He suggested that I see through the marketing gimmicks of Cycles Gladiator and try the Cabernet Sauvignon at about 11 bucks.  I’ve not tasted it yet.

At a California Wines event in London last month, I stumbled across the same brand.  A number of thoughts raged.  It’s available in the UK!  And they do a Pinot Noir!  And it’s the same cheesy label!  And it tastes annoyingly good…

In fact the cheesy label is considered so naughty by the State of Alabama that it is banned from sale in this jurisdiction that, whilst not completely dry, is hardly going to be competing for the wine industry award for most bottles sold per capita.

This has lead many conspiracy theorists to conclude that the label is a Hahn Estates publicity stunt.  The cost of half a case of lost sales per week in Alabama is outweighed by the worldwide pent up demand

I agree with the shop guy in NYC, though.  See through the packaging and sample the wine.  It is apparently available at £6.99 in the UK (possibly at Waitrose or Co-op, although I couldn’t find info online) which is stonking value for a half decent Pinot Noir.  The flavours are soft strawberry, tart raspberry and yummy spice.  I recommend drinking it fairly well chilled.

This Malbec from Catena Alta is a prime example.  It is quite expensive, although nowhere near the 37M euros that Maradona owes the Italian tax authorities.  Is it worth it?

I think it’s a winner but without any hint of cheating.  Beautifully creamy and rich.  Tasting of a dark chocolate strawberry cream fondant with a touch of Cayenne pepper (isn’t it odd how pepper goes so well with strawberries?).

Mine was £26 from Majestic (now replaced by 2006 at same price).  At that price it is hard to argue that it is brillant value, but the quality is so much higher than most other Malbecs I have tried.  If you want to impress, perhaps you need to save up.  I think it’s worth the extra grunts.

In short I expected great things.  But whenever you set high expectations, it is inevitable that not everything lives up to the dream.  And a few things fell short for me.

Maybe I live in a world of my own, but going out to dine is not just about the food.  Michelin starred cuisine would be of little comfort to an intern of Guantanamo Bay.  Nor is it just about wine.  Château Latour 1982 by any other name would not taste as sweet, and especially if served in a Vodka Shock test tube, or triple filtered though one of Gordon Brown’s socks.

For me, dining out is about the whole experience:  Food, price, value, atmosphere, service, comfort, and a little je ne sais quoi that is a factor of company, situation, chemistry and other such intangibles.

The atmosphere at Hawksmoor is relaxed and just a shade shabby chic, much like The Ivy, although when I rang ahead to book a table for 6pm there were umms and ahhhs and the sort of whistling noise inhaled by a mechanic who has just spotted that your wallet is more inflated than your tyres.  We were asked if we could clear by 8pm.  When we arrived at 6:15pm we were first in and were rewarded with a good table. When we left at 7:59pm the place was still less than half full.

The steaks are far from cheap, but look fair value.  My rump cap was the cheapest cut, I think, at £19.50 plus veg, but for the provenance and quality you should expect to pay a Patriot price.  Other things on the menu were a bit rich.  My scallops on mucky cauliflower (OK, celeriac) purée were an average dish for nigh on £10, the price of a two main courses at Red Chilli in Manchester, or a used 1980’s Exocet launcher.

Call me old fashioned but, at these prices, I would like my waiter to be dressed more like a penguin than a skateboarder.  I would like just a little more reverence to things other than just the meat.

The wine list was good at the top end, and fairly priced.  At the bottom end there was less choice and imagination.  I would like to see a few more bottles in the twenties.  It was hard to find much under forty Euros.  It is entirely possible, even with London rents, to serve good quality, low price wines.  We do not all wear the pin-stripe, £50 note lined trousers of City bankers.

The Malbec we tried (at £37.50) was fine but I had to ask for it to be chilled down from “room” to “just above cellar”.  I do wish more restaurants would join my WART campaign.  In fairness, the Skateboarder was more than helpful and almost understood the importance of wine temperature.  In any case, he happily tolerated my grumbling.

When the steak arrived, though, I understood why people love this place.  I probably should have ordered it French “saignant”, not British “rare”.  Apart from that it was faultless.  I always think the measure of a good steak is how long it takes to digest.  Writing this 24 hours after eating, I can still taste the juices.  I didn’t sleep at all last night.  My body was more concerned with digesting than dreaming.  The only other time that has ever happened was an occasion at the Chancery Lane Gaucho.  Other Gauchos, whilst decent, never quite lived up to that experience and you already know my views on their wine mark-ups.

Our meal for two at Hawksmoor cost north of £170.  That’s about an average case of wine for me, which provides several evenings of joy.  I feel entitled to top quality meat when paying such price.  That doesn’t mean guaranteed, however, as we all know from bitter experience.

Would I return?  You bet.  But I would order wine by the glass and one steak course, maybe one of the special super-size-me ribeyes.  I would arrive early on a quiet night, not bother booking and simply sit there until chucked out.

