Lucky, lucky man...

 I know that you have missed me, dear reader, as it's been a long time since I put pen to paper or, in any case, got the old laptop out to record thoughts, irritations, even good things. My old excuse, COVID in all its forms has come and looks to be going, so I cannot use that. I guess there has been a kind of hibernation, which seemed to start before the summer and lasted until now; I have no idea why.

Still, I'm back and raring to go, especially as I need to tell you about a very special lunch that my friend YT gave about a week ago. This was very special indeed - a once in ten years, if not once in a lifetime event, and only for wine people - and the wines were rare, largely unusual and served blind; this led to all sorts of interesting conversations and in which I failed miserably in the detective work required. In my defence I have been drinking plonk over the last few years, so my exposure to the more serious stu is limited.

The food that accompanied the wines was relatively simple by YT standards, in order to accompany and not overshadow the wines, but it was delicious and beautifully prepared - home cooking on another level entirely.

Now you may curse me for parading these beauties, but they are worth reading about simply because this will be the closest most of us will ever come to them. Most of these wines are rare and now expensive, superb examples of the winemaker's skill, which takes grape juice and turns it into something magical. They are:

1. Chateau Chalon 1995 from Jean Macle in the Jura. These wines, quirky and individual, were for years undervalued, as they were an acquired taste, but are now in demand and with the appropriate price. Luckily YT has been a follower for many years and still has some bottles he is willing to share with us. This particular one was golden in colour, had a restrained and almost medicinal nose, had sweetness and a typical complex and very long palate. What a way to start...

2. The second wine was a Sancerre 2010, cuvee Paul, from Domaine F. Cotat, as untypical as they come, with a golden colour, burnt sugar nose, bone dry yet with hints of sweetness, long and complex. Would not have pegged it as a Sancerre in a million years.

3. A Clos Ste-Hune 2000 from domaine Trimbach followed, its age disguising its pedigree to some extent, greeny-gold in colour with a distinct grassy nose, medium sweet, complex, long.

4. Bienvenue-Batard Montrachet 1999, domaine Leflaive. This wine caught me completely by surprise, as I had never tried anything but younger, more vibrant examples. Golden yellow, with a bit of brimstone on the nose, a big brute from on the best estates in Burgundy.

5. Cristal 1996, Louis Roederer. I love aged champagne so I appreciated its browny gold colour, its lemony, biscuity nose and its now sedate, long, complex palate. It is a great pity that these wines usually end up in the hands of people who don't understand their quality and care only about their perceived status - the show-off value. Cristal is a beauty, perfectly made by serious people and meant to be enjoyed by like-minded souls, not poured into drunken idiots...

6. Musigny 2011 Domaine de la Vougeraie. Top class red burgundy from a top producer and, if you are tempted to drink Pinot Noir from anywhere else in the world, don't! Most of us may not be able to afford the Grand Crus, but Pinot Noir from anywhere else is at best well-made and competent. Starting to brown, with strawberries and plums on the nose and palate, complex and very long.

7. Chateauneuf-du-Pape Chateau Rayas 1998. This property has made outstanding, untypical, quirky wines for decades, with a complete lack of interest in wine fashion but a total dedication to their craft. Bottles of Rayas are like gold-dust, elusive and beautiful. This was ruby red in colour, wild strawberries on nose with dry tannins and a green-ish finish that was very long indeed.

8. Chateau Haut Brion 1989, one of the heavy hitters of Bordeaux from a good, rich year. Dark in colour still, nearly black, a refined deep red fruit nose and a jammy ripe palate with a perfect ripe, very long finish. A lovely example from a part of the world that can sell most of its wine even when it is mediocre, especially the big names.

9. Chateau Yquem 1967, a mythical wine from a special vintage, rare and delicious. I challenge anybody who says they do not like sweet wines to try something like this beauty. Of course they're expensive, of course making Sauternes is difficult and costly with most things done by hand, but this is a life-changing experience for wine lovers. This was golden brown with ripe apricot and caramel on the palate, caramel on the palate, long, complex, seductive, special.

