In theory, the wine tasting is a wine lover’s utopia; dozens of bottles of (potentially) great wine free for the taking. So when an invitation arrives on my doorstep asking if I’ll attend this tasting or that, turning it down would be a sign of insanity, surely?
Well, yes. And, well, no.
The decision to go to any wine tasting is often made under the assumption, and anticipation, of how good it is going to be. Endless tastes of wine! Fine Bordeaux, Burgundy and everything else! Every sip a winner!
And so along I go, effervescent with excitement.
Seldom, if ever, does the mind consider the reality of many big public tastings: a room of punters packed in tighter than the Northern line at rush hour. The Lingering Larrys who hover over the bottles, preventing anyone else from receiving a sample. And then there is that inevitable crowd of people who arrived drenched in a fog of cologne.
So what do I do? As a newly anointed British citizen, I do what everyone else in my adopted home does: I tut and mutter under my breath.
I have learned, over time, that there is a critical mass for wine tastings. Too few people and it can be sparse and awkward, particularly if a proprietor keeps hovering over your left shoulder, curious to know what you think following every sip. Too many people and it can seem as though you’ve waited 10 minutes just for a thimble full of wine (the retailers Naked and Virgin spring to mind).
A wine tasting needs to be just the right size. One in which you can lose yourself in the crowd but not feel as though you’ve waited so long for a sip that when you return home you’ll find your children have grown up and left for university.
The reason I write about this is because there is one tasting that I’ve been meaning to write about for more than a month now. Back in September I found myself at the Berry Bros & Rudd Wine Club tasting, held — where else? — in the Long Room at Lord’s Cricket Ground. It was a warm evening, the room looked onto the pitch and the late-summer breeze could be felt through the open windows. It was a very Berry’s crowd, too, which meant that my Canadian twang and lack of red trousers almost certainly marked me as an outsider. But no matter.
The list of wines was generous — 24 in all — and the group was big but not heaving. Perfect.
A British wine critics recently said that there is no venue better for a wine tasting than Lord’s Cricket Ground. I would tend to agree, even if it means my journey home is slightly convoluted.
And so what of this tasting? Much to my long-suffering girlfriend’s chagrin, this was one where I wrote detailed notes for each wine. I loved the Old World white wines, from the Le Caillou Blanc de Chateau Talbot 2012 (grassy, light and floral with a hint of caramel) to the Bianco dei Colli Della Toscana Comitale 2013 (bright flavours of lychee and passion fruit with wet stones).
Then there were the Old World reds, such as the Domaine Jean Fournier Marsannay Clos du Roy 2011 (brambly fruits with a great mid-palate and a long finish) that ticked nearly every box for a good pinot noir, or the Celler de Capcanes Cabrida Garnatxa Vinyes Velles 2009 (deep, dark, black fruits with notes of cedar and a broody complexity) that showed how much great wine can be found in Spain.
Perhaps the most interesting wine on tasting was Chile’s Bodegas RE Chardonnoir 2012. This is a white wine made from 60% chardonnay and 40% pinot noir that smells like a Champagne, giving off nutty aromas of yeast and biscuits as a result of spending two years on its lees, while the mouth is lush and full, offering subtle hints of oak and a well-rounded finish.
These were but a few of the two-dozen wines around the room. And even though I didn’t like everything I tried (the Santa Celina Torrontes 2011 and Mullineux Kloof Street Chenin Blanc 2013 both left me wanting), I walked away happy in the knowledge that I found at least six that I loved without having to partake in a rugby scrum to try them.