Cornus has been a very welcome entry to the London dining scene, especially for wine nerds. The dining room is light and airy, the staff are excellent and unobtrusive, and the food ambitious but not self-indulgently so.

They were the victim of an incredibly rude and unfair review in a UK newspaper, where one of the criticisms levelled was that there were customers in the restaurant wearing quarter-zip sweaters. In a silent gesture of solidarity, I visited wearing a quarter-zip – I am not sure if the staff recognised my support…

This was a thoroughly lovely occasion with superb wine, food and company. A big part of the pleasure for me was the discussion of the wines – some of it educational, and some of it convivially opinionated disagreement.

Riesling

Graacher Domprobst Riesling Kabinett Auction 2020, Schloss Lieser/Thomas Haag

7.5% abv. Part of the genesis of this dinner was a comment I had made about Riesling. I said that, whilst I had certainly enjoyed many Rieslings, I had never found one “transcendent” in the way that, say, white Burgundy or Rioja can be. “Transcendent” is a bit of a farty word, and I accept that it is reasonable to think that wine should not be described this way, but for me wine can sometimes elicit an emotional reaction in the same way that a piece of music or writing can. Anyway, transcendency test part one was undertaken.

Pale straw colour – almost green. “Electric sex bats” commented a fellow diner. Wonderful, expressive nose – just a hint of dragon’s breath. Fellow diners remarked that it became somewhat ethereal – they were left with a sense of just them communing with the wine.

Well, this is clearly very good, but I am not ready to transcend quite yet. I am informed that this would be more compelling either a couple of years ago, or sometime in the future. I can believe it. I am almost certain that this inability to fully grok non-dry Riesling is a moral failing on my part but, yes, this is clearly a jolly good wine, and no, it does not excite me.

Riesling Grand Cru Rangen de Thann Clos St. Urbain 2018, Zind-Humbrecht

13.5% abv. Woof. This is more like it. There is some discussion at the table as to whether this is austere. I do not get austerity, there is a piercing acid, laser focus, but there is depth here and an individual energy.

I am introduced to the concept of “dry extract”- this is the amount of stuff that comes out of the grapes into the wine. There is evidently a lot of if here, and it is lovely.

I am told Zind-Humbrecht wines of old were much sweeter, this is much more the type of Riesling I love. I am not prepared to say transcendent at this stage but… this is great. As I type out these notes, my mouth waters just thinking about it.

2015 Côte-Rôtie

Côte-Rôtie Rose Pourpre 2015, Pierre Gaillard

13% abv. Purple/garnet colour. Epic nose – you just want to dive in. Bacon fat? Maybe. Certainly some floral character. The palate tells a slightly different story. Initially I thought there was not much acid there but no, there is a lot. There just is not a lot of tannin to back it up

If the purpose of wine is to bring us together, this one did, even if only to talk about it. As it warmed up, the tannins became more perceptible, and there was some lovely blue fruit there. We had a discussion about the oak giving this a somewhat Bordeaux character, and like Bordeaux, this wine seems to leave one wanting just a little bit more.

This is a decent, well-made, even polished wine, but somehow doesn’t deliver the precision and bite I want from Syrah.

Côte-Rôtie Les Grandes Places 2015, Clusel-Roch

13% abv. More purple than the Gaillard – this looks younger. Much quieter on the nose, you really have to stick your nose in there and sniff. There is something floral, violets maybe.

A fellow diner commented “Fuck me, that is tannic”. Well, tannin can be wonderful. This is chewy and magnificent, in no way overbearing, but fully confident of what it is. There is a glorious tannic spine, and the fruit hangs off it gracefully.

This wine prompted a discussion on the nature of obliquity – how some types of pleasure can only be attained if approached sideways. If I only had a bottle or two, I would wait a while to open the next one, but this is singing. Yum.

2001 Côte-Rôtie

Côte-Rôtie Les Grandes Places 2001, Clusel-Roch

12.5% abv. Garnet colour, slight bricking on the rim. A fellow diner commented “The palate is waving goodbye”. Hmmm… maybe… To me this is gorgeous, has a kind of acid length. Starts off a little green but that blows off and this starts to sing. My handwritten notes say, “This is fucking mint”. With time and air this gets better – there are truffles.

This sparked a conversation about how old is too old. This was singing to me, but I can appreciate the other perspective. I go back to taste the 2015 again for comparison – I mean, yes, there is more energy, but this is fab. Like listening to Fleetwood Mac on a car stereo in the 1980s with someone smoking in the back of the car. There is all the leather there, but just a lingering hint of sweetness at the end.

Pleased to have another of these in the cellar, although I will concede to the proprietor that I should not wait too long before opening.

