www.openthatbottle.net
Fantastic concept this.
Essentially, the idea is to encourage us all to get around to opening that special bottle of wine which has been hiding in the bottom of the cellar for years.
A great excuse to open (and appreciate) a great bottle of wine at the beginning of the evening.
I think it's a great idea as far too many of my "special" bottles are only ever foolishly opened at the end of a drunken evening, long after my taste-buds have left the building...
All aboard.
24 February 2011
Witches Falls 2008 Granite Belt Grenache
First came the adoption of the man-bag. Then David Beckham came out wearing a skirt, and a brigade of little Emo popstars led a dubious dash back into the world of male mascara.
Not long after followed the troubling occasion when my 10-year-old nephew informed me that he needed some money to buy nail polish.
"We've already had Mother's Day, mate", I told him.
"No, stupid, it's for me. All the cool kids are doing it. I think I might go for a nice shade of French black", he replied.
"How about a nice shade of harden-the-French-up, sonny?", I muttered. "And it wouldn't kill you to get a haircut either."
And then, this morning, came the straw that finally broke my camel's back. As I waited in line at my favourite little caffe bar for my daily doppio, the bloke (and I use the term loosely) in front of me placed an order for something which he described as a "weak soy chai latte". I don't know what that is and I have no desire to find out, but it sounded like he should have been ordering it for his grandmother. At Starbucks.
What I do know is that I felt emasculated just standing next to him, and found myself wishing fervently for Derek Zoolander to walk around the corner and start a freak gasoline-fight incident in downtown Eagle Street.
And so, in the interest of suppressing the metrosexual Revlon-revolution and reviving some good old Johnny Weissmuller-type masculinity, this week I'm revisiting a big, bruising red that was dished up to me during the Christmas party season at a restaurant where the walls are decorated with butchered bovine and the seats are upholstered with their hides.
The wine compendium in this upmarket meat-market was thicker than Ricky Nixon's skull, and offered at least seventy-five gazillion options. As there were a few of us, we decided to put two different straight (un-metrosexual) grenaches head-to-head. Being that we were also trying to prove a point about good quality Queensland wine to a southerner with a superiority complex, our first pick was the Witches Falls 2008 Granite Belt Grenache. The second was a Barossan offering weighing in at almost twice the price of the local contender.
They came accompanied by outrageously generous slabs of Wagyu rump served up roasted, rubbed and blushingly rare; an artery-choking carnivore's delight requiring the lubrication of equally powerful wine.
The waiter kindly carafed the contesting wines so that we could pick the winner without the influence of labels and reputation. And, you guessed it, the champion by unanimous points decision was...the youngster from Queensland. I was as (pleasingly) surprised as anybody.
So, how was it?
It pours out with a patriotic maroon glow (much deeper than the Barossan), and the heavy alcohol (15%) shows itself off with thick dark legs dancing around the glass like a Beyoncé filmclip.
Give it a little time to open up, and the nose is a super-scented bomb of turkish delight sweetness, with a heated, spicy edge that alerts you to the beast lurking within.
It might be missing an apostrophe, but it’s not lacking in flavour. The drinking is a warm (but not over-cooked) food fight of plummy, egotistical goodness. A hegemonic hit of fine, saliva inducing tannin rounds out the experience.
Definitely a case of the bear in the glass dealing comprehensively with the bull on the plate. I had no idea that Qld wine could be this good.
"How about a nice shade of harden-the-French-up, sonny?", I muttered. "And it wouldn't kill you to get a haircut either."
And then, this morning, came the straw that finally broke my camel's back. As I waited in line at my favourite little caffe bar for my daily doppio, the bloke (and I use the term loosely) in front of me placed an order for something which he described as a "weak soy chai latte". I don't know what that is and I have no desire to find out, but it sounded like he should have been ordering it for his grandmother. At Starbucks.
What I do know is that I felt emasculated just standing next to him, and found myself wishing fervently for Derek Zoolander to walk around the corner and start a freak gasoline-fight incident in downtown Eagle Street.
And so, in the interest of suppressing the metrosexual Revlon-revolution and reviving some good old Johnny Weissmuller-type masculinity, this week I'm revisiting a big, bruising red that was dished up to me during the Christmas party season at a restaurant where the walls are decorated with butchered bovine and the seats are upholstered with their hides.
The wine compendium in this upmarket meat-market was thicker than Ricky Nixon's skull, and offered at least seventy-five gazillion options. As there were a few of us, we decided to put two different straight (un-metrosexual) grenaches head-to-head. Being that we were also trying to prove a point about good quality Queensland wine to a southerner with a superiority complex, our first pick was the Witches Falls 2008 Granite Belt Grenache. The second was a Barossan offering weighing in at almost twice the price of the local contender.
They came accompanied by outrageously generous slabs of Wagyu rump served up roasted, rubbed and blushingly rare; an artery-choking carnivore's delight requiring the lubrication of equally powerful wine.
The waiter kindly carafed the contesting wines so that we could pick the winner without the influence of labels and reputation. And, you guessed it, the champion by unanimous points decision was...the youngster from Queensland. I was as (pleasingly) surprised as anybody.
So, how was it?
It pours out with a patriotic maroon glow (much deeper than the Barossan), and the heavy alcohol (15%) shows itself off with thick dark legs dancing around the glass like a Beyoncé filmclip.
Give it a little time to open up, and the nose is a super-scented bomb of turkish delight sweetness, with a heated, spicy edge that alerts you to the beast lurking within.
It might be missing an apostrophe, but it’s not lacking in flavour. The drinking is a warm (but not over-cooked) food fight of plummy, egotistical goodness. A hegemonic hit of fine, saliva inducing tannin rounds out the experience.
Definitely a case of the bear in the glass dealing comprehensively with the bull on the plate. I had no idea that Qld wine could be this good.
At the end of the meal, I was stuffed and sleepy and felt like someone had slipped me a Jeffrey. All that remained was to stroke the furry wall and follow my Destiny.
Boom chicka wah wah.
Boom chicka wah wah.
In truth, both wines were good, and the Qld'er only just edged the Crow Eater for mine. But at the price, and for this much power and finesse, the Witches Falls also represents good value.
And if a restaurant takes this much care even at the cheaper end of its list, imagine what the top shelves are like. I'm looking forward to revisiting them - just as soon as they finish pumping the floodwater out of the basement, and with the boss is picking up the cheque of course.
Rating: 8.5/10http://www.witchesfalls.com.au/ourwines/restaurants_and_outlets
Drink with: Eat more beef, you bastards!
Price: $27 retail ($49-$65 in restaurants)
10 February 2011
Westend Estate 2008 Three Bridges Golden Mist Botrytis
Shane Warne. Is there anything, or anyone, this man cannot do?
A gentlemen and a scholar if ever there was one. Well, maybe not a scholar. But a gentleman certainly. For this week, the great man delivered us the authoritative lesson in class.
On the day that his latest conquest - the most shagadelic Ms Hurley - arrived to pay him a visit downunder, not only did he take the time to have someone clip the hedge, vacuum his rug, and install some privacy screens on the front gate, he also ensured that he took delivery of a "fresh" mattress for the occasion.
