was best fulfilled behind the counter, and not outside having a smoke. Nor was he glumly perusing his P45. (‘Ah no, mate, interesting wine comes in next week – but I’m afraid I’m off to work up the road, in the paint shop …’) All systems go, then.
I explained that I was looking for something of a treat, something complex I could drink by itself. He asked what kind of thing I liked, and I said I really liked old clarets with a backbone, like Saint-Estèphes. He immediately offered me a 2002 Médoc, which I felt smacked of the obvious rather than the interesting. Then he proposed a Tuscan, a much more stimulating idea.
I said ‘Hmm …?’ in a quizzical manner, meant to suggest, ‘Perhaps you have something even more interesting hidden away for your friends?’ Clearly this was misinterpreted as ‘Can I spend a little more?’ It led to the offer of an extremely expensive mature rioja.
It was actually I who suggested a Shiraz/Viognier made by Terlato & Chapoutier. I had seen this mentioned on an American website as one of the best value wines of the year. (Not cheapest, but best value, a distinction lost on certain wine writers.) And I was intrigued by whether comfortable Australian Shiraz had been lifted into something a bit more complex by a great French winemaker.
‘Ah, now that is an interesting wine,’ he agreed. He went on to say that it was an unoaked Shiraz, which meant you could drink it younger, and that the Viognier added primarily to the nose.
Reasonable guidance – but what made this wine interesting to me was the union between one of the great old winemaking names of the Rhône, and an enthusiast from the New World. Like that duet between Bing Crosby and David Bowie. (Well, that was a bit ropey, actually, but you get my point.) What happens when the traditional skills of France meet the modern, affordable produce of Australia?
He suggested opening it an hour before drinking – and added that ‘opening’ really meant pouring it into something like a glass, with greater surface area. All of which was extremely good advice.
As he wished me an enjoyable evening, I liked to think that our exchange had gone beyond the merely fiscal. I couldn’t say he’d become my friend – but perhaps, and who can blame him, he was a little wary of the unctuous grin.
The wine itself was absolutely delicious, and everything I wanted – a reminder of how enjoyable wine can be, and a genuinely interesting treat. And as to my burgeoning friendship with the chap in the wine merchant, I will try to remember to report whether he remembers me if I go back, or ushers me outside to avoid upsetting other customers.
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