss also is a shadow of its former self, a once dominant wine company that has been unable to keep up with the times.

This tasting proves that wine can have an exceptionally long life if it is stored correctly, away from sunlight and variations in temperature. This applies to most decent quality wine with a proper cork, though only good wine gains from ageing - simple, everyday wine is not worth ageing much as it just becomes old simple, everyday wine, so is largely not worth the bother. So create your sensible cellar, stock it with care and love, sit back and await the enjoyment to come.

So you see, human beings are funny - or at least I'm peculiar - for the discovery and tasting of these little gems and the time spent with a good friend just chatting, drinking, munching gave me pleasure and strength. The alcohol, dear reader, was not the warming factor here; rather, human contact, intellectual stimulation and curiosity, strengthened with affection for everything vinous, were the factors that warmed me up, distracted and entertained me, helping me recover some of my equilibrium. I'm still sad, no doubt, but some of the cloud has been lifted, with a little bit more thankfully lifting all the time.

DJP - A lifetime gone.

DJP and I met at school at the age of 9, when we were both shunted into the advanced English group - about eight out of 150 boys. Though we were all Greeks, we all had English as at least an equal first language, and some of us had actually been born and had grown up outside Greece. He was a boarder, as his parents lived in the UK, so we didn't socialise much outside school, but we became closer through our mutual love of football. In fact at one time we were so close we called each other brother!

In those days he cut a slightly odd figure for a good footballer, as he was chubby and not otherwise particularly athletic, but his ball-controlling skills, determination and an unerring eye for scoring goals made him an indispensable part of the class team, where I was a defender and usually at centre-back. He loved football, something that never diminished throughout his life, and adored Manchester United, so much so that he made me into a ManU fan even though I knew little of English football at the time; I remain in ManU's corner to this day, though perhaps fan is too vivid a description for an indifferent old curmudgeon like me!

We both left Athens College at the same time after our Freshman year, he to finish school in England, I to a mixed school nearby; inevitably, we lost touch for a while. In the late 1970s I met a cousin of his (T.F) while helping at fresher induction at Deree College, got his address and wrote to him, thus reconnecting. He wrote back telling me that he had started working in the family business - shipping - that 'business was in his blood' and that he'd be delighted to see me if I found my way to London. I did, we met up again and our friendship took off once more, to become even closer when I moved to London in 1979.

As an adult DJP lost his puppy fat and became a lithe, good-looking man who liked nothing better than playing football on a Saturday in Regents Park with the Greek community team. Their games were energetic, aggressive, rowdy and very physical - too physical for my short fuse on the couple of times I was invited to take part - so I decided this was not for me, but he remained in the thick of it for many years. Despite being quite a smoker he retained an athleticism and energy that many younger men would have envied.

I was at his wedding in the early 1980s, and the glittering reception that followed; my memory of it all is through a haze of alcohol, as I found it all a bit intimidating and relied on VnT and champagne to see me through. I do recall the happiness, though, with him wearing a big smile throughout. My hangover the day after may have been just reward for my drinking efforts, which continued when a group of us went on to Tramp, then London's most fashionable nightspot, but it didn't dampen the memory of a special evening.

We subsequently met up, first regularly then occasionally as our lives somewhat diverged - I remember visiting them in their first home, a flat in Maida Vale's Clive Court, to watch football on the TV and have a bite to eat - for evenings out (or in), to talk business (or rubbish) and just to be friends. My memory is full of images of DJP - the child I first met, the young boy, the young man, the usually smiling adult - I always considered him my friend despite not getting together very often. And I can never as long as I live forget DJP sobbing down the telephone when he called to tell me that our friend, former classmate and fellow 'advanced' boy CMP had been assassinated by the disgusting 17th November terrorists; he was totally heartbroken, so deeply sad.

Now he too is gone, taken swiftly and unexpectedly, filling the rest of us with sadness. His funeral was held in London and today there was a memorial service in Kefalari, a suburb north of Athens. The weather was, fittingly, snowy and cold but not bleak, the mood in the church was sombre. His daughter spoke movingly about how wonderful a father he had been and, though this was something I had never considered before, it was somehow good to hear, lifting for me the sadness of the occasion somewhat. Loss is never easy and this one is hard to take, especially for his family, but for his friends as well - our memories joint memories become mine alone, no longer to be shared.

Remember the time right after the first year at Athens College when we met up by chance in Chios at Ormos Lo? We were little ten year old boys and you were holding your mother's hand...

