The David Gower Selection - Laithwaite's Wines

Cricket has never really been much of a passion of mine and there is a good reason why. Some time ago now, when I was a boy, I went on a trip of a lifetime to Australia to visit family who ensconced down under way back in the 1960's. It would be fitting to squeeze in at this point, all the usual banter about them being criminals, forced to flee the country etc etc, because they were. Well, Great Nanny Clark was. She was a colossal tea-leaf in fact. She had an evil, lustful eye for the pick 'n' mix in Woolworths whenever she came home and had been known to smuggle cutlery out of Claridges in her brassiere on one or two occasions. Harmless, lovable rogues, that's all they were really though and we travelled thousands of miles to see them. 

It was a great holiday, the memories and experience of which still echo in my mind but there was a moment that came towards the end that scarred me forever. I was in the garden of an uncle's house trying to play cricket with my second cousin called Leslie, who was Australian by birth and mad on the sport. I say trying because I was a typical pasty uncoordinated ginga from the UK with little experience of the hallowed game. Whereas handsome and tanned Leslie was that all singing, all dancing kid from the Gold Coast who was good at everything and as a result, a bit of a spoilt brat. 

The goading didn't bother me at first but after a while, it began to intensify and become more personal. I think it's called 'sledging'. So, thoroughly fed up of having to scamper everywhere to retrieve a red leather ball to the sound of mocks and jeers, I decided to give Leslie a taste of his own medicine. Focusing and concentrating on three singular, wonky sticks, poking up out of the ground, I threw the ball with all my might and for the first time that day, it whizzed past his bat and smashed them to pieces.

"OWZAT YOU TWAT!" I screamed, lungs bursting with joy and I started to whip my feet around the lawn in the manner of Michael Jackson and his famous moonwalk. However, I was so caught up in celebration that I failed to notice a crimson faced Leslie who was running up towards me, simultaneously crying and swinging a bat above his head. Being the accurate sportsman that he was (and still is, I should imagine) Leslie planted a hefty piece of willow firmly into my mouth. That he didn't knock any teeth out was a miracle but a canine did pierce and protrude out my bottom lip and blood flowed freely after that, as well as more tears.

The situation was soon placated by a wet sponge, a fistful of Aussie dollars and the reassurance that Leslie would remain locked inside his room until he calmed down. By all accounts, the little cherub was still sore and sensitive after seeing his heroes fall. If David Gower and his cohorts hadn't secured a comprehensive 3-1 series win that summer, therefore recovering the Ashes, he might have been more forgiving. At least that was the suggestion at the time but I have to say, after that episode, cricket sort of lost its allure. I went on to play rugby union instead, which is a much more civilised affair.

Speaking of civilised affairs though, despite having an underdeveloped understanding of what actually happens on a cricket pitch, I rather like the idea of watching as a spectator. Any sport that breaks for lunch and tea sounds good to me but the fact that cricket fans are actively encouraged to bring along a picnic with alcoholic refreshments to serve themselves throughout the day, sounds even better. So when Laithwaite's Wines approached me with the offer of curating a celebratory hamper to enjoy at the 4th Investec Ashes Test v Australia at Durham ICG on August 10th, I leapt at the chance. 

The main deal on my part is suggest food to match wines selected by Mr Gower or Lubo, as he is affectionately and inexplicably known. Curating is an interesting word actually, as it sort of implies a considered approach or degree of artistry. I'll be honest and say that whilst testing the wines that arrived a couple of weeks ago, it was considered but I employed an artistry of a different kind. Piss artistry. But nevertheless, I do sincerely believe that these pairings would keep most members of the Barmy Army happy. This is what I came up with:

Blackstrap Shiraz 2010 - Packed with pepper and jammy fruit with plenty of length (as they say), I was tempted to make the suggestion of packing a disposable bbq into the hamper so that the wine could be enjoyed with a freshly grilled rump steak such as 60 day Longhorn from The Ginger Pig but the Durham ICG probably wouldn't be too best pleased with that idea. Sandwiches made from sourdough bread and packed with cold beef, cooked rare, a small bunch of watercress and a smidgen of horseradish would go down well though.

Villa Broglia Gavi 2012 - I got into an argument with Mrs FU over this one as she asserted that this was a "drinking" wine, which of course sounds absurd because all wines are drinking wines. What she meant was that this Gavi, which is quite fruity yet retains a dry crisp edge, is an Italian wine to be enjoyed on its own. I begged to differ and shoved a plate of marinated anchovies under her nose to try with her next glass. She acquiesced that boquerones were indeed a nice pairing and then shoved me out of the way to finish the bottle in the sunshine, in the garden.