And that, my friends, is pure, unadulterated class. Okay, so again, maybe "unadulterated" is the wrong word. But nonetheless, you get my drift.
After all, a man must always have a good clean workbench, particularly when he is expecting a fembot for the weekend.
And so then, from one gentleman to another; this time a man widely acknowledged as a true gentleman of the Australian wine business, Mr Bill Calabria of Westend Estate in NSW.
I confess I’ve not actually met the chap, mainly because I’m too scared to visit the Griffith area after watching the second series of Underbelly. But many other wine writers are quite adamant that he’s a truly great bloke. And being that these people are real, proper writers who have had their words printed in magazines and on newspapers, I’m prepared to accept that what they say must be true.
The thing that caught my eye when it comes to Bill though, is that he is ironically unique amongst winemakers...He is a teetotaller.
Not by choice mind you. It seems the poor fellow suffers the most unenviable affliction of being allergic to alcohol.
Imagine for a moment, if you will, the sheer torment of this situation. Being born into a prominent wine family. Going on to yourself become a talented and acclaimed winemaker. And all the while you can never enjoy the sweet product of your labours. Not a drop.
It would be like Enzo Ferrari suffering from car-sickness. Or Warnie having an allergy to vaginas.
Fortunately for Bill, it seems he has learned to bear his burden, while at the same time mastering his craft, by utilising the undoubtedly unsatisfying “sip and spit” method.
As Bill says on his website, ‘One does not have to swallow to know whether it is good or bad.’ I expect Ms Hurley will be nodding in agreement with that sentiment come Monday morning.
If you’re still reading this (and hopefully my Mum stopped reading some time ago), you’re probably hoping that I’m going to get to the wine shortly.
So, let’s do it. The Golden Mist Botrytis Semillon.
I bought it after reading a while back that it had beaten the uber-famous Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes in some far off wine show.
Now, I don’t know it’s that good. But it certainly is one delicious little sticky, let me tell you that. And, at $20 a pop, you can buy 40 of these for the price of one bottle of d’Yquem.
It gives off a subtle golden glow in the glass, but despite the pallor, it has a lovely, thick lusciousness in the mouth. It’s big and fat and full of tongue-coating flavour.
It tastes like it smells, with a truckload of intensely ripe tropical fruit, and finishing with a clever surprise of warmth and clarity.
I’d happily wash down a plate of cheese and bikkies with a bottle of this anytime.
All this is my very longwinded way of saying that this is a very nice little bottle of plonk.
Get one up ya. Before Warnie does.
A gentlemen and a scholar if ever there was one. Well, maybe not a scholar. But a gentleman certainly. For this week, the great man delivered us the authoritative lesson in class.
On the day that his latest conquest - the most shagadelic Ms Hurley - arrived to pay him a visit downunder, not only did he take the time to have someone clip the hedge, vacuum his rug, and install some privacy screens on the front gate, he also ensured that he took delivery of a "fresh" mattress for the occasion.
And that, my friends, is pure, unadulterated class. Okay, so again, maybe "unadulterated" is the wrong word. But nonetheless, you get my drift.
After all, a man must always have a good clean workbench, particularly when he is expecting a fembot for the weekend.
And so then, from one gentleman to another; this time a man widely acknowledged as a true gentleman of the Australian wine business, Mr Bill Calabria of Westend Estate in NSW.
I confess I’ve not actually met the chap, mainly because I’m too scared to visit the Griffith area after watching the second series of Underbelly. But many other wine writers are quite adamant that he’s a truly great bloke. And being that these people are real, proper writers who have had their words printed in magazines and on newspapers, I’m prepared to accept that what they say must be true.
The thing that caught my eye when it comes to Bill though, is that he is ironically unique amongst winemakers...He is a teetotaller.
Not by choice mind you. It seems the poor fellow suffers the most unenviable affliction of being allergic to alcohol.
Imagine for a moment, if you will, the sheer torment of this situation. Being born into a prominent wine family. Going on to yourself become a talented and acclaimed winemaker. And all the while you can never enjoy the sweet product of your labours. Not a drop.
It would be like Enzo Ferrari suffering from car-sickness. Or Warnie having an allergy to vaginas.
Fortunately for Bill, it seems he has learned to bear his burden, while at the same time mastering his craft, by utilising the undoubtedly unsatisfying “sip and spit” method.
As Bill says on his website, ‘One does not have to swallow to know whether it is good or bad.’ I expect Ms Hurley will be nodding in agreement with that sentiment come Monday morning.
If you’re still reading this (and hopefully my Mum stopped reading some time ago), you’re probably hoping that I’m going to get to the wine shortly.
So, let’s do it. The Golden Mist Botrytis Semillon.
I bought it after reading a while back that it had beaten the uber-famous Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes in some far off wine show.
Now, I don’t know it’s that good. But it certainly is one delicious little sticky, let me tell you that. And, at $20 a pop, you can buy 40 of these for the price of one bottle of d’Yquem.
It gives off a subtle golden glow in the glass, but despite the pallor, it has a lovely, thick lusciousness in the mouth. It’s big and fat and full of tongue-coating flavour.
It tastes like it smells, with a truckload of intensely ripe tropical fruit, and finishing with a clever surprise of warmth and clarity.
I’d happily wash down a plate of cheese and bikkies with a bottle of this anytime.
All this is my very longwinded way of saying that this is a very nice little bottle of plonk.
Get one up ya. Before Warnie does.
Rating: 8.75/10
Drink with: S.K. Warne
Price: $20www.westendestate.com.au
27 January 2011
Coldstream Hills 2006 Reserve Shiraz
This summer the world has been turned fully upside down.
Despite the baggy green disguise, our cricketers have been wielding their willow in a manner embarrassingly more reminiscent of Tufnell than Trumper.
At the same time, the English have somehow extended their stiff upper-lips so far south that for the first time in living memory they have something resembling a backbone, as well as a determination that is seemingly as unbending as Shane Warne's todger.
On top of that, the Aussie dollar is now more sound than the pound, the average house will cost you more in Sydney than it will in London, and the recent weather has meant that there are more carrot-faced fake tanners on Brisbane streets than in an Essex beauty salon.
Brisbane has seen more water than Noah could poke an ark at, and our once famously hot summer has been more miserable than an Englishman nursing a cold beer.
The upshot of all this is that because it’s been cold and wet when it should be hot and sticky, I’ve found myself unable to enjoy the usual array of chilly white wines hibernating in my fridge, and have had to instead warm my cockles with some fortifying reds.
My favourite drop during the past few weeks has undoubtedly been the Coldstream Hills 2006 Reserve Shiraz.
This little gem hails from the Yarra Valley winery founded by that doyen of wine-writers, Mr James Halliday. To avoid criticism, he quite properly declines to score his own wines. So, for what it’s worth, I’ll have a go for you instead.
It pours out into the glass with a remarkably bright purple splash, and smells sweetly of spiced fruit, cinnamon, and a savoury, earthy goodness. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Smile.
The drinking is all class. As you might expect of a cool climate shiraz, the drinking is elegant and layered, and absolutely silky smooth. No hint of punchiness at all. It’s medium-bodied and just chock full of finesse. There’s plums, cherries, and a pinch of pepper to spice things up and fondle a few of your erogenous zones as it slips past your lips.