And then we finished with some Chartreuse Verte Tarragone 1964, a digestif with a strange green yellow colour, minty aromatic nose, medicinal & complex, powerful palate, long and complete, an unusual but rewarding way to finish this most interesting of meals.

Oh, and the bit about the lucky man refers to me, dear reader, not you!

Regression brings disappointment, and death

 As a young child growing up a few years after the Second World War I had to face the suffocating result, strangely named the Cold War; there was sadness, enmity and mutual suspicion, East versus West, freedom versus oppression, but also plenty of optimism that one day we would overcome all that. We, mostly, where eagerly looking forward to the day when hate would be consigned to the bin of history and all people could bask in the warmth of freedom.

The ultimate symbol of the oppressiveness of that era, the Berlin Wall, came down amid loud cheering from the assembled crowds on the 9th of November 1989; or bits of the wall came down that day, with lots more in the days and months following. I remember watching the events on television at home in London and feeling blessed to see this, freedom overcoming oppression, light defeating darkness. Hearing the song 'Wind of Change' still brings a tear to my eye, especially the verse "where the children of tomorrow dream away in the wind of change", because I lived some of that sentiment even if, by then, I was no longer a child.

Some of the tears in the last twenty years have been shed for how we have betrayed those children of tomorrow, how most of the love overflowing that day dried up and became cynicism, how nationalism and materialism overcame all fraternal sentiment. But sad as all that has been, nothing can equal the sadness of what is currently becoming the new status quo, with Russia and its 'charismatic' leader initiating and executing its appalling invasion of Ukraine based of excuses that make the Iraq invasion look like the best documented, thus justified, military intervention in history after the Trojan War. We have regressed to something from the Cold War era, with a dash of WW2 thrown in for good measure.

Death is not reversible, with loads of bodies adorning our tv screens daily, Ukrainian civilians in shocking numbers but numerous young Russian soldiers also. All these people are dead, irreversibly, for reasons I am unable to fathom. Of course loads of theories abound, none of which to my mind adequately justifies the death and destruction. There is no rewind button, no glory, just pointless brutality and many dead bodies.

It may be that we human beings are unable to live together in harmony for long periods of time, that sooner or later we cherish our neighbour's possessions or feel we need to display our superior strength to anyone convenient. It is sobering thought, even more so for the younger generations whose life stretches ahead of them, tantalisingly promising. For older creatures such as myself the dreadful realisation dawns that our life, which not that long ago was full of optimism for humankind, will fizzle out in the sour miasma of bitter disappointment.

Let's hope at least that we won't see World War Three.

English football and Marcus Rashford

English football has had some of its best - and worst - moments in the last few weeks, during Euro 2020 which has happened thanks to the Covid pandemic during 2021. Let me elaborate.

Anyone who knows anything about football - American football fans look away now - knows that the standards of the game are incredibly high in England, which happens to be its birthplace, with teams at all levels being hugely competitive. English teams have been extremely competitive and very successful in international competitions for many, many years; not so the National team, which has only won one major trophy and that on home soil - the 1966 World Cup, wine in thrilling fashion. This success has never been repeated, despite some great teams/players/managers being involved, for reasons not known or understood.

Roll around Euro 2020, a young unheralded English team and an untested manager on, essentially, his first managerial position - a recipe for disaster, one might think, and I confess to have had my doubts as to their potential. I was, of course, spectacularly wrong, with the England team showing great character and resilience while fighting their way to the final, convincingly beating their old Nemesis (Germany) along the way. Admittedly, there was little great football to see along the way as this young side struggled to fuse and fully express their talents, but there were sparks of greatness showing the potential, coupled with a convincing fighting spirit. And they reached the edge of greatness, only to fail in the penalty shootout against Italy in the final but still the most successful English team since 1966.

Probably the most spectacular penalty miss was by Marcus Rashford, the Manchester United player who has shown great maturity in his career to date on and off the pitch. A supremely talented young man, unfailingly polite and modest in behaviour, a player set to star in football both home and abroad for years to come. Marcus badly fluffed his penalty, hitting the post, while he had already sent the opposing keeper the wrong way - a mistake by a young man, almost still a kid, at an extremely stressful time and for which he was clearly devastated.