Grande Réserve de Gassac Rouge 2012 - This rich Cabernet Sauvignon came on a journey with us all the way down to Devon, belying the theory that wines don't travel well because this red was delicious and full of bramble berries. After taking the children on their first camping trip, which lasted just two days, we settled into a little family hotel for the night and got stuck into some goodies we bought from a deli outside Barnstaple. Two choices of cheese were made, a nutty Devon Oke Cheddar and a Devon Blue and it was the subtle blue veined cheese that scored top marks so that would have to go in the hamper.

The Rustler Chenin Blanc 2012 - Dry, crisp and grassy with lots of herbal notes, this wine left us stumped (ha!) for a period and very nearly fell back into that "drinking" wine catagory but then Mrs FU came up with idea of serving something quite creamy and decadent, so that the wine would not only pair up but could also cut through the flavours. In the past we've made Salad Olivieh, a Persian salad that can be tweaked here and there but generally consists of diced potatoes, peas, mayonnaise, finely chopped gherkins and grated eggs. I made a variation at the weekend with shredded chicken and chopped tarragon and it complimented the Chenin Blanc perfectly. And vice

So that's my four pairings. The proof of the pudding will be how they all fare together along with the wines, under the heat of the midday sun (or rain) in Durham in under a couple of weeks time and I aim to report back on that. But if England continue on their current trend, then I am sure everything will work out just fine.

I am hopeful in fact that Mr Gower might grace us with his presence as I'd love to find out what he thinks of my selection of food. And I also want to collar him for what my spoilt git of a (second) cousin did to me, way back in 1985.

"See this scar on my lip Lubo," I'll say. "It's all your fault you know."

Salad Olivieh

WineTrust100

Like a lot of blokes, if there is one attribute that I can claim wholeheartedly, it is the guiding principle that whatever decisions I make, they will be made with unswerving confidence. Do I need a map? No, I know exactly where I am going. Is an angle grinder really the right tool for the job? Of course it is and besides, I don't know what I've done with the pliers. Should I really be putting white spirit on the charcoal like that? Yes, I bloody well should, how else am I going to get this thing started? No, the burgers won't be tainted with the smell, now will you just go away and leave me to get on with this? Please?

Yes, you can be safe in the knowledge that whatever I do do, I guarantee you that I really do know what I am doing. Because I am a do-er. And do-ers gets things done.

Take choosing wine for instance. Spot me in the booze aisle of a supermarket and you will have the pleasure of witnessing a man masterfully in charge of his own destiny. Watch him as he peruses through the different sections and picks up various bottles to hold up to the light. Just look at his inquisitive face as he scrutinises, ponders and considers with tenacity and thought. Marvel as he wistfully travels the globe and meanders through the vineyards and terroirs of his mind, recalling grape varieties from worlds both old and new. Smile with him when he finds a particular vintage which obviously sparks a particular memory within. Of hands held, fingertips trailing through long grass and cool, straw coloured nectar, drunk in view of a crumbling Cathar stronghold on a baking hot day in a breathless valley, set somewhere in Languedoc.

Then wrinkle your nose and drop your jaw in horror as you see him make his way to the promotions stand and bundle up half a dozen bottles in his arms, which have miraculously been reduced from a RRP of £10 a bottle to 3 for £10. Finally, shake your head sadly, as he skips off triumphant into the distance, full of the joys of spring; knowing full well that in the morning, a thumping head and grimacing, purple stained teeth awaits.

I said I was confident yes, but do I really know what I am doing half the time? Well, in all honesty, no, I don't. So why I was invited to the launch of WineTrust100 is beyond me. I do like wine, I love it in fact but what do I actually know about wine? If you were to hand me the wine list in a restaurant or put me charge of purchasing the social juice* for a party or something like that, I would feel entirely daunted and all at sea by the prospect. Drowning, not waving.

But after listening to the people at WineTrust100 and hearing about their mission to supply the best 100 "quality to price ratio" wines in the world, I suspect that I fall squarely into a category of wine consumer that WineTrust100 wish to court. That is folk who enjoy wine yet remain conservative with their purchases, particularly when it comes to brands and cost. And who, in all frankness, could do with a bit of help when it comes to branching out and experimenting.

Having belonged to various wine clubs in the past, taking delivery of anonymous cardboard boxes every quarter and gone through the long drawn out process of umming and ahhing in the aforementioned supermarket aisle far too many times before, the premise of WineTrust100 does sound appealing. Three Masters of Wine ("These are not the wines you are looking for") select 100 wines a month, the best for their price, from around the world, from small independent producers and categorise them according to style and cost. So far, so very simple. And the website replicates this clean, unfussy approach very well. It sort of sounds daft to highlight but by simply grouping wines by their tasting type - i.e. 'crisp, dry whites', 'full-bodied, rich reds' - the whole decision process is made a lot easier. Think back to the scatter gun approach of how wines are stocked in supermarkets, where eyes have to flit all over the place, up and down and across shelves loaded with random numbers and tidbits of information. Well, that's what makes my brain ache. Plus the pricing structure is pretty straightforward too.