Côte-Rôtie Côte Blonde 2001, Réné Rostaing

12.5%. Deeper garnet colour, more particles suspended in the wine. There is a fully tertiary nose here – old soil, mushrooms. Not flattered by being tasted alongside the preceding wine; like Queen and Paul Simon, neither benefit from being on the same playlist.

I come back to this after the Grandes Places has finished. There’s a slightly volatile, high-toned character on the nose. A fellow diner remarks “Dusty, dry, no fruit, avoid”. I can accept that in this case, the wine may be too old.

I have another bottle each of these last two wines; I cannot help thinking that different bottles, on a different night, will give a very different experience. I will aim to open both soon. Best case, we have an even better experience. Worst case, we have some aristocratic gravy.

I believe it used to be said that Côte-Rôtie should be drunk between ten and fifteen years of age. On this showing, I can start to get behind that. Certainly, it does not seem to make as old bones as either the more aristocratic Hermitage or the more brutally rustic Cornas. With that said, I think I do have a taste for older wines than some, and if I were at home, neither bottle would have ended up down the sink.

The post Riesling and Cote-Rotie at Cornus appeared first on Elitistreview.

You are still here? Why? I have shown you the one and true way! Now go!!

Oh, all right, all right! Here goes:

Jones’ crumpets are the best crumpets on Earth. This is a bigger deal than you think.

Firstly, let us get something out of the way. When I use the word ‘crumpets’, I am not channelling whatever approximated as a scriptwriter for Carry On films. We are not talking about bits of skirt, or even the (more likely) ladies’ tuppences. No, get your mind out of the gutter!

We are talking about the famed English or Welsh small, round toasting bread, made with flour, yeast, and milk or water. They have a spongy texture with characteristic holes on the top surface.

That word ‘spongy’ might be making a lot of people projectile vomit at their screens as they read this. This is because the spongy texture of mass-produced crumpets in the UK is akin to that of the dead body just after it has got cold but before rigor mortis sets in. Mass produced crumpets are the last word in unremittingly putrescent foulness. Please, let us cast them from our minds.

Jones’ crumpets are gorgeous delights you can toast at any time of day, slather with butter and/or jam, and be transported to a world of warm bready wonder, a scene of strong flour seduction, a beautiful baking-powder beholding… You do not believe me? Look how good this one appears with a generous tribute adorning it!

The surface of a Jones’ crumpet is not semi-yielding dead flesh, they are firm and crispy, made only more toothsome by the couple of minute toast you give them on both sides. They are quite joyously crisp and yield only to a firm bite – an almost unparalleled penetration!

Why is bursting in such a deep and fundamental pleasure? The clues are the holes.

Those holes draw the butter et al. into the crumpet itself and, my, if you have only ever tasted something that the common man would claim is a crumpet, you have no idea of the beauty inside a Jones’ crumpet.

The inside of a Jones’ crumpet is formed using good helpings of yeast, baking powder and bicarbonate soda in the mix. Plus, during manufacture, there is a special touch that pretenders do not benefit from – the base of the formed crumpet dough is quickly fried in vegetable oil. Together, these facets of the Jones’ crumpet baking, result in the inside having a profoundly complex structure.

Not only does it look complex, but it also tastes like bonkers magic! All those little bubbles and rivulets fill with your liquified lashings; a topped Jones’ crumpet gets the good stuff right inside.

That is not the limit of the Jones’ crumpets’ cavities. As they are so complex with so many engorged globules, the centre of the toasted disk has a lively, exciting, animated, almost-god-damn–fizzy texture to it.

Add this to the flavours of strong flour, wildly exciting yeast and a hint of the most joyful, vivacious sourdough bread you could wish to eat, married to the taste of a hint of the toaster and shot skywards by a smattering of Maillard-reaction from the frying of the base. The result?

The climax of crisp! The top of toast!! The pinnacle of PAIN!!!

You can buy them in packages of five (see below for a picture) at various farmers’ markets across London or have a little ‘duelling pistol’ case of four packages delivered to you by post. They will freeze for up to three months. Make sure you defrost them before you toast!

All details on the Jones’ Crumpets’ website.

Many thanks to Jonathan and Amy for the birthday present.

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Let us not dally: the restaurant is excellent. It is a friendly, cosy dining room – so intimate that The Editor and I caught colds – but whilst the buzz of conversation is noticeable, it was not so loud that we were inaudible to each other.

As far as food goes, the menu is short, focussed and lust-worthy. I was confused as there is no demarcation on it between starters and main courses; fortunately Ricard and The Editor are less vacant than me. We ate exceptionally well.

We had an amuse bouche of a fried pizza with anchovy. The anchovy flavour lifted this to heady heights – absolutely delicious!