Out came the haters, ready to heap abuse on him, because Marcus is a young black man. To make matters worse, all three players (Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho, Bukayo Saka) who were unsuccessful in their penalty kicks were black, fuelling the imaginations and reaction of racists in England and elsewhere, producing despicable outbursts on the internet and even vandalism of a Rashford mural somewhere. Why? What were people thinking? These are hugely talented youngsters who are part of the future of English football and will surely bring trophies home soon - what will the haters say then?

Marcus Rashford issued a powerful, dignified, modest statement in response that shows, once again, the character of the man. My admiration for this young man has grown since his penalty miss; despite his youth he is mature, caring, articulate and a supremely talented footballer who will reward his team and his country hugely over the coming years. His skin colour is clearly an irrelevance, his quality as an athlete and a human being is not!

Lots of funerals, no weddings...

 Pass a certain age and the less than ideal fact is that one attends or hears of far more sad events, illnesses and deaths than joyous celebrations; that's just a fact of life, the way it is, tough. So funerals are common, weddings extremely rare, alas.

It was to another funeral that I made my way to this morning, luckily taking place at the local church, that of an older male relative. Though he and I were never friends as well as relatives, I felt the need to represent my branch of the family and show my face to his children, one of whom I am relatively close to. The price to pay is to endure the liturgy that the Greek Orthodox Church deems appropriate for deceased individuals which, while not excessively long is, to an irreligious but Greek Orthodox born person like me, a bit of an ordeal.

It is an ordeal not only because, depending on the 'package' agreed with the priests conducting the service, things may drone on and on, rich in readings, chanting and platitude, but also because it is full of impressive but meaningless verbiage to indicate constancy and eternity. I mean, really, who is going to be around to remember me fifty or a hundred years after I kick the bucket, never mind centuries later... Yet the chant goes: 'may his/her memory be eternal' - a joke, a silly little joke in bad taste.

Humankind has been on this Earth for a very short time, relatively speaking, for only a few thousand years, and Christianity for an even shorter time, 2021 years to be precise, yet it loves to talk about worship and remembering every Tom, Dick or Harriet centuries from now. And it does so on and on, on and on, on and on during a funeral service, pretending whoever has just died is of deep significance, to be remembered forever; we're not and we won't be, so please can we get on with the blinking service so the dead person can go to their grave or whatever forthwith, and I can go home/cafe/drinking sooner rather than later.

I have never been married and now may never have the joy of experiencing this particular ritual as a participant, so my only experience of weddings is as a guest, impatiently eyeing up the female section of the congregation for the reception later. The thought of nice food, drink and, perhaps, some attractive female company immediately after helps me through the religious gobbledegook; no such luck at funerals. And at my age there are now many funerals - with my own also on the horizon, though hopefully not quite yet -  and hardly any weddings.

And don't worry duckies, I'll make sure my own funeral is brief and to the point - he's dead, get over it and get on with life, thanks - so you won't be bitching about it to your friends or on some blog.

Ateni beach, Andros island, Greece

This should have appeared last summer, but did not; appearing today, it gives off a whiff of summer and what we are missing, but also what we are looking forward to in 'a glass half full' sort of world... Enjoy:

My loyal reader knows well that there is a beach on the island of Andros that I have a soft spot for, even more than for St. Peter's Beach, my ever pleasing consistent standard go-to place with bar called Funky Donkey -and this beach is called Ateni. I love this place primarily because, despite having a great little beach bar with sun loungers, umbrellas and drinks/snacks, it has the feeling of an unspoilt, undeveloped, natural place. Granted, it is open to the northerly winds that cool/batter the island for most of July and August, sometimes making the bay at Ateni an angry cauldron of water; waves can regularly make swimming a bit of an adventure. And the sea, during these windy days, seems eager to deposit loads of debris of all descriptions - though mainly assorted plastics from as far afield as Turkey - on the lovely sandy beach.