Getting a handle on this quality to price ratio business however, or QPR for short, was a little bit more difficult. One of the Masters of Wine (or MW's for short) Nick Adams is obviously also keen on crunching the scoring numbers for the wines they select, which are based on the individual wine’s vibrancy, balance and character. Yet when he reeled out the various ratios, I did blink vacantly into space somewhat and zone out for a bit. To the uninitiated, the classic scoring system of wine rating, upon which the ratios are based, can seem quite alien and not that many people know what it means to get all excited about a 93 or a 97 or whatever. So perhaps some more clarity could be put in place surrounding this 'QPR'. But overall, coupled with Sarah Abbot's enthusiasm for big gobby reds and John Hoskins friendly, boyish charm, the three MW's projected a warm, engaging and humorous authority on the subject of wine which made it very easy to ‘trust’ them. Again, another principle, that I am sure this new venture is keen to promote.

With regards to the wines they selected for the evening, well they were wonderful and I wish I could extrapolate further…..no, OK I can, the rich, heavy and very juicy Primitivo di Manduria was by far my favourite; although the fragrant, strawberry flavoured Pink Moscato came a close second. Which is quite a good stab. Still, when it comes to wine, I can’t help but become coy on the subject. I literally feel the confidence drain from my feet when it comes to speaking up and trying to describe wine.

Interestingly, when I expressed this lack of vocabulary or commitment to wine writer Fiona Beckett, over a very noisy table, she gently scoffed and said:

"I don't know what it is about you food bloggers and writers; you could whittle on about the quality of cheese or beef for hours if you had to, talking about how it tastes and whatnot, why do you get all clammed up about wine?"

And she had a point, but by then, my cerebral cortex had been sufficiently soaked with alcohol; far too much to warrant to sensible response. So I just sniffed and nodded back in the direction of John Hoskins, who curiously reminds me of a certain Hollywood actor and replied with:

“Ah, what does it matter what I think about wine anyway, as long it tastes good and doesn’t cost the earth. And besides, I’ve got Kevin Bacon buying my wine for me now. Cheers.”

Visit winetrust100 at www.winetrust100.com to find out more.

Photographs by Michael Pilkington

*social juice pinched from Thirst for Wine's Robert McIntosh

Transcendental Chablis

Pairing wine with food isn't easy. There you go, I've said it.

Alright, it might be easy if you know a little bit about the stuff. About wine that is. To truly appreciate the grape, it's inherent qualities and characteristics and then to match it with food, well there are many, many processes to master. Or so it would seem. You see it's all about vinification, classification, appellation, degustation, from all across the nations and even then, the learned expert (who has to undergo a rigorous bout of sommelification) doesn't always get it right. Many's the time in a restaurant, have I asked a wine steward for their recommendation to accompany my meal and ended up spitting the wine out in disgust. This usually happens upon finding out the price of the wine from the list, rather than have anything to do with the quality. But in all honesty, I have on occasion sat through a tasting menu, spooned a mouthful from the plate and slurped straight from the glass and thought, "Erm, I don't get it. Where are the fireworks?"

So where do we go from here?

Well it's an interesting question and it's one that I have been asking myself a lot recently because I put my hand up to take part in a competition run by The Bureau Interprofessionnel des Vins de Bourgogne (think Men In Black but with corkscrews). The remit was to simply come up with a food pairing to go with Chablis, one of the more sophisticated, swankier incarnations of Chardonnay that exists out there in the big, bad world of wine. And for while I was stumped. Even after sampling the best part of a bottle that was sent, a Les Domaines Brocard Chablis, 2007, no less, I was still stumped. Luckily they also sent me a Chablis Premier Cru, Les Vaillons 2007, Billaud-Simon and after tasting that, the magical genie deep within my cerebral cortex began to muse, design and reminisce from the past.

You see there is a lot to be said about personal experience when it comes to thinking about pairing food and wine. And as I let the flavours of the Les Vaillons wash over me, something strange started to happen. I don't know if it was the nose, clean with an element of soft creaminess. Or the dry, crisp, mineral notes on the palate. Or the combination of apples and citrus with just a slight hint of herbaceousness but it was as though the Chablis was furrowing through history, ploughing the terroir of my mind.