Hawksmoor
157 Commercial Street
Whitechapel, London
E1 6BJ
T: +44 (0)207 247 7392
E: info@thehawksmoor.com
W: http://www.thehawksmoor.co.uk

The entirely appropriately named Julian showed me to a totally spiffing, and intriguingly unique, table for one.  Facing the back of a church bench I wondered if I should sit or kneel.  But it was, like nearly every table, surprisingly discreet.  I never felt I was being overlooked despite constantly tapping into my iPhone, which I am certain was breaking Rules’ rules, helpfully pointed out on the menu and translated roughly into Mancunian as “leave yer phone at ‘ome, in the ‘ouse, with our kid”.

Potted shrimps with wholemeal toast looked like compôte of chopped garden worms, but tasted of prawn delight, and slept dreamily on my stomach bed, wriggling back and forth in an ocean of Burgundy Pinot Noir that I was marginally disappointed to have to ask to be chilled down from “room” to “cellar”.  I almost left it in the ice bucket long enough to bring it down to “North Sea” which was a near miss.

I love attention to detail, and the fact that the toast came in a warm solid silver rack on a warmed plate, took my mind away from the horsebox and Shogun disasters that had been befalling the couple at the next table.

Pheasant pie with creamed morrels and parsnip purée sounded great, but like the Jugged Hare had scarpered. Running out of game options on a menu that professes a speciality in the genre, I bolted for breast of wild duck with artichoke and black cherry sauce.  The duck was slightly tough but hyper tasty, the sauce adding value in all departments.  Except, whereas the hare had scarpered, a hair had made it into my purée.  Also whilst I am complaining, I was not sure if the mashed potato was deliberately unseasoned but I found myself reaching for the condiments.  I rarely dare to deliver this ultimate insult to a chef but the ground black pepper and crystallised sea salt really helped. I couldn’t find enough will to complain whilst sat on my Jack Jones.  There was hardly a waiter nearby to complain to, as I think the service is geared towards couples and groups rather than iPhone obsessed singletons.  I even had to pour my own wine which I actually prefer, but I think was an intended “punishment” for demanding an ice bucket.

But these are such minor complaints given the superior quality of the whole meal and experience, that I wouldn’t hesitate to visit again for the sheer class.

Domaine Rossignol-Février sounded more like a ski holiday than a wine but thankfully priced to suit Thomas Cook clientele (£35). However that had legged it too.  Maybe the menu and wine list here are on a seasonal migration?  Or is Gordon’s new 50% tax rate that is scaring them off?

The Domaine Michel Juillot Bourgogne 2006 that was brought on as a substitute was so full of strawberries it could have been a fool, or possibly an upper class twit.  There was just enough chicken run for a Pinot enthusiast, though, and a little spicy kick to complement the cherry sauce with the duck.

The patrons of this veritable establishment are much posher than me, but surprisingly don’t look down their noses at a northern oik invading their space. This is old money.  The type of patrons who would shun a faux colonial pillared porch in favour of a substantial limestone entombed port-cullis.  These people probably come here to eat game only when they have been unsuccessful on their own shoot that afternoon.

Then, horror of horrors: An American accent, two Norwegians, some young people, a Welsh woman!  Seems my stereotype is a little outdated.  Ordinary folk come here, although I am guessing from the price list that they only come on special occasions.

I couldn’t resist the deliciously soft, sludgy, warm and sugary treacle tart which elevated my bill to a lofty £90.22.  Even including service this is not cheap for a single arse on a lonely pew.

However, if you have a special occasion, and you like game, and you are in London, or you are simply dead posh, you should visit Rules.  Quite an experience.

Rules was recommend to me my Chris Pople.  You can read his review here.

Rules
35 Maiden Lane
Covent Garden
London
WC2E 7LB
T:  +44 (0) 207 836 5314
W:  www.rules.co.uk

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=180871924981#/group.php?gid=180871924981

If the link fails to get you there, simply search for Wine At Right Temperature in Facebook Groups.

But I am not so sure if there is such a big difference between a carefully selected Sainsbury claret sourced from reputable Médoc vineyards, and a large scale “independent” brand such as Cono Sur, for example.

One brand that I occasionally (but not always) trust is The Wine Society.  This Corbières is not rough and ready like the country wine I expected, but smooth and rich with strawberry flavours and spice.

Incredible value at £6.95.  Sometimes one has to ignore the label and just get drinking.

Despite the lofty lofty entrance to Roast, we were left rather dangling on arrival.  The tall and tanned and young and lovely Maitress d’ was presumably out for a smoke, but at least this gave us the opportunity to read the Sunday Times match report of Man City’s glorious victory over Chelski the day before.  It would have been nice to have done so over a celebratory glass of champagne but nothing was offered.

A triptych of stern rules in the Gents provided a further clue to the police state we were entering.

Finally seated, I opened with Ramsey of Carluke haggis, celeriac and oxtail sauce. Thankfully a tiny portion after reams of bread and gorgeous butter delivered with gay abandon and little concern for keeping our bellies empty enough to order expensive mains.