For our starters Ricard and The Editor chose cod cheeks cooked in strips in a tempura-type batter. Oh yes, these were good. Light and crispy, not over-cooked, and full of flavour. Thank you, Ricard, for giving me one. I simply adored it.

However, I won the starter question; I chose Tamworth pork with ‘nduja, apple and covered with some sort of small, freshly trimmed plant that I did not trust. I may not like pork with apple, but the pork with ‘nduja was a masterpiece.

It was a strip of pork loin, rubbed with ‘nduja and cooked until it was just the right side of being done. It was juicy, throbbing with flavour and just enough ‘nduja heat to keep one’s palate aroused. Totally brilliant.

To those who insist on having white wine with fish, I say, “Pooh to you! Pooh to you with knobs on!”. Our two silken, svelte Northern Rhône wines were a delight with our fishy main courses. Monkfish with Puy lentils, chorizo and garlic.

They were wonderful pieces of fish, cooked skilfully and presented with panache. The touch of the grill on the top of the fish gave it a wonderful texture. The lentils they were served on were cooked to delicious softness in a stocky broth, charged with delight due to the chorizo and fried garlic pieces. One of the best things I have put in my mouth in quite some time.

The fried potato side dish was inventive and tasty. For obvious reasons I cannot comment on the… ergh… green things.

Desserts were suitably decadent to finish a glorious meal. The sticky toffee pudding in particular was very warmly received – those caramelised pecans with it… joy!

It is not a cheap restaurant, but we are not cheap. We loved the atmosphere, adored the food, and gleefully exploited the corkage policy. Service was friendly but unobtrusive. 10 Greek Street Is highly recommended by these three members of Team Elitistreview – we shall return many times.

Over to Ricard!

Rioja Reserva Gravonia 2010, Lopez de Heredia

Drinking this wonderful wine is like seeing an old friend, and happily I had this vinous wonder with old friends. The 2010 vintage is one of the top four or five vintages of the last 30 years in Rioja, alongside ’01, ’04, ’05 and many say ’21, and my view that this Gravonia was slightly short of its usual greatness is that it is yet to show us its true potential.

This is not to say it was not singing; it is just a notch below its usual dazzle. The nose displayed a rich array of the weird and wonderful, from salty toasted almonds to orange peel, to iodine, to waxy notes.

It has got plenty of zesty acidity, framing a core of nuttiness, and the unmistakeable tinge of oxidation, all densely knit into a charming whole.

It is not a wine for everybody, nor would I want it to be. It is a wine for contemplation and admiration. It also provides plenty of pleasure and tells a story as it progresses.

The last glass was much superior to the first, hinting at what this wine will become in a decade. Perhaps should have decanted? Either way, Gravonia remains a classic wine that is defiantly idiosyncratic.

Cornas 2016, Guillaume Gilles

Loved this right away – very dark, blue/black inky colour, lots of gloss. Super seductive nose of blackberry jam, soft ripe figs, tar, and a mildly ferrous note.

Much less tannic than the Cornases I have tasted from the previous hotter, drier vintage, with a highly polished, satiny texture. This is a refined, sophisticated wine of great allure. Not at all like old-school Brett-y, earthy, animalistic Cornas, but more of a serious attempt to find the quintessence of the Chaillot lieu-dit through splendidly ripe fruit. No doubt this will evolve to greater heights.

Davy adds: Guillaume Gilles, Domaine Lionnet and Mikael Bourg are the Cornas producers who are the current main event in the boudoir of trends. They make their wines in a traditional, minimal-intervention style, but their wines are clean and accessible. They can also take brilliance to bed and give it a really good time.

As Ricard intimates, Gilles 2015 is as great a wine as any Cornas one is likely to try. I am also of the view that they will age gracefully, even though they are more accessible young than wines from the likes of Clape. Whilst the 2015, 2017, 2020 and 2022 are better than this, this was not too far from the climax at the summit of splendour, and I grinned with delight whilst drinking it.

Côte-Rôtie Maison Rouge 2012, Georges Vernay

A stonking good wine! Hugely expressive nose of blackberries, roses, violets and dollops of sizzling bacon fat. Yum! What a wine. I was expecting a little more tannin, but like its predecessor this evening it was silky and fine, perfectly poised between all the dimensions, endlessly harmonious. We thoroughly enjoyed this jewel. It is everything top Syrah should be.

Davy adds: 2012 is not the best of vintages, but this pressed the pleasure point in exactly the way Côte-Rôtie should. It was not engorged with booze, oak and jammy fruit. Rather, this was the silk sheet is a world of scratchy blankets; elegance and refinement transfigured into wine. That is what Côte-Rôtie should be, and this was approaching ne plus ultra of that aesthetic ideal.