I have no hesitation in saying that it’s drinking stunningly well now, but equally have no doubt that my second bottle will hold up nicely in the cellar for a few more years. And at $40, you’d rightly expect it to.
I drank this with friends after a hard day spent sweeping mud and placing people’s lifelong possessions into heartbreaking piles by the side of the road. As we drank, we commiserated with all these poor people unmercifully wiped out by the floods. And then thanked our lucky stars that we live on a hill.
Despite the baggy green disguise, our cricketers have been wielding their willow in a manner embarrassingly more reminiscent of Tufnell than Trumper.
At the same time, the English have somehow extended their stiff upper-lips so far south that for the first time in living memory they have something resembling a backbone, as well as a determination that is seemingly as unbending as Shane Warne's todger.
On top of that, the Aussie dollar is now more sound than the pound, the average house will cost you more in Sydney than it will in London, and the recent weather has meant that there are more carrot-faced fake tanners on Brisbane streets than in an Essex beauty salon.
Brisbane has seen more water than Noah could poke an ark at, and our once famously hot summer has been more miserable than an Englishman nursing a cold beer.
The upshot of all this is that because it’s been cold and wet when it should be hot and sticky, I’ve found myself unable to enjoy the usual array of chilly white wines hibernating in my fridge, and have had to instead warm my cockles with some fortifying reds.
My favourite drop during the past few weeks has undoubtedly been the Coldstream Hills 2006 Reserve Shiraz.
This little gem hails from the Yarra Valley winery founded by that doyen of wine-writers, Mr James Halliday. To avoid criticism, he quite properly declines to score his own wines. So, for what it’s worth, I’ll have a go for you instead.
It pours out into the glass with a remarkably bright purple splash, and smells sweetly of spiced fruit, cinnamon, and a savoury, earthy goodness. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Smile.
The drinking is all class. As you might expect of a cool climate shiraz, the drinking is elegant and layered, and absolutely silky smooth. No hint of punchiness at all. It’s medium-bodied and just chock full of finesse. There’s plums, cherries, and a pinch of pepper to spice things up and fondle a few of your erogenous zones as it slips past your lips.
I have no hesitation in saying that it’s drinking stunningly well now, but equally have no doubt that my second bottle will hold up nicely in the cellar for a few more years. And at $40, you’d rightly expect it to.
I drank this with friends after a hard day spent sweeping mud and placing people’s lifelong possessions into heartbreaking piles by the side of the road. As we drank, we commiserated with all these poor people unmercifully wiped out by the floods. And then thanked our lucky stars that we live on a hill.
www.qld.gov.au/floods/donate.html
Rating: 9.25/10 (or say, 95 on the Halliday scale)
Drink with: Liz Hurley
Price: $40
www.coldstreamhills.com.au
23 December 2010
The Wine W@nk’s Top Ten Christmas Tipples
The French have a saying: “Retreat!”.
Sorry, that’s not quite right – they would actually say, “Retraite, uh-huh-huh-huh!”
They have another saying which I like almost as much: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”
Words to live by this holiday season. So, let’s roll.
Breakfast wine
Grant Burge 2010 Moscato Frizzante
Young, dumb, and full of gum.
And at a leisurely 7.6% alcohol, this is exactly what you want to be tapping into on Christmas morning with your eggs and that first sneaky carve of ham.
It’s sweet. Fruity. Delicious. Very refreshing.
Up ya bum!
Rating: 8 Drink with: Ham and eggs Price: $13-$16
Bubbles
Bubbles are compulsory at Christmas time, so herewith a tidy little selection of sparklers to suit a diversity of budgets and tastes.
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Ruinart Blanc de Blanc NV
I have to say first up that I’m a big fan of the House of Ruinart. It has one of the most incredible chalk cellars in Champagne, and the plonk isn’t too bad either.
Old St Nicolas (Ruinart, that is) spruiks some good quality wine w@nkerisms in talking up his product. First we have this gem: “its glistening, pale gold colour with soft green glints seem to reflect the warm summer light...”. And then this: “a subtle, refined nose of acacia and honeysuckle follows through and sings on the palate with lovely elegance and delicacy...“.
Stop-stop talk-talking that blah, blah, blah.
All you really need to know is that this is seriously great stuff. It comes served up in a Cristal-emulating clear bottle which shows off its golden curves nicely and adds that little bit of hip-hop mogul caché.
And the drinking is quite simply superb. Ambitious. Capricious. And absolutely delicious.
Or as the hip-hoppers might say: Fly. Like a G-6.
Be sure to pop the top off a bottle or two this New Year’s Eve.
Rating: 9.5 Drink with: Crystal Price: $99
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Jansz Tasmania Premium NV Cuvee
If the budget doesn’t stretch to Frenchy bubbles, you can quite happily take the more frugal option and go local with this little champ.
Believe you me, I’ve done a lot of research on this topic for you people recently, and can confidently say that this is fully one of the creamiest and most flavoursome Aussie sparklers available on the market today.
I even invented a new word for it: amazifying.
So, there you go. You should definitely buy a couple of these to drink this Christmas. Or maybe just shake them up like a polaroid and pretend like you’ve just won a Grand Prix. At only $20, who really cares.
Rating: 8.5 Drink with: Mark Webber Price $22
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Domaine Chandon Sparkling Pinot Shiraz NV
I must say that I find it really quite hard to like rosé. I have tried, and I have failed.
But I do accept that a lot of you (or more probably your girlfriends) do enjoy this kind of thing. And so, with that in mind, I have searched long and hard for something in this style with a bit of substance.
But I do accept that a lot of you (or more probably your girlfriends) do enjoy this kind of thing. And so, with that in mind, I have searched long and hard for something in this style with a bit of substance.
And this then is the fruit of my labour.
Moët’s more modest Australian cousin (Domaine Chandon) produces this unusual little drop which I think gives some pretty good bang for your buck.
The pretty red sparkles are as gay as Christmas, and the drinking is actually very, very good. Almost meaty, but light and refreshing at the same time.
If you have to put bubbles in your red, I suspect that this is the only way you should be doing it.
Rating: 8.5 Drink with: Discretion Price: $29
If you have to put bubbles in your red, I suspect that this is the only way you should be doing it.
Rating: 8.5 Drink with: Discretion Price: $29
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Whites
Fire Gully 2008 Chardonnay
Fire Gully is the newish little brother label of the estimable Margaret River stalwart, Pierro. I like them – partly because they sent me free samples – but mostly because they make some cracking wines at decent prices.
The cream of the crop, as you’d expect from Margy, is the Chardonnay.
It’s a nubile concoction of rich, buttery goodness combined with a light and lingering lug of summer fruit. Great badge on the bottle too.
Take the tip from me: whack this little chardy on ice for Christmas lunch, team it up with some turkey and roast tatties, and tuck in.
Best be quick though – or Great Aunty Sharon will pinch the bottle, mix in some ice cubes and start drinking it through a straw. How very, very dare she.
Rating: 8.75 Drink without: ice cubes Price: $28
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Bay of Fires 2009 Pinot Gris
I love Pinot Gris. It’s the perfect summer white wine. Fresh, fruity, and best served icy cold.