But I always make room for hearty course such as roast leg of Elwy lamb with slow roast shoulder and mashed potatoes, curly kale and quince jelly.  The roast potatoes served with the chicken Fred ordered were legendary but necessary to supplement the lamb, so order some on the side.  The sprouts with bacon (also served with bloody Fred’s chicken) made the best of an evil vegetable and, despite my childhood prejudice, I would eat them again.

Recommended by our charming East European and surprisingly wine knowledgeable waiter, Château Lucas Lussac St. Emilion 2005 at £39 arrived at the table.  Wood smoke and lovely fig and beetroot. Superb with the lamb and served at the right temperature (17-18 degrees).

There was an impressive, if slightly restricted, view of St. Paul’s dome from our table.  The waiter said he was surprised how many times he was asked (even by English people) what it was.  Isn’t this Christopher Wren classic more famous than the Empire State Building?  Hasn’t anybody seen Mary Poppins?  However, despite being full of birds, the food in Roast is more than tuppence a bag.  £30 for a 3 course Sunday lunch to be precise.

I still managed to turn the bill into a lazy afternoon, alcohol fuelled £140 for two.

As the relaxed jazz house band played the 9th version of Girl from Ipanema I heard today, I couldn’t help feeling how far away from Ipanema I was, and all the better for that.  Roast is the epitome of a decent traditional British Sunday lunch served to modern culinary standards.  And despite early appearances, the atmosphere was as relaxed as the jazz.

Roast, Borough Meerkat,
The Floral Hall,
Stoney Street,
London
SE1 1TL.
T: 0845 034 7300
F: 0845 034 7301
E:  feedback@roast-restaurant.com
W:  www.roast-restaurant.com

My opening exchange with the waitress:  Gevrey Chambertin Domaine Heresztyn 2005 please – what temperature would you serve that?  “About two above room”. Ouch, no WART awards here.  Please can I have an ice bucket?  “Yes sir, no problem.”  Things are starting to improve already.  After all, the wine list looks well thought out, and superbly priced, and the menu looks bistro chic.

The wine turned out to be much warmer than the room, which was about “cellar”, confusingly, and served (the wine) in Riedel Vinum Bordeaux glasses to complete the wine misplacings.  After waitress stares colder than the ice bucket, I didn’t dare enquire whether the Pinot Noir glasses were just being washed.

The wine itself was super. Not so much barnyard as tea room with warm flavours of fruit loaf, Darjeeling, and plummy blackberries.

A Bury black pudding salad with hen’s egg (interesting how modern menus often clarify this – the source bird, and “hen” I took to mean “chicken”) was proper northern pudding attired in Parisian haute coutoure.  Tart Dijon dressing and tidy leaves, presumably to acknowledge Autumn has arrived in Leeds.

Wood pigeon came on braised red cabbage as if shot down in a farmer’s field, and the pigeon was redder than the cabbage which is how I like it.  However, I need a training course in eating small birds.  There has to be a better way of eating wood pigeon than scraping it off the bone with a fork.

The veg was no less than superb, I won’t bore you with the inventive detail.

Dessert for Fred was vanilla rice pudding with spiced orange jelly and fudge pieces – if only I was served this at primary school 40 years ago.  I had a selection of cheeses with a small glass of Fleur d’Or Sauternes (violets and honey), both of which filled my belly intensely and admirably, although I’m sure the waiter saw the irony of removing my macchiato before the cheese was served.

At £131 for two including numerous alcoholic beverages and with a bottle of fine wine, this is good value.  In London it would be stupendous.  In Leeds, sadly, it is simply a rare occurrence to find food this good, and a totally normal occurrence to find wine knowledge so lacking.  I was chatting to a mixed European group on the next table who had already sent back one corked bottle of claret (to considerable resistance), and complained that the next, whilst not TCA tainted, was too warm.

I recruited them to my WART campaign.

If you are teetotal, or simply prepared to argue your corner against wine ignorance, you should spend some time here.  It is so much better than the somewhat soulless, and much more expensive, Anthony’s fine dining sibling, a pigeon stride or two along Boar Lane.  Piazza’s potent combination of architecture, atmosphere, and food is unbeatable.  The mere addition of a little oenological schooling would put it near the top of my list of favourite places in the North.

Piazza by Anthony, Corn Exchange, Call Lane, Leeds. LS1 7BR.
T: +44 113 247 0995
W: www.piazzabyanthonysrestaurant.co.uk

In any case my detox has been a complete waste of time in many respects.  After 12 days of punishing exercise, no alcohol and, ahem, minimal caffeine (see below) I have finally lost a solitary, lonesome pound from my chunky Christmas frame.

So to celebrate I have now stopped banging on about detox and focussed energies on writing up some old notes.

So whilst I have no contemporary wine experiences to write about, perhaps I ought to catch up with some old notes from 2009.  Yes, I’ll do that right now.  Oh hang on, I have to exercise first.