Wine Club

It has been a week of alcoholic highlights, and, yes, I’ve made the most of it. Oh, don’t be like that, you sound like Mrs Ray with her tut-tut-tutting and eye-rolling. The Spectator Wine Club tour of Bordeaux was followed by a Rhône dinner with Domaine Vieux Télégraph, a champagne dinner with Virginie T, a fine whisky tasting with Boisdale and Duncan Taylor Whisky, a lunch with Springfontein and a weekend for 40 readers at Swinton Park in North Yorks. We had some great grub at Swinton, the tastiest of all dishes being roast grouse paired with a brace of contrasting Pinot Noirs, surely the best of all grapes to partner great British game.

Cooee, we’re back! What? Oh, I’m talking about our second annual Spectator Wine Club assault on Bordeaux. I thought you knew. We had one heck of a trip, thanks so much for asking, and lost nobody in the field. With drinking boots brightly polished we easily saw off seven wineries and several dozen bottles in five days. And who knew that Spectator readers could come up with such hilarious – not to say smutty – limericks? Yes, I’m looking at you Sir Richard. And you, Nick, and you, Paul. If I had any hair left on my pate, it would have curled. We tasted remarkable wines and were looked after beautifully.

It was just going to be Nigel and me. You know, two old chums meeting for a quiet Monday evening drink and a natter. When I pitched up, though, Pete and Nick were also there, and if anything triggers my alarm bells it’s the presence of these two smiling assassins. I love all three boys dearly but, when together, they have form. They pick on me and egg me on. A magnum or so in and I’ve become a willing accomplice, we’ve overshot the runway and all is lost, with written apologies in the post. If Mrs Ray had known who I was going to spend the evening with, she would never have let me leave the house. Or ever let me back in.

It has been a gratifyingly wine-soaked week. Our Pol Roger-fuelled dinner celebrating the mighty Michael Heath’s 90th birthday was followed by a brace of Spectator Winemaker Lunches, one featuring Marimar Torres’s sublime Sonoma Pinots and Chardonnays, the other, at Boisdale, focusing on the glory that is Lebanon’s Ch. Ksara. Fearing toxic shock if I stopped, I continued my vinous operations with an extensive tasting with Armit Wines for this offer. As always, it was tricky to narrow down the choices, hence eight rather than six wines. I don’t think we’ve offered a Slovenian wine before but the 2021 Marinic Ribolla Gialla (1) certainly merits inclusion.

The boardroom clapometer said it all. Hosted by the winemaker Louisa Rose and the sixth-generation family member Lucy Hill-Smith, our Spectator Winemaker Lunch featuring the wines of Yalumba – Australia’s oldest family-owned winery, founded by Samuel Smith in the Barossa Valley 175 years ago – was one of our finest. I’ve never heard such riotous applause, nor seen such broad smiles across our readers’ chops. Mrs Ray, being half-Australian, had threatened to join us but was slow out of the traps and had to make do with the bottles Lucy kindly sent me to try at home. Fret not, she made the most of it. And the wines were so darn good, I’m delighted to offer them here courtesy of our good chums at Honest Grapes.

We’re just back from our stout-hearted Spectator assault on Porto and the Douro Valley, of which more in these pages anon. Suffice to say that it was mission accomplished and everyone in our highly motivated, well-drilled unit more than deserved their mentions in despatches. Indeed, so gung-ho were the troops on the flight home that even the walking wounded were busy volunteering for our next campaigns. With raids planned next year on Alsace, Rioja, Tuscany and even the Napa Valley, there is much to look forward to. Top of everyone’s list, though, is Burgundy and we’ll be heading there in cahoots with Kirker Holidays on 19-23 October 2026. It was a treat, then, to remind myself why we love the region by tasting a fine selection of white burgundies from Mr Wheeler.

Our two Spectator Clays, Claret, Cognac, Cigars (and Carnage) Cruises down the Thames last week were an uproarious success. Much fun was had and, apart from a couple of walking wounded – suffering not from gunshot wounds, you’ll be glad to hear, but simply a surfeit of claret and kummel – there were no casualties. Besides, our plucky pair soon revived after a pint or so at our temporary dressing station in The Dickens Inn. Our long-term partners for the cruises, Private Cellar, did us proud, supplying some stunning clarets, introduced by winemaker extraordinaire, Jean-Michel Garcion, hot-foot, mid-harvest, from Bordeaux.