Some find it ubiquitous and insipid, but you just have to find the right one. And this is certainly one of those.
Some find it ubiquitous and insipid, but you just have to find the right one. And this is certainly one of those.
The drinking is like sticking your head straight into a bowl of summer stonefruit. It’s full of flavour and begging to top up its own glass.
I’ve even found a Christmas connection because the nose has an earthy aroma that is pure Christmas pine needle.
If the sun is shining, this is what I’ll be drinking at about 3 o’clock Saturday afternoon between the overs of backyard cricket.
Rating: 8.25 Drink with: Stuart Surridge Price: $25
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Suckfizzle 2006 Sauvignon Blanc Semillon
Suckfizzle 2006 Sauvignon Blanc Semillon
I’m not sure what a Suckfizzle is. It sounds like a euphemism for a dud root, but I’m sure that’s not it.
In any event, this is a frankly sensational wine and if you want to impress the relatives, this is just the ticket. At $42 a pop, it’s not cheap, but it’s definitely worth it.
Big, citrusy, and unctuous. If you’re a seafood family on Christmas, this is unquestionably what you should be sucking down with your prawns.
Special. Like fried rice. And definitely not a fizzler.
Rating: 9.25 Drink with: BBQ prawns Price: $42
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Reds
Fox Creek 2008 Short Row McLaren Vale Shiraz
If it’s cold and wet on Christmas day as promised, you might be searching for something warm and with a bit of body. And a tasty Shiraz wouldn’t be bad either.
This little fellow has an awesomely earthy and intense smell – like going truffling in the soil with your own nose.
The drinking is full of dark cherries and chocolate, cloves and cinnamon. And we all know that everything tastes better with cinnamon.
Yum!
Rating: 9 Drink with: Uncle Bob Price:$29
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Afters
Afters
Frogmore Creek 2008 Iced Riesling
What is it with all the Tasmanian wine in this list? You'd expect most Taswegians would be too busy shagging their sisters to have time to make decent wine, but they are clearly a talented bunch of multi-taskers down there in the crotchal region of the nation.
This gear is the perfect end to a big meal. Grab a wedge of sharp cheese, a slice of whatever fruit is lying about, a couple of bikkies, and a nice little glass of this baby.
It's not as heavy or intense as Noble One, but it certainly doesn't lack in flavour. It's limey, luscious and long in the mouth.
Just a glass will do. And then settle in for a quick power nap to recharge the batteries for a second sitting of Christmas fare.
Rating: 9.5 Drink with: someone else's sister Price: $25 (375ml)
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De Bortoli Black Noble NV
By the end of Christmas day, when the rellies are sitting around half cut and grinning from beer to beer, the last thing anyone usually feels like is more food.
Generally, all you need is a thin slice of Christmas cake, maybe a fruit mince pie, and something wet to wash it down with.
And this is the answer. The illustrious Noble One forms the base of this fortified gem which tells you most of what you need to know.
It is a soporific pharmacopoeia of intense golden elixer. It's thick and rich and coats your mouth with a concentration of everything that is Christmas.
Stick a fork in me. I'm done. The perfect end to the day.
Rating: 9.75 Drink with: Christmas cake Price: $30 (375ml)
09 December 2010
Claymore 2009 Joshua Tree Riesling
With Bono and the boys rocking BrisVegas tonight, I thought it was an appropriate time to tuck into this topically named youngster.
The Claymore Joshua Tree Riesling hails from the Clare Valley, which is always a good place to look for quality riesling.
The Clare is a rugged sort of place. Some might say it’s a place where the streets have no names. Where all the colours bleed into one and the landscape turns into rust: beaten and blown by the wind and trampled in dust.
But it’s a fact that the best grapes are often borne out of the toughest patches of dirt. And so it is with the Joshua Tree Riesling. It’s a little ripper.
It smells sweetly like coconut oil sunscreen smeared on a lightly toasted German backpacker named Heidi. There's also a floral note that may or may not be lent by Heidi's limey daiquiri.
The drinking is like kissing honeyed lips. It delivers yielding deliciousness, accompanied by a stirring feeling of rigidity. It’s mouth-wateringly crisp and just a little bit punchy. In short, it’s cool, delicious and quite simply superb.
Granted, it hasn’t been too hot so far this December. But by the time Christmas rolls around, it will be baking and you’ll be begging for some nice, cool refreshment.
And so, when you sit down with your plate of leftover turkey to watch the Boxing Day Test, do yourself a favour and pour yourself a nice chilly glass of the Claymore. I’ve got a feeling you might need a drink regardless of the weather (unless of course you’re South African English).
And at only $18 for the Joshua Tree, I think I might actually have found what I’m looking for.
But you'll have to get your own. Because this Claymore is mine.
All I know is that I’m going to enjoy it. With or without you.
Rating: 8.75
Drink with: The Edge
Price: $18
www.claymorewines.com.au
25 November 2010
Nepenthe 2008 The Good Doctor Pinot Noir
I attended a 40th birthday party recently with a top-shelf spread both of food and booze.
The evening started with cocktails and paparazzi-style photography on arrival, and I admit to partaking in a cheeky Cosmopolitan (purely to be polite of course). But while being polite is all well and good, because I also happened to be sporting a pink shirt, my more immediate concern was appearing to be of a persuasion that I most certainly am not. To avoid such blushes, and the unwanted attentions of a waiter named Sebastian, I switched quickly to a different type of red liquid which was served sans umbrella and in a more masculine glass.
The red in question was a pinot from Nepenthe in the Adelaide Hills and the bottle came dressed in a sharp black suit that looked to have been tailored especially for the occasion. I had myself a tasty bowlful and introduced myself to The Good Doctor before we repaired to our tables for dinner.
Dinner was excellent, and the Doctor, being a reasonably hefty and savoury fellow, lined up nicely against my slab of beef.
However, being the "plus one" on the invite meant I knew only a few people in the room and so when the mingling started after dinner, I found myself playing Robinson Crusoe with just The Doc (as I was now calling him) for company.
Happily, I soon made friends with the waitress as well; she being a young lady with improbably large Bristols and easy access to the Doctor's medicine cabinet. And so, over the next hour or so, The Doc and I became extremely well acquainted.
The diagnosis?
Well, I’ve got to say first up that it pours quite deep and dark for a pinot. It just looks like it has some real solid weight behind it.
The lifted florally hit of sweet fruitiness on the nose belies the substantial and savoury nature of the beast that is revealed in the drinking.
Now, when it comes to savoury pinot, I’m your Huckleberry. I love it. And this has all the very best earthiness and spice of the famed Martinborough examples.
It’s by no means a particularly finely tanninned or structured pinot, but it has genuine substance, wonderful flavour and I suspect it will soften nicely with a few more years under its belt.
Takes you on a titillating tour of duty from the first touch on the tip of your tongue to the final tickle on your tonsil.
Open up and say ahhhhhhh for The Good Doctor.
PS Incidentally, The Good Doctor is actually named for Dr Ed Tweddle, a true Australian business luminary. A fine tribute to his memory.