Rivesaltes 1978, Château Saint-Michel

An absolutely ridiculously luscious, positively singing Rivesaltes. Clearly 1978 was a vintage for the ages, as this wine (fortified, to be fair, so likely eternal) could have been made yesterday. Its colour alone was enough to send you into raptures, a rich, bronzed amber glow.

Perhaps not a rapture but a meandering soliloquy that would get you arrested for disturbing the peace. Lots of caramelised orange here, and grated fresh ginger, and oodles of viscosity, but plenty of zingy acidity to rein it into a neatly contained whole, with a touch of nutty bitterness on the finish. Superb, and went down an absolute treat.

I guarantee that any 78s lying around will be this good long after I have shuffled off my mortal coil.

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The meal that The Editor and I ate was provided by the owner of the Forte Kitchen gratis to review the restaurant. Obviously, the owner did not see or have any input into or knowledge of the contents of this review before I published it. Elitistreview is never for sale!

The Forte Kitchen has totally changed focus into an events venue, but they also offer breakfast and brunch earlier in the day. The Editor and I were the first people into the restaurant on the morning we ate breakfast.

The menu provides a full range of breakfast offerings. You can read it here. I was incredibly pleased to see a range of alcoholic drinks on offer for breakfast/brunch, including a short, focussed, extremely well-chosen selection of wines by the glass. If they do not please the brunch crowd, I do not know what will! I had fresh orange juice (delicious), The Editor needed caffeine in his bloodstream so had Diet Coke (he liked it!).

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I went for the largest breakfast offering on the menu: the full English. I skipped toast and had black pudding instead. One could have one’s eggs fried, poached or scrambled – fried being the preferred option.

What an excellent breakfast it was! Every ingredient was chosen to be high quality (I loved the flavours of the bacon, black pudding, mushrooms and eggs particularly) and there was plenty of food provided. The big tub of beans was very welcome. Everything was well-cooked – the bacon to perfection and I was pleased the lovely tomatoes had a touch of the grill to them – and quite delicious. It one was the kind of full English one dreams of being served but rarely gets. Beezer brekkie!

The Editor chose North African Eggs. This was poached egg with a yoghurt sauce, tomatoes and a merguez sausage. He also loved it but said the merguez could have been a bit spicier. Ignore his complaint. If there was a global thermonuclear war, The Editor would say, “That could have been a bit spicier.” It looked excellent and he was certainly very pleased with it.

Prices were very reasonable, especially considering the quality of ingredients, and the staff were friendly and attentive.

We were very impressed with the whole experience. It is the best breakfast we have had in Winchester, ignoring ones that The Editor gets up at 06:30 to start cooking, and we will be returning at our earliest convenience.

Chapeau, the Forte Kitchen!

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To celebrate this epic achievement, The Editor and myself met up with seven friends in the private dining room of the restaurant 10 Greek Street for a meal and some fine wines back in May – before all my friends’ children were let loose from school for their summer holidays. We had a lot of fun! I would like to thank all my friends for attending and making serious efforts to provide appropriate wines.

10 Greek Street charge a very reasonable amount for corkage, so I will be reporting on the wines brought by us all. There were some 2005 wines – the year I created Elitistreview. The dry whites were 2015s, half the age of my site.

The private dining room at 10 Greek Street holds ten people comfortably and they offer either a fixed meal where the whole table eat the same food, or one can order a la carte. We chose the latter.

The food was extremely good! The dishes were inventive with high-quality ingredients cooked with skill and style. It was also very reasonably priced for a restaurant right in the middle of Soho. I would highly recommend a visit and The Editor and I will certainly be returning. It is a great place to dine. Thank you for the recommendation, and for booking, Ricard.

I started the event saying a few words about the site, such as how hugely prolix I have been (see above), before using the worst taste joke ever to appear on Elitistreview as a bridge to move onto the topic of the future of Elitistreview.

Over the next eight days I will publish a note every day, plus some Elitistreview-style context, on the wines we drank. After I have posted notes on all the wines, I will publish a short piece on the future of Elitistreview.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of the people who have kept Elitistreview going over the years. Keith deserves a special mention as he has not just paid the hosting fees countless times, but he has also paid for food for Team Elitistreview when we have had no other means of procuring any. My wonderful friend Jonathan has been similarly generous. Thank you both in particular and everyone else who has chipped in.

Lots of other people have contributed to Elitistreview’s existence, some financially, some by sending wine for us to taste, and a few by taking us out for meals. Thank you all.

Of course, everyone who contributed to the crowdfund for my back operation are all greatly appreciated. I would be in too much pain to write this without your help.

Thank you all to our many friends who have hosted us for meals and allowed us to drink and me be rude about (not all that often, in truth) their wines.

It goes without saying I am grateful to everyone who has come to this site and read my output. I hope it has entertained.

See you tomorrow for the first wine!

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