Forecasting the weather, and other things

In the last few days there has been a frenzy of extreme weather warnings in Greece, coming from most weather people and organisations entrusted with keeping the general public informed. What struck me was the rising notes of panic, mentions of extreme phenomena and conditions almost too difficult to cope with - gripping stuff! Two storm fronts, one given a masculine name and one a feminine in these more equal times, but whose names managed to escape me, were going to lash out hither and thither bringing rain, high winds and, subsequently, snow, and chaos.

Well it did rain, sometimes heavily, as it often does this time of year. The wind blew a bit as well, sometimes joining in while it was still raining, something not exactly unusual. The sea was a bit rough, clouds scudded around, it was cold, to my mind just like it normally is in wintertime. What was so extreme about all this that required repeated warnings, notes of panic etc. etc.??? There was certainly little chaos, other than some under-prepared drivers getting stuck in snow.

It seems to me that we have so succumbed to the ridiculous illusion that we humans now control and understand everything in our world, so that we are outraged when things develop differently. How else to explain people being surprised and offended when January weather turns cold? How else to explain people expecting 'convenient' weather - not too cold, not too hot, not too wet, not too dry etc. etc. - all year round and overreacting when the nature does not oblige?

As you well know, dear loyal reader, I am rarely speechless, but behaviour as described does get me close to a silent state before I start to sob with despair. Can we truly be that stupid?

Another thing that we seem to have difficulty in grasping is that a forecast is, more often than not, at best an educated guess of what is to happen. The 'educated' part is to do with the use of sophisticated computer modelling and the intelligent input of required, useful parametres; this is not a definitive statement of what is to be - not as far as the weather is concerned, nor in the forecasting of any other future event. Reality may be far different but still forecasting can be useful because it helps us understand and anticipate what may be, making us aware of what MAY be and thus able to be better prepared to face things that will actually happen.

While forecasting is better than Madame Zsa-Zsa's crystal ball or astrology for helping to anticipate the future, it is not a firm guarantee of what WILL happen but an idea of what MAY happen; why we seem unable to fully grasp this is beyond me. The weather - and, indeed, the future - is, at least for now, not fully knowable. Perhaps the future will change this, but until then let's get on with it and stop complaining about things outside our, or anyone's, control.

New Year, New You?

2019 is nearly three days old, days are getting bigger and spring is around the corner - well, a corner somewhere along the way. For some reason, inspired by the New Year, many of us promise ourselves that we will do all sorts of things that will improve/transform our lives and/or those of others, creating the famous 'New Year's Resolutions'; these are usually made in haste and ignored soon thereafter.

How did you spend the days around the turn of the year, the ones that helped push you to make your resolutions? I was on a Greek island, Andros, which was eerily quiet as most of the permanent residents seize the opportunity to get away and head to the mainland - often the bright lights of Athens - for a bit of R & R. Most cafes, eating places and shops were closed, streets were empty, the weather was wintery and the whole experience was completely different to the 'normal' summer experience one is familiar with. To the locals the invading occasional residents appeared to be insane weirdos, heading to a place where nothing was happening, but for the invaders it represents a chance to get away from it all, to relax in the warmth of friendship with like-minded souls. But have we also made resolutions, most of which we are unlikely to keep?

I feel I speak for most when I say that we have vowed to eat less and more healthily, that we will look after ourselves and our health better, that we will be more productive/caring/human. Most resolutions revolve around these things, though you can add details like joining a gym, losing weight, fitting in to smaller size clothes, tor more about being good/honest/whatnot. Most, whatever their nature, will barely last to the end of January.

So are all New Year's Resolutions useless? Should we just never bother, as most will fall by the wayside? To my mind, no, we should bother, we should try to set ourselves goals irrespective of whether we subsequently fail. Perhaps the timing of the New Year places unnecessary strain on things, coming as it does towards the end of a festive season, a season of excess, at least in the modern tradition, making resolutions weaker and, perhaps forced. And, yes, in fact when we have overdone things in one way or another we are more willing to espouse a change, with the beginning of the New Year providing the excuse, a landmark, a starting point. We should not allow the fact that the starting point is somewhat frivolous to affect our pursuit of our, often very worthwhile, goals.

You guessed correctly, dear reader, that in saying these things aloud I am partly talking to myself, trying to convince myself of the wisdom of following a path of intelligent self-awareness and care, with regular exercise and irregular, limited indulgence. I am listening, but will I heed? Will you stick to your resolutions?

Let's compare notes soon. Will in a couple of months time be OK?

Humility - or the lack thereof!