The evening started with cocktails and paparazzi-style photography on arrival, and I admit to partaking in a cheeky Cosmopolitan (purely to be polite of course). But while being polite is all well and good, because I also happened to be sporting a pink shirt, my more immediate concern was appearing to be of a persuasion that I most certainly am not. To avoid such blushes, and the unwanted attentions of a waiter named Sebastian, I switched quickly to a different type of red liquid which was served sans umbrella and in a more masculine glass.
The red in question was a pinot from Nepenthe in the Adelaide Hills and the bottle came dressed in a sharp black suit that looked to have been tailored especially for the occasion. I had myself a tasty bowlful and introduced myself to The Good Doctor before we repaired to our tables for dinner.
Dinner was excellent, and the Doctor, being a reasonably hefty and savoury fellow, lined up nicely against my slab of beef.
However, being the "plus one" on the invite meant I knew only a few people in the room and so when the mingling started after dinner, I found myself playing Robinson Crusoe with just The Doc (as I was now calling him) for company.
Happily, I soon made friends with the waitress as well; she being a young lady with improbably large Bristols and easy access to the Doctor's medicine cabinet. And so, over the next hour or so, The Doc and I became extremely well acquainted.
The diagnosis?
Well, I’ve got to say first up that it pours quite deep and dark for a pinot. It just looks like it has some real solid weight behind it.
The lifted florally hit of sweet fruitiness on the nose belies the substantial and savoury nature of the beast that is revealed in the drinking.
Now, when it comes to savoury pinot, I’m your Huckleberry. I love it. And this has all the very best earthiness and spice of the famed Martinborough examples.
It’s by no means a particularly finely tanninned or structured pinot, but it has genuine substance, wonderful flavour and I suspect it will soften nicely with a few more years under its belt.
Takes you on a titillating tour of duty from the first touch on the tip of your tongue to the final tickle on your tonsil.
Open up and say ahhhhhhh for The Good Doctor.
Rating: 8.25
Drink with: A nice nurse
Price: $38
PS Incidentally, The Good Doctor is actually named for Dr Ed Tweddle, a true Australian business luminary. A fine tribute to his memory.
www.nepenthe.com.au
04 November 2010
Haselgrove 2008 Bella Vigna Shiraz
Well, here we go. OcSober is over and I'm back on the drink after a month spent practising some semblance of sobriety. No doubt it was good for my liver. It was certainly good for my wallet.
Anyway, I'm easing myself back in slowly this week. It all started on Tuesday which was, of course, Melbourne Cup Day. I tucked into a nice mid-week quaffer (the Haselgrove Shiraz) as I trawled the web for news of Descarado's missing heart and the inevitable photos of drunken Cup tarts to laugh at.
By far the biggest tart of them all is that annoyingly vacuous beast of a woman who follows Geoffrey Edelstone around. I've written about her before, I know. I'm not obsessed. Well, maybe I am. But not with her beauty that's for sure.
If ever there was a poster-girl for people oblivious to their own absurdity, Brynne’s your girl (at least I think she’s a girl).
The part I don't understand is how she came to marry this pox of a man in the first place. I know he's got money, and a lovely yellow suit. But his face is more shrivelled than a warm scrotum, and so you can only imagine what his actual scrotum must look like. And I'm sorry, but services in that region are surely the only thing which Brynne brings to the relationship.
Anyway, the thought of a Geoffrey Edelstone Tea Party sickened me sufficiently that I was forced to quaff more quickly and in no time at all I found myself enjoying my second glass of the Bella Vigna.
Bella Vigna means “beautiful vineyard” and refers to the pretty patch of the McLaren Vale where these delicious grapes were lucky enough to grow up. And it really is a great drop.
Deep, dark ruby red in the glass. Almost impenetrable, but showing lovely shards of iridescence as you take it for a spin around the glass.
It smells sweetly of dark chocolate and a platter of fresh Italian charcuterie. It’s big and arrogant, but soft and smooth at the same time.
There’s an ample lug of ripened berry unctuousness combined with a demure touch of gentle spice. It’s eminently drinkable, but still gives you something very nice and substantial to chew on.
You could drink it with a steak (as I did), or simply sip it solo as the sun goes down.
To be honest, I was genuinely excited by this wine. Not quite as excited as Joel Monaghan on a visit to the pound, but you get the idea.
It’s truly a ripping little wine at a very reasonable price. I could happily drink it all week long. And twice on Sundays.
Anyway, I'm easing myself back in slowly this week. It all started on Tuesday which was, of course, Melbourne Cup Day. I tucked into a nice mid-week quaffer (the Haselgrove Shiraz) as I trawled the web for news of Descarado's missing heart and the inevitable photos of drunken Cup tarts to laugh at.
By far the biggest tart of them all is that annoyingly vacuous beast of a woman who follows Geoffrey Edelstone around. I've written about her before, I know. I'm not obsessed. Well, maybe I am. But not with her beauty that's for sure.
If ever there was a poster-girl for people oblivious to their own absurdity, Brynne’s your girl (at least I think she’s a girl).
The part I don't understand is how she came to marry this pox of a man in the first place. I know he's got money, and a lovely yellow suit. But his face is more shrivelled than a warm scrotum, and so you can only imagine what his actual scrotum must look like. And I'm sorry, but services in that region are surely the only thing which Brynne brings to the relationship.
Anyway, the thought of a Geoffrey Edelstone Tea Party sickened me sufficiently that I was forced to quaff more quickly and in no time at all I found myself enjoying my second glass of the Bella Vigna.
Bella Vigna means “beautiful vineyard” and refers to the pretty patch of the McLaren Vale where these delicious grapes were lucky enough to grow up. And it really is a great drop.
Deep, dark ruby red in the glass. Almost impenetrable, but showing lovely shards of iridescence as you take it for a spin around the glass.
It smells sweetly of dark chocolate and a platter of fresh Italian charcuterie. It’s big and arrogant, but soft and smooth at the same time.
There’s an ample lug of ripened berry unctuousness combined with a demure touch of gentle spice. It’s eminently drinkable, but still gives you something very nice and substantial to chew on.
You could drink it with a steak (as I did), or simply sip it solo as the sun goes down.
To be honest, I was genuinely excited by this wine. Not quite as excited as Joel Monaghan on a visit to the pound, but you get the idea.
It’s truly a ripping little wine at a very reasonable price. I could happily drink it all week long. And twice on Sundays.
Rating: 8.5/10Drink with: A hot dogPrice: $20-$25
www.haselgrove.com.au
14 October 2010
20 September 2010
Tamburlaine 2007 Hunter Reserve Members Semillon
I had a big night last Friday. One moment it was 9pm - the next, it was 3am, a bell was ringing and security was turning on the ugly lights. Time flies when you're having rum.
Suffice to say I was in a world of hurt on Saturday, particularly as my twins insisted on playing their new toy drums for most of the day - at times, seemingly reaching their little bongo playing hands right inside my head and doing their best Dave Grohl impression on my frontal lobe.
That's the thing about rum - it may well get you over that bump in the road around midnight, but it inevitably kicks you back to the curb the next day.
So, when Saturday night came around, I'd learned my lesson and reached instead for something lighter. Not quite water, but it was clear at least.