As unpleasant as these things sound, they detract little from the amazing overall experience offered by the place. The clean air, the feeling of being close to nature, the peace and quiet, they're all supplemented by an impeccable little beach bar, run by the Glynos family and their assistants/employees, that has won me over not just by the care they put into everything they do and the food they serve, but also the unfailing politeness and friendly service that is consistently offered. This year, despite the problems offered by the pandemic and substantial loss of business, they were all out there again looking after everybody while wearing the requisite equipment (masks etc.) and immediately utilising the necessary cleaning materials whenever there was a need, quickly and efficiently.Getting in and out of the water is slightly tricky at Ateni, as there is a rocky ledge running along most of the length of the beach. This is just an inconvenience and easily overcome with a bit of care, so it looks more tricky than it actually is and, once you are past it the water is just fantastic, clear and cool. There is a tremendous feel when splashing about in the middle of the bay surrounded by nature, with few sights, sounds and smells of the modern world intruding. There is peace and quiet here, allowing full enjoyment of the sea yet with the modern but unobtrusive facilities of the Ateni Beach Bar only minutes away.

The drinks and food available are, for a little family-run place on a beach somewhat off the beaten track, of good to excellent quality and represent a fairly comprehensive offering, for which they get great and well-deserved reviews. But in this strange year, dominated as it has been by Covid-19 and the measures taken to limit its spread, the quality at Ateni has just not been enough to ensure a sufficient level of business to ensure survival. Still they smile, welcoming repeat and new customers alike with the same warmth, efficiency and humility; hopefully enough of us will appreciate their qualities to enable them to survive, to be there next year, to continue enhancing this beautiful location.

Don't take my word for the attributes of the place - a pair of swans were daily visitors, enjoying the hospitality of the beach bar with us but, unlike us, they did not have to pay

for sunbeds, parasols or food.

Magical Ateni, probably my favourite beach - and beach bar - on Andros; it really is that good!

Kos - Part 1

I have spent many of my childhood summer holidays on the Greek island of Kos, part of the Dodecanese island group and, until 1947 under Italian rule. We chose Kos - well, I didn't, my parents did, together with relatives and friends - in the mid-1960s for two main reasons:
1. Kos, together with the other Dodecanese islands, were incredibly cheap as they were still in a transitional taxation period from Italian to Greek rule, a massive benefit for our financially hard-pressed families. This allowed us to spend more time on holiday without breaking the budget, with little terrors such as myself unable to spend more than a few drachmas a day no matter how foolish our spending.
2. There were few motor vehicles on Kos at the time but many, many bicycles, so that we could be allowed to roam hither and thither without much risk of incurring bodily injuries of any serious nature, other than minor scrapes from the occasional fall.

The tourist industry at the time was in its infancy, with Greece still recovering from World War 2 and its aftermath; there were a few rooms to let and a handful of rickety hotels, offering little more than a place to sleep that was very basic indeed. The first small hotel we stayed in - there were no big hotels on the island at the time - was near the sea, in a pretty but decrepit italianate building and had the name of a wind. To describe it as basic is kind, but at the age of 10 I couldn't care less, even when the occasional wandering cockroach was factored in to the equation - Kos was an adventure!

The first day we arrived, I and my oldest childhood friend LJ (Little John) set out to explore the place and, being young and football mad, we found the local football stadium and went to investigate what was what. While at the stadium we met a smiling young local boy, probably a bit older than us, called Hippocrates; he became our first local friend and helped us to meet several other local boys so that we could all play football together. We became so close to our new friends that, when the locals would play football against the holidaymakers team we were always on the locals side.

Childhood friendships, especially holiday ones, often disappear and fade with the passage of time and when distance emerges; sometimes you simply stop visiting a certain place and, as a consequence, all your local connections weaken and eventually cease to exist. So to a certain extent happened with LJ, me and our friends in Kos - life just separated us... until about 15 years ago, when I receive a telephone call from a TV program in Greece whose reason for existing was to reconnect people who for some reason had lost touch.

Not only did I get to go on television again - I had some appearances in my racing driver days - but the person looking for me was an old friend from Kos who had emigrated to the United States but was now back. The show was intriguing, emotional and gave me a prod to try and reconnect with the island where I had spent so many happy times but, assuming they were still around, with some of the friends who had made my youthful holidays so special. A few years later I took an early morning flight and spent three days searching around Kos town for my old friends.