Ring out the bells, hang out the bunting! Drop whatever you’re doing and pay attention! It’s that time of year again, marked in red on wine-loving readers’ calendars: our annual offer of declassified or so-called ‘defrocked’ clarets from our canny chums at FromVineyardsDirect. You know the form but I’m going to remind you anyway, as I’d hate you to miss out. Outlined below are six cracking clarets from two cracking vintages – 2022 and 2023 – plus one gorgeous Sauternes, all from the greatest of Bordeaux estates. As I’ve explained before, these wines are the excess production or the wines made from younger vines that don’t suit the estates’ grands vins.

Salute! It’s an all-Italian offer this week thanks to our fratelli nel vino at Honest Grapes, whose speciality is that great country. We could, of course, offer nothing but Italian wines all year and still not cover every region and every grape variety, but we’ve done our very best on this occasion to give as fine a glimpse as possible of the vinous treasures that Italy possesses by featuring as many different producers, regions and grape varieties/blends as possible. It wasn’t easy whittling them down and a lot of bottles were broached to get the mix just right. Don’t say we don’t love you. As so often, I was helped – in a manner of speaking – by the perennially unquenchable Mrs Ray. I thought she’d already nipped out to see her sister.

Mrs Ray is worried. Although she’s finally accepted that I drink too much when I’m out and about or at home with company, she’s fretting that I drink too much tout seul. Some misguided saps regard drinking on one’s own as the start of a very slippery slope, but I believe it to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. You can drink what you want, when you want, in whatever quantity or combination you want; you don’t have to defend your choices or field complaints that you’re serving white with meat or red with fish, and you can enjoy a ruminative glass or so undisturbed as you ponder life’s mysteries.

Lunch at the Academy Club with my wicked chums Mark Slemeck and Charlie Grey was probably not the best preparation for tasting a dozen or so wines for this offer from Corney & Barrow. Mark likes his wine but likes his caipirinhas better and Charlie is more of a Pinot Grigio/Newcastle Brown Ale kind of guy. They both made deep inroads into the academy’s list though, declaring each bottle better than the last as they eyed up their next selection. It was a relief when we got booted out and I finally managed to give the boys the slip as they tottered off to the Groucho Club for post-prandials and mischief. I kept my hangover at bay tasting these wonderful wines below and was well into my second wind by the time I got to the Sancerre.

With a seemingly endless round of lunches, dinners and tastings, it has been a punishing few days of far too much vino. Even dear Mrs Ray expressed her concern, although I thought that a bit rich given the state of her after Book Club. We decided, though, to take it easy, and I even foreswore my long-planned trip to Lord’s for England vs India where far too many temptations and too many wicked, practised leaders-astray lay in wait. Oh yes, you know who are. I missed one of the greatest ever matches, of course, and kicked myself for being such a sap. Happily, just as I was sinking into a deep, dark gloom, a dozen or so bottles of fine Beaujolais arrived from Mr Wheeler, ready to be tasted for this offer.

Hurrah! At last, I’ve persuaded the mighty Wine Society to grace our pages, and I’m delighted. Founded in 1874, the WS is the world’s oldest cooperative wine club, famed for sourcing top-quality wines at modest prices and for championing lesser-known regions. I’ve said it before: if, for whatever bizarre reason, I had to buy wine from only one source, it would be from the Wine Soc. Its Exhibition range is famously fine, and Mrs Ray and I selflessly tasted our way through it, arriving at the following delectable Drinkers’ Dozen. If not already a member, you’ll need to become one, but it costs only £40 for life with a £20 voucher to say welcome. The 2024 The Society’s Exhibition Marl-borough Sauvignon Blanc (1), produced by Jane Hunter, is a bargain.

If it’s Thursday, it must be Budapest. Vienna of the other week is but a memory – and a rather sketchy one at that thanks to all those Corn ’n’ Oils – now superseded in the hippocampus by our wine-soaked Spectator tour of Budapest and the vineyards of Eger and Tokaj. We had a hoot, as always, and drank our fill of Bull’s Blood and Tokaji and although, sadly, on this occasion I failed to persuade our accompanying gang of Spectator readers as to the delights of Hotsy Totsy (Pest’s finest bar), I did manage a quick solo exploratory flit to Boutiq’Bar and the Black Swan. They both make darn fine Corn ’n’ Oils too.