The Tamburlaine 2007 Members Semillon is certified organic and biodynamic - which I think means they use free-range grapes and harvest only by the light of the moon. Chanting and nudity are optional, but encouraged.
My main motivation for going green was that it usually entails the winemaker using minimal preservatives, which is said to result in a much nicer brand of hangover. Happily, there does appear to be something to this theory and, despite going solo on the whole bottle, I had not a hint of a shade of a headache the next morning.
That's all well and good, but what of the drinking?
There's a nice, bright colour and, despite being quite light on the alcohol scale (10.2%), it shows genuine substance in the glass.
The nose is much like Brynne Edelsten on Brownlow night - eager to escape its cup, but with perhaps a little too much "Careful with those things, or you'll poke an eye out!" than is polite. Still, this alacrity can be forgiven because it's still a youngster.
And while it's bound to get better with a few more years under its belt, the drinking is already showing signs of great quality. That lovely rich, silken flush is starting to develop, while its striking acidity makes it as crisp as a Samboy and as cool as the underside of your pillow. There's a very distinct flavour that is, I imagine, like licking lemon sherbert off freshly buttered toast. It's easy-drinking, but rewarding.
Like the mounted knight that adorns the label, this fellow really does keep his end up quite nicely.
Rating: 8.25/10
Drink with: Greenies
Price: $25
09 September 2010
David Franz Old Redemption X.O. Exceptionally Old Tawny
David Franz Lehmann is Peter's son. He produces a range of great quality wines on a relatively small scale. I’m a big fan.
Happily, I've been lucky enough to crack into his Old Redemption port on three occasions over the past couple of weeks, and I highly recommend it to you.
The story of this tawny starts at Saltrams in 1947. Peter helped to blend and top up the stocks over the course of the next 30-odd years, and eventually bought a portion for himself when he struck out under his own name. By that time, fortifieds were about as popular as a Pakistani bookmaker, and so he left it on the wood to cook for another 30 years. Then, after having been barrelled for the best part of 60 years, his son did what all good sons do – he knocked off the old man’s grog.
The result is what he styles as an Exceptionally Old (X.O.) Tawny.
It’s a wonderful, bright golden brown, and glows like the sun as it swims around the glass. And I reckon if you poured a tin of golden syrup onto an old Chesterfield couch, you’d be getting pretty close to the heady aroma that explodes from the bowl.
The drinking is a lot like Brendan Fevola - thick, yet revealing. Allegedly.
It’s raisined and smokey and smoother than a Brazilian’s nut. It all just clicks. The needle hits the groove. The earth begins to move. I feel like I’m breathing fire.
Pour it at the end of a meal, crack out some sharp cheeses, maybe a cigar. Everyone’s a grinner.
I asked Dave for his thoughts on how best to drink the Old Redemption, and I can do no better than quote the man,
“Mate, all you need is a beer stein and a lockable room and you’ll be happy…”.
That's advice to live by. And I intend to.
If you can find a bottle, buy it. It’s special stuff.
Happily, I've been lucky enough to crack into his Old Redemption port on three occasions over the past couple of weeks, and I highly recommend it to you.
The story of this tawny starts at Saltrams in 1947. Peter helped to blend and top up the stocks over the course of the next 30-odd years, and eventually bought a portion for himself when he struck out under his own name. By that time, fortifieds were about as popular as a Pakistani bookmaker, and so he left it on the wood to cook for another 30 years. Then, after having been barrelled for the best part of 60 years, his son did what all good sons do – he knocked off the old man’s grog.
The result is what he styles as an Exceptionally Old (X.O.) Tawny.
It’s a wonderful, bright golden brown, and glows like the sun as it swims around the glass. And I reckon if you poured a tin of golden syrup onto an old Chesterfield couch, you’d be getting pretty close to the heady aroma that explodes from the bowl.
The drinking is a lot like Brendan Fevola - thick, yet revealing. Allegedly.
It’s raisined and smokey and smoother than a Brazilian’s nut. It all just clicks. The needle hits the groove. The earth begins to move. I feel like I’m breathing fire.
Pour it at the end of a meal, crack out some sharp cheeses, maybe a cigar. Everyone’s a grinner.
I asked Dave for his thoughts on how best to drink the Old Redemption, and I can do no better than quote the man,
“Mate, all you need is a beer stein and a lockable room and you’ll be happy…”.
That's advice to live by. And I intend to.
If you can find a bottle, buy it. It’s special stuff.
Rating: 9.5/10Drink with: Your trousers downPrice: $40http://www.david-franz.com/
08 September 2010
Peter Lehmann 2009 Barossa Blonde
The highlight of my (and, apparently, Stephanie Rice's) weekend was watching the Wallabies finally find some luck on the high veld of Sarth Iffrica. A yarpie called Flip flopped on a ruck. Kurtley kicked the winning points with a thoooousand metre penalty at the death. And I enjoyed it all in the company of a saucy little blonde.
Peter Lehmann's 2009 Barossa Blonde that is.
I wouldn't usually tuck into white wine at 2 o'clock on a Sunday morning. But by half-time, having polished off all the loose beers in my fridge, I decided I might as well also finish off the $10 bottle that had gone into the risotto earlier that evening. "Waste not, want not", my grandfather used to say.
The Barossa Blonde is a bit of a mongrel mix - riesling, chenin blanc, semillon and sauvignon blanc. It seems Mr Lehmann may be familiar with my grandfather's motto as well.
But they don't call him the Baron of the Barossa for nothing. He knows what to do with whatever grapes come his way - and for the price, this is a most agreeable drop.
The label continues PL's Queen of Clubs theme and sports an attractive little charmer. Looking a lot like a young Ita Buttrose, she's sweet and pure - and I bet her tongue nevers touches her lips either. Hmmm mmm, I think I'd like to take her out to din-ner.
Anyway...what's in the bottle? It pours almost as crystal clear as water, but is tinged with a subtle verdancy.
The nose is as green as Bob Brown, but infinitely more likable. There's some citrus action and a scrape of freshly cut passionfruit.
In truth, there's more smell than taste - but the drinking is pleasant and easy, without any touch of bite. And happily, unlike a lot of other cheap plonk, it doesn't make the mistake of trying to achieve this by excessive sweetness.
It's as nicely balanced as a good margarita - and in fact, if you felt compelled to add wedge of lime and a little salt to the rim, this little lady may well take you straight to Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville.
But it really doesn't matter what I think.
What we all want to know is, "What does our favourite twit, Ms Rice, have to say on the matter?"
"Suck on that...", is apparently her carefully considered opinion. And something about a bundle of sticks.
Couldn't have put it better myself.
Rating: 7.5/10
Drink with: British meatballs. And Rice.
Price: $10
http://www.peterlehmannwines.com/
26 August 2010
Tahbilk Shiraz - 1998 and 1971
I had a fantastic birthday this week. Thanks for asking.
It was a crazy weekend. Bob Katter and his enormous hat are now in charge of the asylum. The Cottagers held ManU to a draw. And a good friend of mine put on a ten bottle vertical flight of Tahbilk Shiraz stretching back almost 40 years.
The good people at Chateau Tahbilk racked up their 150th birthday this year, so there were quite a few vintages to choose from.
