Desert Island Wines
There can ’ t be many readers who haven ’ t wondered what their Desert Island Discs would be ... Andrew Polmear took a more liquid approach ...
The secret of the programme ’ s success , of course , is that castaways choose not the eight best records but the eight records that mean most to them . And they tell the stories that go with them .
And so it is with wines . My choice of wines that have meant most to me in life is dictated by the situation in which I drank them , even more than their excellence .
Take my first choice : Clos de Vougeot 1965 . A friend and I , both aged 21 , won a scholarship to spend six weeks in France studying the wine trade . ( Don ’ t ask how such a thing is possible ; this was the 1960 ’ s – it probably isn ’ t any more ). It gave us a little money but , much more important , it gave us introductions to key winemakers in Burgundy . We were working our way down the Côte d ’ Or , visiting cellars and tasting wine . One lunchtime we ’ d reached the little village of Vougeot , home of some of the most famous vineyards in the world , where there was a little bistro , packed with men ( as was the way then ).
We ordered the cheapest possible meal and asked for water – it was all our money would run to . ‘ Ce n ’ est pas possible ’ shouted a man two tables away . ‘ When in Vougeot we drink Vougeot !’. The waitress was called , a half bottle ordered , and the whole bistro nodded with approval , of course this was how they do things here . The wine was exceptional – elegant , fragrant , almost perfumed . And it went on our neighbour ’ s bill . I ’ ve never forgotten that man ’ s generosity and whenever someone complains about the arrogance and disdain that the French can show to foreigners I think , no , it ’ s not necessarily arrogance . Sometimes it ’ s a justified pride .
My next choice was also first tasted in a restaurant , but we were paying this time . Alghero is the loveliest old town in Sardinia , and the best spot in Alghero is a restaurant on the sea wall where you dine outside at tables with white linen tablecloths , watching the sun go down across the Mediterranean . I was there with my wife . Our first night we had a wine from the largest co-operative on the island , called Santadi . It was so good the next night I ordered the best Santadi they had . The waiter , previously polite , became suddenly interested . “ Perfetto ” he said and headed off to the other waiters to tell them this foreigner had ordered a bottle of Terre Brune . They nodded their approval , outrageously big wine glasses were brought and the Manager appeared with the bottle . Activity stopped across the restaurant while the bottle was opened . A little was poured ; I tasted . I don ’ t usually cry when asked to taste a wine but I wasn ’ t far off that evening . It was divine . It was a Carignano del Sulcis – pure Carignan grapes on old vines , matured in oak barrels . It was an impossible combination of power and elegance . I don ’ t think I said anything , just nodded helplessly in a way the waiter seemed to understand . I ’ ve had it since , and it wasn ’ t just the setting ; it really is that good .
I was 19 and living alone in Rheims , working all summer in a department store to learn French . In those easygoing days all the great Champagne houses opened their cellars to visitors , with the tour of the cellars , refreshingly cool in that hot summer , followed by a dégustation gratuite . I did so many of these tours that I really could tell one champagne from another . Pommery was my favourite tour . They changed the guides so often I could always get in without being recognised as a repeat visitor ; and they had acres of caves packed with champagne bottles , each one being turned every few months by hand , deep in the limestone under the city .
But my favourite champagne was Veuve Clicquot , with its distinctive orange label . I liked its rich , full , biscuity flavour . Some years later , driving to the south of France , my wife and I stopped in Rheims to visit the now elderly couple who had found that job for me and tried to keep an eye on me . In the conversation I mentioned my liking for Veuve Clicquot and , without a word , Pierre got up , put away the bottle of something else he already had on ice , went down to his cellar and came back with a 10 year old bottle of Veuve Clicquot . The aging had changed it from the luscious full bodied fresh bubbly I remembered to a more complex wine , but unmistakeably Clicquot .
Nothing brings back a memory as powerfully as does taste and smell .
When Gordon Ramsay opened his restaurant at Claridge ’ s he offered an extraordinarily cheap lunch deal ; so I booked for the two of us . The hotel was as opulent as we had expected , the food was good though not great , and the wine list was very , very long and expensive . We headed for the area of France we know best – the Languedoc – and chose the cheapest , called , intriguingly , ‘ No . 7 ’ from a domaine called La Croix Belle . It was splendid : full , fruity , complex , totally honest and well made . I asked the French wine waiter what the grapes were and , without a pause he said ‘ grenache , syrah , mourvedre ’ which was no surprise because they are typical grapes for that area . Next time we were down there we called in at La Croix Belle and spoke to Mme Françoise Boyer who runs the sales side of the family business . The waiter had just been guessing . It ’ s called No . 7 because it ’ s made from seven grape varieties , including the three the wine waiter had guessed . A Frenchman doesn ’ t admit he doesn ’ t know .
Françoise had merely placed her wines in the hands of a broker and had no idea they were on such prestigious wine lists . I think that was the end of the broker as far as she was concerned . We still drink a lot of No . 7 . It sums up for us what Languedoc red wines are all about . They get a lot of sun and the stony soil drains well ; so the wine is naturally concentrated , rich , and fruity . Knowing the people and their vineyards brings a whole new dimension to enjoying their wine .
l This is Andrew Polmear ’ s final wine column for The Mighty Whistler . But he can ’ t get away that easily . We organised a 38 Degrees Petition - to say how many votes it got would embarrass Andrew - but suffice to say you ’ ve not seen the last of his byline