The thing about this wine lark, the common factor that all wine shares, indeed what some might say it’s all about, is this: it gets you pissed. I’ll make a strong argument that Lafite-Rothschild pissed is better than Piat d’Or pissed but essentially the states are very similar. Regular imbibers of serious wines will attest that Lafite hangovers don’t happen; the thought of Piat d’Or is giving me a headache, though.
Unless you’re driving a car, operating a bandsaw, at a job interview, having any sort of serious or emotional conversation with your wife, &c, &c, inebriation isn’t such a bad thing. It’s a pleasant state, one of relaxation, sometimes elation and (this is my problem one), occasionally, diamond-sharp clarity of thought. Light-sabre sharp.
Editing your lovefilm wants list after a glass or two, equipped with Jedi-like intuition, is good news. I did this a few months back, totally forgot what I had added, and am still reaping what I sowed. And loving it.
The first films to arrive: Brief Encounter and Zulu. Both quite, quite excellent. I was a bit disappointed that the home side came off worse in Zulu but otherwise brilliant and how cool is Michael Caine? As for Brief Encounter: no amount of technology, scriptwriters and other such tosh can better sheer class. Watch it.
Since then: Slingblade, Crimes and Misdemenours, Welcome to Sarajevo, Hotel Rwanda, Rise of the Footsoldier and many more. Some off them brilliant, all of them interesting. And none of them something I’d watch or rent on anything other than a whim.
There isn’t a vinous equivalent here, other than maybe going off piste. A week or so ago I had a hunger for something white, and something good. I was unwilling to unload the twenty or thirty quid necessary for something genuinely thought-provoking from Burgundy (though these local guys often tempt me) so scanned the shelves of Waitrose for something different, something I didn’t know.
I ended up with a 2008 Muscadet Sur Lie, Cotes de Grandlieu made by a couple of chaps called Luc and Jerome Choblet. It was seven or eight quid. I hadn’t had a Muscadet for ten years or so, I reckon, and had even forgotten the grape variety (Melon de Bourgogne). I’ll stop short of brilliant, but what it it was was interesting. Exceptionally well made, fresh, clean, focussed. Perfect, and what I needed.
As is so often the case here I’m not quite sure of the point, but it’s something to do with: quality, individuality and the rewards that can be reaped if one is prepared to stop following the other sheep. Oh, and much as we might soon have to wear high-vis jackets in the pub, the effects of alcohol are not all bad.