Most of them stood up to the test of time brilliantly - particularly the 1998, and especially the 1971. Keeping in mind that the current vintage is less than $20 - and that you could have originally picked up the '98 for a tenner, and the '71 for loose change - all I can say is that it provides impressive staying power for the money.
They were so impressive in fact that I’m almost lost for words. Well, that and the fact that my recall is a little hazy...what with the 10 bottles and all.
So, I’m just going to have to stick to the two standouts - ‘98 and ‘71.
What I do remember about both of these little gems is that they were very big, very juicy, and wonderfully smooth.
The colour of the ‘71 was fading, but the flavour most definitely wasn’t. At 40 years old, it was still in the rudest of health. And at that price, I was absolutely blown away. I’m not ashamed to say I went back for seconds and thirds on this one. The boys had to wrestle the bottle off me – even long after it had been emptied.
The ‘98 was much deeper and darker, as you might expect. The nose was a sweet embrace, and it quite simply luxuriated on the tip of the tongue. Even the beer drinkers at the table enjoyed this one. It could have cost $100 and no-one would have complained. It’s a wine that may well live forever.
Most of the time you get what you pay for. Occasionally, you get so much more.
My advice is to buy a case of the '06 today and hide it somewhere dark for the next 20 to 30 years. You’re unlikely to be disappointed.
It was a crazy weekend. Bob Katter and his enormous hat are now in charge of the asylum. The Cottagers held ManU to a draw. And a good friend of mine put on a ten bottle vertical flight of Tahbilk Shiraz stretching back almost 40 years.
The good people at Chateau Tahbilk racked up their 150th birthday this year, so there were quite a few vintages to choose from.
Most of them stood up to the test of time brilliantly - particularly the 1998, and especially the 1971. Keeping in mind that the current vintage is less than $20 - and that you could have originally picked up the '98 for a tenner, and the '71 for loose change - all I can say is that it provides impressive staying power for the money.
They were so impressive in fact that I’m almost lost for words. Well, that and the fact that my recall is a little hazy...what with the 10 bottles and all.
So, I’m just going to have to stick to the two standouts - ‘98 and ‘71.
What I do remember about both of these little gems is that they were very big, very juicy, and wonderfully smooth.
The colour of the ‘71 was fading, but the flavour most definitely wasn’t. At 40 years old, it was still in the rudest of health. And at that price, I was absolutely blown away. I’m not ashamed to say I went back for seconds and thirds on this one. The boys had to wrestle the bottle off me – even long after it had been emptied.
The ‘98 was much deeper and darker, as you might expect. The nose was a sweet embrace, and it quite simply luxuriated on the tip of the tongue. Even the beer drinkers at the table enjoyed this one. It could have cost $100 and no-one would have complained. It’s a wine that may well live forever.
Most of the time you get what you pay for. Occasionally, you get so much more.
My advice is to buy a case of the '06 today and hide it somewhere dark for the next 20 to 30 years. You’re unlikely to be disappointed.
Rating: 9.25/10 (both)Drink with: Cowboy KatterPrice: $4 ('71); $10 ('98); $18 ('06)
Billecart-Salmon Brut Reserve NV Champagne
As we all know, a very important vote was held at the weekend.
The fortunes of a nation depend on the result, and the campaign saw the candidates give diverse demonstrations both of their knowledge of foreign affairs and of their ability to look good in a Speedo.
But in the end, no matter how close the contest or which way the swingers swing, there can only be one champion of the people - and I, for one, am most pleased with the result.
In a victory for balloon smugglers everywhere, Jimena Navarrete (a.k.a. Miss Mexico) showed herself to be the very worthy winner of the contest which, in more civilised times, was named the International Pageant of Pulchritude, but which we all now know as the Miss Universe Pageant, 2010.
The interesting thing about the Miss Universe contest (apart from the obvious; and Donald Trump's hair-thing) is that, despite its intergalactic ambit, the Earthling gals so far have an extraordinary rate of success. Also, the English have never produced a winner. Who says that Americans have no taste.
All of this brings me rather loosely to the subject of this week's missive - champagne. Ms Navarrete was drinking it to celebrate, and so was I.
I couldn't tell what brand she was drinking, but I was into some Billecart-Salmon Brut NV. So, let's run with that.
The first thing to clear up is that, despite the slightly confusing connotation in its name, this is not a rosé. The Billecart boys do make one of those as well - and a famous one at that - but I'll leave that for another time.
One attribute I don't share with Sinatra - and there are only a couple - is that I do, happily, get a nice little kick out of champagne. But only the good stuff. And this gear is great.
Alive with brilliant, sparkle and tight effervescence, it's enough to turn any occasion into a celebration.
It smells like hot apple pie in buttery pastry. It's richly flavoured, but also clean, and incredibly crisp.
It's just what you're after, any time of the day or night.
Yum. Yum. Yum-Yum-Yum.
The fortunes of a nation depend on the result, and the campaign saw the candidates give diverse demonstrations both of their knowledge of foreign affairs and of their ability to look good in a Speedo.
But in the end, no matter how close the contest or which way the swingers swing, there can only be one champion of the people - and I, for one, am most pleased with the result.
In a victory for balloon smugglers everywhere, Jimena Navarrete (a.k.a. Miss Mexico) showed herself to be the very worthy winner of the contest which, in more civilised times, was named the International Pageant of Pulchritude, but which we all now know as the Miss Universe Pageant, 2010.
The interesting thing about the Miss Universe contest (apart from the obvious; and Donald Trump's hair-thing) is that, despite its intergalactic ambit, the Earthling gals so far have an extraordinary rate of success. Also, the English have never produced a winner. Who says that Americans have no taste.
All of this brings me rather loosely to the subject of this week's missive - champagne. Ms Navarrete was drinking it to celebrate, and so was I.
I couldn't tell what brand she was drinking, but I was into some Billecart-Salmon Brut NV. So, let's run with that.
The first thing to clear up is that, despite the slightly confusing connotation in its name, this is not a rosé. The Billecart boys do make one of those as well - and a famous one at that - but I'll leave that for another time.
One attribute I don't share with Sinatra - and there are only a couple - is that I do, happily, get a nice little kick out of champagne. But only the good stuff. And this gear is great.
Alive with brilliant, sparkle and tight effervescence, it's enough to turn any occasion into a celebration.
It smells like hot apple pie in buttery pastry. It's richly flavoured, but also clean, and incredibly crisp.
It's just what you're after, any time of the day or night.
Yum. Yum. Yum-Yum-Yum.
Keeping in mind that eating is cheating, we ensured that the bottle was fully devoured before making it out to dinner. But, equally, I think it would also stand up nicely with food - something from the sea would be the obvious choice.
As we all know, things are always better when someone else pays - especially at this price. And so I pass on my thanks, and hearty congratulations, to the good friends who so unparsimoniously stumped up for this bottle.
As we all know, things are always better when someone else pays - especially at this price. And so I pass on my thanks, and hearty congratulations, to the good friends who so unparsimoniously stumped up for this bottle.
Rating: 8.99/10
Drink with: A smile
Price: $65
19 August 2010
Hentley Farm 2008 The Beauty and The Beast Shirazes
No doubt about it. Everyone enjoys a nice pair. And that's exactly what I'm serving up this week.