Snapshots of a holiday in the south of France before the arrival of children, in the undulating peaks of Le Fenouillèdes, began to focus in and out. A tiny gite in a tiny, tiny village, set in a cauldron-like valley where swallows would race round and round as though on a cycle track before soaring majestically into the sky. Silent mornings, spent with doors open in the listless heat, lying on our bed, peering through the cracks of our toes. Bikes and baguettes, riding through cobbled streets. Trips in the car to the sea, listening to foreign radio against crashing waves. A birthday, a celebration, a visit to the supermarche and then to a poissonnerie with pointing fingers and brief, muted embarrassment and then back home. Mussels and clams steamed in wine, squid and prawns quickly fried, linguine boiled and tossed into a shabby old colander. Oil, garlic, some chicken stock and tomatoes in a pan over heat and then stir through the shellfish. The pasta gets curled into the middle of the bowl, an island for the seafood ragout before herbs, finely chopped are sprinkled around. Good old Mr Stein, he never lets you down. And then the wine is brought out, a similar crisp, acidic Chablis, very gently chilled. A kiss, then a sip and as we eat, the sun slowly sinks out of sight, leaving us quite alone, in our quiet field and everything is just perfect.

So my ideal match for Les Vaillons Chablis would be a Seafood Ragout with Fine Herbs and Linguine.

To be enjoyed alfresco, during the last remaining rays of the day.

Except this isn't the field I remember.

This isn't the field at all.....

How did I get here?

You know, I suspect I've been thinking about this wine pairing just a little bit too much.

It's wine Jim but not as we know it

I took one sniff, then another and then squinted with one eye shut at the diminutive pixie-like woman standing in front of me, beaming, willing me on. And then I took another sniff. I then raised the glass up in the air, swirled it around, trying to peer through the cloudy ether and then frowned. "Are you absolutely sure this isn't scrumpy?" I asked. The pixie with a twinkle in her eye gently shook her head and motioned for me to drink. This didn't seem right and taking a glass from someone who proudly pronounces that they are certifiable certainly didn't feel right but everyone else in the room was doing it. So not wanting to be left out of the club, I took one last sniff before finally plucking up the courage to tip the glass towards my mouth, letting the gold liquid flow in and flood over my taste buds. Eschewing the method of pursing your lips and sucking in air, which personally always results in coughing and hacking, I simply swished the strange elixir around before swallowing. Yes swallowing, not spitting. And well, I was pleasantly surprised. Despite smelling of brackish West Country loopy juice, the kind of stuff that has left me lying prone on festival fields in the distant past, this wine, this murky, pungent wine actually tasted very good. This was my welcome to the world of natural wines where appearances (and smells) can be deceiving.

I was invited to a tasting a couple of weeks hosted by Isabelle Legeron, that Crazy French Woman to try out some natural wines and so went along with no preconception of what natural wine is. I mean isn't all wine natural? After all, it all comes from grapes dunnit? Seemingly not so and after a thoroughly pleasant evening of sampling natural wines, both reds and whites from the Languedoc region, I stumbled home an enlightened man. First and foremost, natural wine does exactly what it says on the tin in that it's produced without artifice. The grapes, the vineyards, the harvesting and the process of making wine simply do not get tampered with. There is no use of fertilisers, pesticides, no added yeasts, sugars, additives or heavy machinery. Instead natural wine producers take a holistic approach to their wine making that in some cases borders on lunacy and I don't wish to insult when saying that, I am just making a crap pun on biodynamic farming. So it's all a very hippy dippy, circle of life, the moon is in Uranus kind of way of doing things but that sort of eccentric approach appeals to me. As Isabelle said on the night with natural wine there is a story behind every bottle and knowing that the grapes were picked by a farmer wearing a cow skull at 3 o'clock in the morning seems so much better than picturing a cavernous warehouse with hundreds of steel vats. Furthermore some of the wines we tasted were, like I said, very good. By and large they all had an earthy, farmyard quality that on first taste might be perceived as quite rough but once you got your teeth into them, the subtleties came through. My favourite of the night was L'Inattendu Minervois Blanc from Clos du Gravillas, a dry white that was quite intense at first before fading with mineral notes, really good. Coupled with some fine charcuterie and cheese (and some very dirty, cheesy feet from some quarters) it was all in all, a very educational night.

If there was one snag behind the promotion of natural wines, I would have to say that it would be the cost as the retail price generally hovers around £20. Obviously this reflects the time, care and effort that goes into producing natural wine and as Isabelle was also keen to point out, why not splash out on a bottle of something different and special for the dinner table rather than going for cheap deals. He types, clutching three bottles for a tenner under his arm. But seriously, natural wines are really worth investigating and if this has tickled your fancy then you would do well to go to The Natural Wine Fair at Borough Market on Sunday (open to trade only Monday and Tuesday) where Isabelle and five other importers are showcasing 500 different natural wines. Admission is £18, you get a catalogue and tasting glass to take away. And I think you're allowed to swallow.

PS The featured cartoon was drawn by a talented bearded oaf who is going to marry my sister, please check out his blog too.