Few of us are always humble in our approach to life, probably for various reasons. Speaking for myself I have now learned and achieved an inconsistent level of humility, so am always in awe of people for whom humility is natural and inherent. We rarely see them because their modesty prevents them from promoting their abilities, knowledge and success, so they become practically invisible to most; this is as natural as it is incredibly unfortunate.

One of the characteristics of the younger generations in most western societies today is the total lack of humility, the absolute - and often irrational - belief in themselves and their abilities, most often despite the complete absence of any proof of such. Legions of limited, talentless - and often brain-dead - specimens push themselves forward as gifted, uniquely capable, well-equipped and ready to lead; this would be some kind of cruel joke if it were not so monumentally stupid.

So it is with surprise and great pleasure that one encounters young, hugely talented individuals who are not full of themselves or self-promoters but quietly get on with their chosen work, leaving judgement of their working life to others. And one night last month I met just such a young man - head chef at Spondi, one of the best restaurants in Greece (if not the best) for many years and rewarded with two Michelin stars - who not only produced a stunning meal full of skill, subtlety and flavour, but was reluctant to personally accept credit and was gracious in praising his assistants. There was no artifice to this, no fakery, just an extraordinarily talented young man who was also humble, genuine, nice; sad to say, he is to a large extent an exception in any profession, walk of life, country.

If you wander down to any fashionable eatery in Athens you'll find plenty of other chefs, perfectly ordinary, in reality mere cooks, touting themselves as important but having little of the skill we witnessed yet devoting scant effort to improving within their chosen profession. Seems like perhaps today all you need to do is to proclaim yourself to be great for others to take it on board, be convinced with little evidence and support you blindly, with the multiplier effect of the social media making this an even more powerful statement. Almost overnight a nonentity with inflated self-belief becomes a feted star who believes in his own publicity or, even worse, that most dreaded of all things, a celebrity! And you and I get to see them in their droves promoting products and themselves on television, a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. After that it's an easy step to become big-headed, arrogant and obnoxious, and most oblige.

Of course not everyone is like that, of course there are extremely capable but humble people active in many spheres of life, of course they are the ones I will always support, leaving the insufferables to others, sorry!

And of course the other humble ones, the ones who have so much to be modest about, tend to resemble the vast majority of us average Joes and Joannas. We should not forget that most of us have modest abilities and should be humble, but that should not stop us from admiring the extraordinary ones who, nevertheless, are also modest and humble.

Conspiracies and Cock-ups

I am always intrigued by people who believe the world is controlled by a never-ending stream of conspiracies, some simple, others extremely intricate. The ability to see a hidden hand everywhere is something that fascinates and annoys me in equal measure; it is also something that my Greek compatriots have in abundance, always seeing someone's plan in everything. If we espouse that way of thinking, the world becomes a frightening place.

What truly terrifies me, however, is the cock-up, something I believe to be far more common and, indeed, far more dangerous than any conspiracy. The polite description of a cock-up is 'mistake', and we are all familiar with the sentiment that mistakes are only human, thus creating the illusion that they are harmless. Not so. Cock-ups are not only encountered more commonly than we think in every level and every corner of society, they often have devastating effects. None of us would feel kindly disposed, for example, to the pilot of the jumbo jet we were flying in saying something like 'oops, well folks we're about to run out of fuel because we forgot to fill her up properly, so we're all going to die...'. Cock-ups can - and have been - that serious, resulting often in death and destruction.

My impetus for writing about cock-ups came from one of my own in my last piece, where I mentioned the name of a young winemaker and praised him as a potential star of the future on the strength of the quality and style of his first ever wine. Which would have been fine if I hadn't given him the wrong first name, even though it appeared clearly on the label, luckily noticed and pointed out to me by an eagle-eyed friend so that I was able to correct this speedily. Imagine the catastrophe otherwise: the young man would have become famous under the wrong name, with my myriads of readers referring to him thus! He may even have had to change his name officially to the one my carelessness assigned to him in order to match his new-found fame, a cruel fate averted, thankfully, at the last minute.

As you can clearly see, even minor cock-ups can have devastating effects on people and their lives. Or, indeed, on their lack of life, as in hostile situations when one of the sides bombs the wrong target by mistake and, instead of the other side's arsenal they hit a suburban house, or instead of a weapons' convoy they bomb a wedding party. So a cock-up is not a teeny-weeny mistake, to be shrugged off after an apology; rather, it is bigger, a fuck-up (technical term, widely used, sorry!), something that could have been averted.