La Belle et la Bête. The Beauty and The Beast Shirazes. From Hentley Farm in the Barossa.
At $52 and $77 respectively, they would want to be very good. And indeed they are.
The grapes for each hail from the same vineyard in the attic of the Barossa. But while the Beast's fruit comes from high on the hill, the Beauty's berries are from that part of the block laid low on the cool and shaded banks of Greenock Creek.
The difference it makes to the wines is immediately apparent and provides for an interesting comparison. Certainly, given the price difference, and my predilection for big Barossan shiraz, I started proceedings expecting a definite leaning towards The Beast.
But in the end, I'm a sucker for a stunner, and I was well and truly seduced by the more keenly priced Beauty.
My tasting mates had it the other way around - but, then again, they are also known to drink chilli oil for fun.
And so, in second place...
Hentley Farm 2008 The Beast Shiraz 
It pours as red as the spanked bottom of an albino. It's intensely dense and virtually impenetrable.
Its legs stretch long and hang thickly around the glass before evaporating into waves of vapour. I wouldn't suggest lighting a match.
The nose is a brutal blow of meatiness and attacks the nostril like an angry quiver of cobras. There's a hint of chocolate. And there's definitely a vanilla gorilla hiding in there somewhere.
The drinking is ripe and dark and spicy and delicious; like a blended up Christmas pudding. And it is big. Really, really big. Nicely chewy, but perhaps just a little bit hot and dusty for me at the end.
There’s a small hit of viognier added to polish up the whole package, and it results in a truly elegant drop.
It’s incredibly deep purple in the glass, with a cheeky little red rim grinning back at you.
The alcohol is only slightly less than that of the Beast, but it’s much more restrained and doesn’t bloody your nose like some big Barossa shirazes can.
Instead there’s a pleasant little tickle of espresso and a comforting hint of Dutch oven. The cameo of viognier also lends a slightly floral lift. Sweet and savoury at the same time, it smells simply superb.
In the mouth, it’s a delicious explosion of raspberry tartness combined with the voluptuous smoothness of chocolate mousse. Perfectly weighted. Tightly constructed. It’s like drinking liquid velvet.
Refined. Sublime. Makes you feel fine.
This Beauty is one of the best I’ve had all year.
La Belle et la Bête. The Beauty and The Beast Shirazes. From Hentley Farm in the Barossa.
At $52 and $77 respectively, they would want to be very good. And indeed they are.
The grapes for each hail from the same vineyard in the attic of the Barossa. But while the Beast's fruit comes from high on the hill, the Beauty's berries are from that part of the block laid low on the cool and shaded banks of Greenock Creek.
The difference it makes to the wines is immediately apparent and provides for an interesting comparison. Certainly, given the price difference, and my predilection for big Barossan shiraz, I started proceedings expecting a definite leaning towards The Beast.
But in the end, I'm a sucker for a stunner, and I was well and truly seduced by the more keenly priced Beauty.
My tasting mates had it the other way around - but, then again, they are also known to drink chilli oil for fun.
And so, in second place...
Hentley Farm 2008 The Beast Shiraz
The Beast is so named because that's exactly what it is. A bully. A monster. A brute.
It pours as red as the spanked bottom of an albino. It's intensely dense and virtually impenetrable.
Its legs stretch long and hang thickly around the glass before evaporating into waves of vapour. I wouldn't suggest lighting a match.
The nose is a brutal blow of meatiness and attacks the nostril like an angry quiver of cobras. There's a hint of chocolate. And there's definitely a vanilla gorilla hiding in there somewhere.
The drinking is ripe and dark and spicy and delicious; like a blended up Christmas pudding. And it is big. Really, really big. Nicely chewy, but perhaps just a little bit hot and dusty for me at the end.
Of course, it's a wine that's designed to be aged and it will soften as it does. You just might have to wait another 20 or 30 years for it to happen.
At the end of the day though, for me, The Beast is a plus-size model in comparison to The Beauty.
The first impressions are nice and the face is a winner. But there's just a little too much junk in the trunk.
You may well be into that kind of thing though. And as a great philosopher once wrote, "Go the ugly early and avoid the rush". I won't say a word.
Hentley Farm 2008 The Beauty Shiraz
At the end of the day though, for me, The Beast is a plus-size model in comparison to The Beauty.
The first impressions are nice and the face is a winner. But there's just a little too much junk in the trunk.
You may well be into that kind of thing though. And as a great philosopher once wrote, "Go the ugly early and avoid the rush". I won't say a word.
Rating: 8/10
Drink with:Sophie Dahl
Price: $77
Hentley Farm 2008 The Beauty Shiraz
As the name suggests, The Beauty is the antithesis of The Beast.
There’s a small hit of viognier added to polish up the whole package, and it results in a truly elegant drop.
It’s incredibly deep purple in the glass, with a cheeky little red rim grinning back at you.
The alcohol is only slightly less than that of the Beast, but it’s much more restrained and doesn’t bloody your nose like some big Barossa shirazes can.
Instead there’s a pleasant little tickle of espresso and a comforting hint of Dutch oven. The cameo of viognier also lends a slightly floral lift. Sweet and savoury at the same time, it smells simply superb.
In the mouth, it’s a delicious explosion of raspberry tartness combined with the voluptuous smoothness of chocolate mousse. Perfectly weighted. Tightly constructed. It’s like drinking liquid velvet.
Refined. Sublime. Makes you feel fine.
This Beauty is one of the best I’ve had all year.
And you should have Her too. Just remember, She might be easy, but She’s not cheap.
Rating: 9/10
Drink with: Heidi Klum
Price: $52
29 July 2010
Grant Burge 2004 Filsell Shiraz
This week we've got a big rough red, with a sharp nose and an acid tongue. But that's enough about Ms Gillard.
Fortunately, the Filsell is not running for parliament because it’s none of those things. Well, it is red I guess. But thankfully that’s where the comparison ends.
Filsell is the little brother of the great Meshach Shiraz. The grapes come from the same vineyard and the 90-year-old vines are so delicate that they live in constant fear of stiff breeze. No machines here. Hand picking all the way.
Filsell is the little brother of the great Meshach Shiraz. The grapes come from the same vineyard and the 90-year-old vines are so delicate that they live in constant fear of stiff breeze. No machines here. Hand picking all the way.
This '04 had been patiently gathering dust in my cellar for a while. It still had many more years up its sleeve, but I was confident it had thrown off the shackles of youth and so I dived in.
In the glass, it gives great colour – deep, dark red. More Hendricks than Gillard.
The legs are long, and the hefty hit of alcohol sends a haze of perfumed dark fruit booming from the glass. It’s as randy as Russell Brand and as big as Ron Jeremy’s hedgehog.
And the drinking is awesome. There’s a palpable punch of smoked berryliciousness to chew on, and it finishes as long and smooth as a supermodel’s pins.
It’s fair to say I was all over this like a catamite on a Catholic priest.
$35 from the cellar door, but the ‘08 is selling about town at the moment for $25. Happy days.
Rating: 8.5Drink with: Jamie's slow-cooked lamb shoulderPrice: $25-$35
Image from www.grantburgewines.com.au
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