Suddenly everyone is a wine expert

Sunday dinner is normally a convivial, family affair in our household. With a pair of little mouths to feed, proceedings leading up to the event can be stressful but more often than not either my parents or Mrs FU's parents come over to help, to take up the slack whilst we dish up. Hot plates are placed down, knifes and forks both metal and plastic plunge forth, hush descends. This silence is always brief though. Fits of giggles will erupt from one corner, usually from my daughter as she spots her brother modelling some of his dinner on the end of his nose, crossing his eyes. More laughter follows, this time coming from the grandparents before wet wipes and mild reprimands are dished out to both young and old. However, a cheeky grin peering out from underneath a mop of curly hair often snuffs out the rebuke and then it's smiles all round. Normal service resumes and the business of eating goes on with small talk and endless questions beginning "why does..?" in between mouthfuls. Before long, empty, clean plates are taken away and stacked in the sink and to great applause, the pudding bowls appear shortly afterwards. The contents of which get demolished in double quick time. Then comes the best part as the kids slip off their chairs and charge into the other room. The adults are left to sit around the table and idly chat, pat their collective belly's and sip the last of the wine as the remnants of the weekend slowly fade into dusk with a crash, bang, wallop of building blocks echoing in the background.

A couple of Sunday's ago, something different happened.

My wife's parents were over this time and at the end of our meal, I asked my father-in-law what he thought of the wine we had been drinking, a Mistral Chardonnay Reserve 2009 from Naked Wines. "Very nice" he replied. I then told him that it came from a mixed case that Naked Wines had sent me to review and that I needed some opinions as I've never really done this sort of thing before (sure I've buggered about with wine tasting before but to concentrate for once and try to give an informed opinion, well that's a different matter.) It was a shot in the dark as he is normally a real ale man and by my reckoning knows just as much as I do. But then he did something I've never seen him do before. With a delicate swish of the hand, he brought the glass to his nose and then in one swift movement poured the wine into his mouth. "Yes, very nice in fact, surprisingly sharp towards the end and good length too". 'Length?' I thought to myself, creasing my forehead. But before I could respond with one raised, hesitant finger, my mother-in-law countered with "you know, it's got a slightly deeper yellow to the usual light straw" holding the glass behind one of my credit card statements. Where she got it from I don't know. I always make an effort to shred them as soon as they pop unwelcomed onto the welcome mat, usually still in the sealed envelope. My mouth dropped and again before I could utter a word of exasperation, Mrs FU finished the last of her glass, licked her lips and said "hmm lovely tropical notes, it sounds bizarre but I'm getting banana for some reason". This left me totally bamboozled. 'Tropical notes? Yellow straw? Length? LENGTH? Where are they getting this from?'

Desperate to join in but lacking confidence, I headed straight for the one phrase of wine terminology that I always keep in store in the ol' memory bank.

"Yeah and it's got great legs" I shouted, over egging a careful, almost clinical examination of my wine glass.

"That's just a myth Dan, wine legs or 'tears' as the French might say, don't really tell you anything about the wine itself", sang Mrs FU.

"They do! They indicate the quality of the wine. Good legs, good wine. And it's down to the sugar in the grapes and the glycerin and er the noble rot". All of this was plucked out from the nether recesses of my mind, especially the last bit.

"Yes, if a wine doesn't have legs, it's not worth having and the legs are there to tell you how oaky the barrels are and er butter, they put butter in Chardonnay you know, to make it taste er buttery, hence the legs. They are in actual fact big, streaky, buttery legs of fat!"

By this point, I had raised my voice a little too far towards the ceiling attracting the attention of the twins who came galloping back into the room to see what the fuss what was about. Silence descended with all eyes on my person. Heads, including the kids, shook from side to side. I'd been caught out. So, slowly but surely, I stood up and clasped my glass in my hand, walked calmly out of the room, grabbing a generic wine guide from our bookcase along the way and headed straight for the bathroom. I locked the door and stayed in there for well over an hour, perched on the toilet seat perusing the dog eared tome, flicking from page to page. "I've got 5 more bottles to review yet", I muttered to myself. "I better start getting to grips with this or I'm going to look really stupid."

Let the education commence.

Project Awesome

It's all about wine, innit

When it comes to matching food with wine and thinking of a recipe that will marry the pair in perfect harmony, to my mind there are simply two routes you can take. The first is purely sensory. Open that bottle and pour a glass. Look at it. What do you see? Bright straw with a hint of youthful green? Bring the glass to your nose and draw in the aroma, engage those receptors, fill your nasal cavity with odors of tropical fruits. Lift the edge of the glass to your lips and let the cool liquid flood over your tongue, flow freely over your taste buds. Swish around your cheeks, breath in through your mouth, let the air condense those subtleties, to bring out notes of apricot and citrus. Spit or swallow, whatever the case may be and then sit down with pen and paper. Let your experience dictate what is written down, go with your first impulse as you connect the dots. Concentrate on the fundamental character of the wine as you focus your mind, search your memory bank of flavours and zero in on what ingredients will harmonize. Be confident and you will be sure to conjure a marriage made in heaven. Punch the air! Feel good about yourself.