Do not think for a second that I am claiming there are no conspiracies, or attempts at conspiracies, happening the world over, only that in my opinion there are far fewer than we would like to imagine. Instead of dastardly plots we usually have bumbling incompetence or, as in my case previously mentioned, a momentary lapse of attention/judgement. My error involved a word - and no, they are not like weapons - so that the cock-up was easy to rectify even with an audience as vast as mine, but can you imagine if I had carelessly pressed the wrong button on a weapons control panel? Ooops, there goes Moscow/London/Athens or...

Human nature, it seems, compels us to complicate things and shift blame, to constantly see activity in the shadows, to look for puppet-masters and puppets. Fools and foolishness do not hold the same attraction.

Economou - The Wonderful Winemaker of Crete

Crete is, I'm sure, a beautiful place steeped in history. Its proud inhabitants (Cretans, not Cretins thank you!) are well-known for their independent nature, their zest for life and their fierce resistance to conquerors of any shape or size. What they have not been known for until recently is for their world-class wines.

Let's be clear here, Crete used to produce decent wines for glugging and excellent - and famous - grape alcohol (raki or tsikoudia). In days gone by Cretan wine was mainly sold in bulk or as relatively inexpensive bottled stuff, ripe and juicy but undistinguished. A new generation of wine producers has set about to change that, introduce modern methods in field and winery, and generally change the profile of their beloved island's wine; by and large they are succeeding, with some decent, even very good, stuff hitting both the domestic and export markets relatively recently. A number of domaines are now making and bottling individual, well-made modern wines largely from local varieties, and they're impressing the marketplace.

The curious thing is that there is a grower in Crete really making waves and producing staggeringly good, hugely individual wines that are interesting on any scale, anywhere. His wines are not 'modern' in style yet are faultless and true show stoppers through subtlety rather than brutishness, full of class, personality and character. He is a natural and organic wine producer, utilises mainly local, unfashionable grape varieties (his main Sitia red wine is made mainly from the obscure Liatiko variety and very old vines), low yields and traditional methods to produce his nectars. To top it all, this curious specimen is not a self-promoter, not a social media wizard, not interested in being a star - he just wants to make the best wine he can using the tools and ingredients available to him. And while his training has been in modern winemaking, the wine that he produces is closer to an idealised, fictional past. The late Haridimos Hatzidakis, the tortured genius of Santorini winemaking, even provided Economou with some of his Assyrtiko vines so that he could experiment with this and apply his and the local terroir's magic to this stellar variety.

With limited production and well-deserved acclaim his wines are not easy to find and may appear expensive. Don't be fooled, for any true wine lover they're worth seeking out and merit every penny for their multi-layered complexity, their unique flavours and highly individual character. Often wines like these can be what we call in the wine trade 'interesting' i.e. wines that you drink out of curiosity but rarely for pleasure - these are an exception!

Last night we were served a white 2009 and a red Sitia 1998 by my friend YT who knows Yiannis Economou, has visited him and loves what is happening there - and what's not to love? The wines on the night were both stunning:

1. The white had a light orange colour but was youthful and fresh with a hint of rosewater and nuts on nose and palate. I would like to taste it again in a few years time, but love it now; it is unlike any other Greek white wine, made from local grapes Thrapsathiri and Vilana.
2. The red, not perhaps from a top vintage, was relatively light in colour with little sign of ageing, with delicate cherry and sun-dried tomato hints, soft tannins and a long finish. And plenty of sediment, as befits its unfiltered status. In order to qualify for the Sitia appellation it will now have to include 20% of Mandilaria, which may or may not happen according to each vintage and Yianni Economou's judgement.

Economou wines are individual, inspiring, alluring bottle of wine to excite and delight any real wine lover. To me they are also exciting because they show that you can be guided by your passion and need not tow the line in order to make good wine, success being all about the product and its quality and characteristics - the Economou 'brand', such as it is, is a by-product of this.

Finally, I would like to close by introducing a young winemaker and his first wine, tried as an aperitif before the aforementioned gems. His name is Foivos Papastratis and for his first attempt he has produced a very respectable, well-made white wine from the much in fashion Assyrtiko variety in a blend with Muscat. Not only was the wine impeccably faultless, clean and distinctive, it was also very pleasant to drink, seemingly the product of a seasoned professional. My personal taste is against combinations like this, where a highly aromatic variety is matched with a more subtle, complex one, but that is by the by. There young winemaker has produced a wine of style and quality and is, most definitely, someone to watch for the future as he develops his individual style. A star is born?

The food we had was entirely secondary to the wine, so doesn't get a mention, but the wines were a meal in themselves. Every time I taste Economou's wines I am more and more impressed and, while I cannot afford to buy his creations in my present impecunious state, I will continue to drink them whenever and wherever offered them. And, if you know what's good for you, you should too.