Kos town was changed, sure, but not so as to be unrecognisable; it was still, at least in parts, picturesque and beautiful. Even more beautiful was the fact that I managed to find Hippocrates and really reconnect, leading to meeting some of the others. The rest, dear reader, is history, some of which you will read in the next post about Kos!

YT strikes again!

Not only is YT and extremely generous friend and host but, alas for my peace of mind though a positive influence on my accuracy, is also an eagle-eyed reader of my posts (much like you, dear reader), ready to correct the smallest slip and - wouldn't you know it - a slip materialised in my recent post concerning the reopening of the Roof Terrace! YT noticed that I seemed to claim, for reasons best known to me and me alone, that  the second wine he served that time was of a different vintage to the first wine, 2005 to 2008 to be precise; needless to say that my statement was incorrect, as they are both 2005s and, you clearly remember dear reader, both very good, the first even a star.

Last week we were summoned again to YT's place, though only two of us could make it on the night, for a simple dinner washed down by some rather pleasant wines. The YT/MT duo make simple seem easy, as their food is always positively bursting with interesting flavours and has a near perfect texture (pace YT). With the openers -little canapés and bits and pieces - we had a lovely young (2016) 1er Cru red Burgundy from a sub-prime (ha-ha, I know, clever way of putting it...) village but a top grower, and very good it was too. Young burgundy of this kind is vigorous yet delicate, full of strawberry lusciousness typical of young Pinot Noir, clean and intensely gluggable. But for the price this would be my perfect choice for an everyday red to drink on its own or with food, though not with very spicy stuff, and was a good example of why pinot noir from Burgundy is a class apart. The wine was from the village of Givry on the Cote Chalonnaise (between the Cote d'Or, where top Burgundies come from, and the rather plainer cousins in the Maconnais further south), the grower was Francois Lumpp and it was a lovely glass of wine, a real treat for an old Burgundy lover like me.

The second bottle, served to accompany the main course of gigantes (giant beans) and kavourmas (cured spiced meat with Turkish origins, as suggested by the name) was a biggy from that famous Rhone master of winemaking Guigal - a Cote Rotie 2000 Brune et Blonde de Guigal. Guigal makes some of the best wines of the Rhone valley and produces no duff wines at all, with even his basic Cotes du Rhone red a cut above most others and worth seeking out. His bigger reds like this one, as well as his single vineyard gems are worth seeking out for any wine lover, though prices can be eye-watering. Whilst warm temperatures do not tend to flatter these big red wines, this was showing all its power and complexity, its ripe spicy red fruit nicely balanced with a twist of finesse, juicy and lingering on the palate and its age hardly obvious in its vivid colour and voluptuous nature; as per YT standards this was a great match for our main course. For me this was an unexpected treat, especially given the time of year, and most gratefully received.


But luckily the evening did not end there, but continued with a rare Hungarian gem to follow, a sweet Tokaji (Tokay) from the 1997 vintage, Chateau Pazjos, rare and apparently extremely valuable because of its rarity. Sweet, luscious and concentrated, this was impressively complex and enjoyable - a dessert in a glass - but not that wonderful as to justify a highly elevated price. Granted, Tokay is never cheap but I had been expecting to taste something not just enjoyable but shockingly good; this did not fulfil my ambitions, but I was grateful for the opportunity of tasting it nevertheless.

And then came the finale: you have heard me rave more than once about the ethereal, wonderful stuff that is grappa from Levi and YT honoured us by offering a little glass of this very rare, delicious glory in a glass; I was more than happy to take him up on that, and always will unless I am in some way incapacitated or have no free will! Grappa has no right to be this good, believe me, no right at all - most grappas are slightly coarse if satisfyingly flavourful, not hugely refined - but here we have a masterpiece: all the flavour of the best grappas with an extra dimension (several?) of finesse and complexity, ayeeee, heaven.

As I see you looking pale, dear reader, and ready to enquire after the state of my liver, I must clarify that this is not an everyday occurrence for me, much to my disappointment, but an occasional treat - why there are days when all I have to drink is water, even though I know all the arguments about rusting or what the fish do in it, naughty things. But not every day...