Like I said, this is the first path but alternatively, you could always read the label on the back of the bottle for any kind of clue as to what the hell will go with a particular bottle of wine. And as a rule of thumb, this is usually the path I take. Standing in the supermarket aisle, I'll often bellow a curt "what are we having for dinner tonight?" down the phone and the answer will usually be "Pasta, lamb, stew, it's in the cat.." etc etc and off I shall trot, squinting at the backs of bottles until I find a suitable match. However for Project Awesome, I did want to extend myself for a change and go down the route of sampling the wine first before trying to come up with a recipe to go with it.

Actually, I should lift the lid here and fully reveal exactly what Project Awesome was all about. In short, it was a ludicrously named social media experiment involving various food and wine bloggers which sought to deliver some mystery and intrigue but at the end of the day, the mission was to simply come up with a recipe that would compliment the individual bottle of wine sent to us by an enthusiastic young man and brainchild called Ben who helps manage a small food and drink shop in Morecombe called The Wineyard & Deli. Phew.

I have to say, as projects go, this was great fun to get involved in with and out of all the contributors, I was probably the one who got carried away the most. I am a fantasist at heart so grabbed at the whole concept with both hands, wheeling off tales that I was some kind of hokey spy. By the last post though, I think my wife had enough of taking daft photos of me and certainly wasn't up for smearing tomato sauce on my head despite my pleas. So I smeared it on my hand instead. Attempts to connect an audience with wine and bring it into the mainstream can sometimes be dry, boring and humourless, as anyone who has been to Vinopolis may testify, so hats off to Ben for coming up with the idea.

Now back to the recipe and how I came up with matching an Abadía Blanc de Blancs from Raimat with Pork Tenderloin Stuffed with Apricot, Lemon, Sage and Onion. As I have already sort of indicated, I am no wine buff. But it is worthwhile to sit down and concentrate on a glass of wine once in while rather than throw it down your Gregory with gay abandon. I did this with Mrs FU one afternoon as it's best to do this kind of thing in pairs and I find that when wine tasting there is always a kind of follow the leader aspect to it all.

"Hmm I can smell lemon"

"Oh yes, so can I"

"And it's quite fruity, tastes quite peachy, or apricots even"

"er yeah, yeah I got that too"

I won't reveal who did the leading and who did the following but between us we thought that the wine would suit pork with a simple fruit stuffing. In the past, I've found that tenderloin is a particularly good cut for this purpose due to it's elongated shape. Slide your knife down the centre, three quarters of the way in, open the incision and then make another two cuts along either side, like cutting a T shape almost. And voila, the joint opens up with a nice area over which you can spread a stuffing of your choice before rolling it back together and trussing it with string. As the Abadía was also quite acidic, creating a strong mouth watering sensation after drinking, we figured that the recipe needed a creamy mash to temper this. I say the royal 'We' as this was Mrs FU's suggestion and here I threw my toys out of the pram and decided that the pork should be artistically accompanied by "crushed new potatoes, mixed with crème fraiche and sorrel!" I mean I had to stamp my authority didn't I and glean back some of the credit for the recipe. This was my project! Goddammit!

So we went to the shops, bought the ingredients, came back and later that evening I prepped and slaved over the stove for an hour or so. We then sat down at the table with glasses refilled, at the ready. The result was pretty good and the recipe will follow after all this pontificating but for analysis, the pork with apricot stuffing certainly combined well with the Abadía. A sure fire way to see if it all works is to simply slip a forkful of food into your mouth and then immediately take a glug (I learnt this from The Wine Sleuth). The sweetness of the meat and fruit mirrored up nicely against the characteristics of the wine. I was worried that the sage might throw things out of sync but it's pungent savoury flavour blended nicely into the background. The potato, which after cooking did resemble mash in the end, helped cut through the acid and I was pleased that the sorrel stirred in at the end picked up notes of citrus. But then again this could have been down to the lemon zest which was also in the stuffing. Oh I don't know, all this wine matching malarky, it's still a mystery to me at times.