I’ve been in Vienna, drinking Grüner Veltliner, Zweigelt and Blaufränkisch like a fish. It’s thirsty work being a lush and I also patronised the fabled Loos American Bar rather more often than I should have. It’s such a seductive spot, LAB, and their Corn ’n’ Oils are very fine, and I can never resist a very fine Corn ’n’ Oil. Heck, I can’t even resist a bad one. I should grow up. It’s been a rich diet and, much as I love Austria and its increasingly tasty wines, it was a relief to sample such a wide-ranging non-Austrian selection for this offer from Tanners of Shrewsbury, with the successful seven wines chosen with summer in mind.

I know I keep saying it, but Alsace is my favourite of all French wine regions. Heck, it might even be my favourite in all the world. It has everything: a remarkable history, glorious scenery, chocolate box-pretty towns and villages, fabulous food, extraordinarily fine eaux-de-vie and stunning, smile-inducing wines. Oh, my goodness, the wines. Produced largely by family-owned estates, some of which go back as far as the 16th century (rather than insurance companies or banks), they’re famously food-friendly and varied. They’re also absurdly undervalued, and whenever I see an Alsace wine on a restaurant list, I grab it, confident it’ll be far better priced than the equivalent quality from elsewhere and knowing it’ll make me smile.

It has been a punishing couple of weeks, with two Spectator Wine School Masterclasses, a brace of Winemaker Lunches and a cracking Winemaker Dinner with Ch. Pichon Baron in the library of our new venue above Old Queen Street Café, hosted by mighty Christian Seely himself. My old pa, faced with such an onslaught, would crack on through, refusing to give into the temptation of taking a day off the vino. Such folly only risked confusing the liver, he insisted, leading to toxic shock or worse. I’m not so sure but, heck – what better way to regroup and realign one’s palate after such a boozy blitzkrieg than with a gentle morning tasting with Siobhan Astbury, buying director of Haynes Hanson & Clark?

I love champagne and I love English fizz – and long gone are the days when you wouldn’t dare mention both in the same sentence. We Brits can hold our heads up: much of what we make is world-class. I’m delighted, then, that thanks to Honest Grapes, we can feature here one of my all-time favourite English sparkling wine producers – Ambriel in West Sussex, founded and run by Charles and Wendy Outhwaite, huge fans of the Speccie. Sometimes, though, only champagne will do, and in this Battle of the Bubbles we’ve three first-rate grower champagnes that are more than a match for Grandes Marques. The Ambriel Huzzah Rosé MV (1), a multi-vintage blend of Pinot Noir (mainly), Chardonnay (some) and Pinot Meunier (a splash), is a favourite of Mrs Ray.

The wretched flashbacks plague me every time. I love Yapp Bros and I love their wines but line up a dozen or so of their bottles, uncork them and pour, and I’m immediately covered in a cold sweat recalling whatever shameful adventure it was that ensued last time I got stuck in, egged on by Tom Ashworth and Jason Yapp, the wicked step bros behind Yapp Bros. I’ve been on many trips with these naughty boys and I’ve bored you with some of the tales. But it’s the stories I daren’t tell you that haunt me. Unlike those who drink and forget, I drink and remember – and then shudder in shame. But, as always, I drink well, because whatever their moral failings, the canny Yapps source some tiptop wines and you’ll love this selection as much as I do.

Mimi, where have you been? It’s been too long! You never ring, you never write, you never text… But what a treat to bump into you at Vintners’ Hall the other week and what a treat, finally, to welcome Averys of Bristol to the Spectator Wine Club. I last worked with Mimi Avery – the fifth generation of her family to work at the company that bears her name – during my distant Telegraph days, and we did many offers together. This is the first time, though, that Averys have graced The Spectator’s pages. Mimi, daughter of the great John Avery, former chairman of the Institute of Masters of Wine, is the company’s brand ambassador and is rightly proud of its heritage. It was, after all, the first British wine merchant to list mighty Ch.