Anyway, here's the recipe:

Pork Tenderloin Stuffed with Apricot, Lemon, Sage and Onion

Serves 2 (greedy people)

for the pork and stuffing

400gms pork tenderloin

handful of dried apricots

zest of 1 lemon

1 onion, finely chopped

5 or 6 sage leaves, finely chopped

50gms butter

salt and pepper to season

string

for the crushed potatoes

10 good sized new potatoes such as Charlotte

2 tbs of crème fraiche

2 or 3 sorrel leaves, finely sliced

salt and pepper to season

for the sauce

200ml chicken stock

1 glass of Abadía Blanc de Blancs (or a similar acidic, dry white wine with notes of tropical fruit)

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 190c. Melt half of the butter in a frying pan over a medium heat. When it begins to foam, add the onion and gently fry for 5 minutes or so until it turns soft. Then add the apricots and sage and cook for a further 2 minutes Finally add the lemon zest, frying just for another minute and then take the pan off the heat. Add a twist of pepper and salt for seasoning, stir through and leave to cool down

2. Once the stuffing mix has cooled, take the pork tenderloin, with a sharp knife cut down the middle and either side as per my instructions earlier in the post. Open the joint out, place some cling film over the pork and with a rolling pin gentle flatten the meat. Then spoon the stuffing mixture evenly over the surface area of the cut. Roll back up and secure the joint with string tied at 3-4cm intervals and season lightly all over with some more salt and pepper.

3. Wipe the frying pan clean and then place again on the hob, adding the remaining butter and again melt over a medium heat until it starts to foam. Place the tenderloin in the pan and brown all over. Once that is done, put the pan straight into the oven to cook for a further 25 minutes.

4. Whilst the pork is roasting. Place the potatoes into a saucepan of water, bring to the boil and then gently simmer for 10-15 minutes. You want the potatoes to have a bit of resistance to them and not turn to mush so keep an eye them by prodding with a sharp knife from time to time. Once done, take off the heat, drain the water from saucepan and keep warm.

5. After 25 minutes is up, take the tenderloin out of the oven and out of the pan to rest on a plate or chopping board and cover with foil. Place the pan back on the hob over a high heat and add the chicken stock and wine. Scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon, to loosen up any porky residue and boil rapidly until reduced by two thirds. Set to one side and keep warm.

6. Time to plate up. Take the warm potatoes and gently crush them with the back of another wooden spoon (always use wooden spoon by the way). Add the crème fraiche and sorrel, stirring all together but taking care not completely mash and season with salt and pepper. Spoon the potato on the plate or use those fancy rings if you've got them. Then uncover the pork and slice into 5cm thick rounds and place them around the crushed potato. Finally drizzle some of your reduced sauce over the meat and around the plate. Accompany with a vegetable of your choice, I added french beans when cooking this. Enjoy with a glass of Abadía Blanc de Blancs or a similar acidic, dry white wine with notes of tropical fruit.

Chopped apricot, sage and lemon zest

Get stuffed

Bound, gagged and tied


Pork Tenderloin Stuffed with Apricot, Lemon, Sage and Onion

An after thought

Having made just the one attempt at this, I have mulled things over and rather than brown the tenderloin and then place into the oven, you may want to wrap the trussed up pork in foil and poach in simmering water for 25 minutes. Then cool it down, remove foil and pan fry for 5 minutes, browning it all over before you are ready to eat. Just a thought.

Little Ole Wine Drinker Me

Now I may be a Londoner born and bred but if I were to say that I know the streets of London like the back of my hand then I would be lying. In fact lets just say that my own geographical knowledge of our nation's fine capital ain't arf crap and I know this because a couple of weeks ago I decided it would be a good idea to walk from my office in Barbican to a pub in Battersea, all 5 and half miles by Goggle Earth's reckoning. A willingness to kill some time and get some fresh air prompted this exercise as on that particular evening I was on my way to a wine tasting come foodie social event at The Westbridge organised by Niamh of eatlikeagirl and Ryan and Gabriella, the wine bloggers behind the very comprehensive Catavino. I was fine until I got past Westminster but then soon realised that this undertaking was a bit further than I anticipated. Swearing soon commenced at Lambeth Bridge, heavy perspiration at Chelsea Bridge and by the time I reached Battersea Bridge, it felt like my plates of meat were on fire. I was in such a delirious state by then, I started to hope that perhaps there would be barrels of grapes to greet me on arrival and that I could plunge my feet into them, relieving the fires that were tormenting my soles (squish squish, squish squish, aah). Alas, when I finally arrived there were no such barrels to ease my pain. However there was wine, lots and lots of wine.

I hadn't done much in the way of actual tasting before apart from participating in the scrum at Vinopolis one Saturday afternoon and a summer holiday in the south of France where we did visit a fair few caves. And of course, I shouldn't forget my experience as a young office bod at a city PR firm where I was invited down to the meeting room to try some interesting reds that were to be served at a function that evening. Call it naivety but I had no reason to suspect the glass handed over to me was in actual fact a sample from the spit bucket. Luckily someone saved me just before taking the first sip, well it didn't occur to me at the time that wine doesn't have a head like beer does. I like to think that since then I know a little bit more about the ol' vino but the prospect of meeting people who really knew their stuff did fill me with some trepidation.

These fears were soon unfounded as I entered our designated private room with a pint of Sleemans I.P.A from the bar and bumped into Gabriella of Catavino. "Ah I suppose this is going to mess up my taste buds isn't it?" I said, holding up the glass sheepishly. "Ah don't worry about it", she replied "I've been drinking cider, it's not going to stop us from enjoying the wine now is it?" and with that I felt totally at ease. Better still, after a few speeches I could see that the emphasis of the evening was that it was to be a friendly, convivial event where people could just mill about and chat about food and wine. Looking over at a table laden with bottles of plonk to one side of the room with cheeses and charcuterie covering another on the other side, I remember thinking to myself "I should really do this kind of thing more often".

I'd spied one fella who was already making notes by the table, tasting with a concentrated look on his face and giving the contents of his glass a thorough examination so I decided that he should be the one to help me get this party started. I hope my tap on the back didn't ruin his train of thought too much but nevertheless Mr Dinner Diary was very helpful and suggested the Cava, a Chozas Carrascal Brut Nature Reserva no less, saying that a bit of fizz would help kick start the palate (had he seen me with the I.P.A I wonder?) It was indeed very refreshing, with tiny little bubbles that twinkled up my nose, causing me to sneeze. Perhaps I was a little overzealous trying to smell its bouquet but I was trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Still I managed to disguise my scrunched up face by morphing into some thoughtful repose as if I was making some mental notes, nodding sagely to myself. Luckily, Mr Dinner Diary had his head back in his notes so probably didn't even notice.

I decided after that to immediately remove myself to the cheese table and try some of the Tête de Moines, a hard alpine cheese from Switzerland which has it's very own twisty turney slicey thing called a "Girole".



A very cool little gadget this, I think the idea being that with one swift turn, you get a lovely delicate thin sliver of sweetness. However after my heavy handed first attempt, I came away with a great fat big wedge and felt quite embarrassed walking away with such a chunk of cheese but then I saw Charlie McVeigh, the owner of The Westbury, stuffing a huge lump of camembert into his mouth so didn't feel too bad. "Perhaps this was to be a bacchanalian feast after all", I thought to myself and with that launched myself back over to the other side of the room to where the wine was.

What followed was basically a montage of glug glug, chat chat, chomp chomp on a continuous loop for 2 hours.

"Ah I can't decide between the Albariño and the Riesling, they're both delicious"

"I can actually feel my arteries clogging after eating this Brillat-Savarin but it goes lovely with the Syrah doesn't it?"

"Holy shit, what kind of white wine is this?" "That's sherry Dan, you're drinking sherry"

My personal favourite of the evening came as a bolt out of the blue actually, a fruity white called Libalis introduced to me by Ricardo of Vintae. I normally stick to dry white wines but this one tasted gorgeous, packing a sweet punch at first before settling down with a more subtle, smooth aftertaste, it was really different to the others that I tried that evening. I think I was even more gobsmacked to have described it just like that back to Ricardo but the smile on his face suggested that I was making all the right noises.

Of course as the evening went on, with all this tasting I was starting to feel quite overwhelmed by it all. OK no scrub that, I was starting to feel quite pissed. The turning point came when I got started on the 5 year old Madeira and Andre Ribeirinho, founder of online wine community Adegga, came up with a warm smile and said "Hey take it easy my friend, that's strong stuff!". Two devils in the shape of Ollie Reed appeared on my shoulders and whispered in my ear, urging me to chuckle back "Really? Fantastic! Have you seen my mighty mallet?" but luckily I found some inner fortitude from somewhere and replied "hmm yeah I suppose I should call it a night". And with that gave my thanks to everybody involved for a super evening and departed without further incident, phew.

There was no way I was going to be walking anywhere after my earlier expedition so I hailed a cab before spotting Krista of Londonelicious at the bus stop and so asked if she needed a lift. After hearing the first 5 minutes of rambling, I suspect that she would have been happier taking the bus in the first place but she was very gracious in conversation, I just wish I could remember what we were talking about. When it came to dropping her off, I do remember us squabbling like a pair of grannies at a tea parlour over who should pay the fare. "I'll pay for it", "Noooo I'll pay for it" but like a true gentleman I insisted that I take the fare. When I finally got on the train, it gave me a chance to reflect on the night and make some more of those mental notes before I closed my eyes and began to dream of vineyards and cheese. Of course when I awoke, I had already gone 3 stations past my stop so had to hail another cab to get home. As I jumped in, I distinctly recall two thoughts going through my mind, the first being "crap I should taken Krista's money" with the second bubble repeating "I should really do this kind of thing more often".