Jonathan Ray

Hey you there on your sun lounger! Take a gander at this summer sale, courtesy of our chums at FromVineyardsDirect. These are extremely toothsome bin-ends and overstocks at pre-duty increase prices. I’ve tasted them, rejected the also-rans and beaten FVD down on price as much as I can. There are some cracking mystery cases included too. First the whites. 2020 Rive Droite, Rive Gauche (1) has often featured in these pages – a creamy, peachy Viognier-based white Côtes du Rhône that never fails to please. £10.95 down from £12.75. The 2022 Racine Picpoul de Pinet (2) is another crowd-pleaser and as decent a Picpoul as you’ll find. Fresh, creamy and lemony, it’s spot on as a lively aperitif. £12.95 down from £14.95.

Well, crikey, that was fun! The recent inaugural Spectator tour of Champagne, that is. We had a hoot, visiting five producers and enjoying two first-rate dinners courtesy of Taittinger and Pol Roger. We learned lots, laughed lots, drank lots and I don’t think a single spittoon was sullied during the entire trip. Bravo! Oh, and hats off to Peter Brown who came top of the rigorous end of tour examination and who got a bottle of Pol for his troubles. Well done, Peter! After a week of fizz, though, however swanky the wines (and some were very swanky), it’s a joy to encounter some tasty still wines of great value such as these we’re offering here.

I confess to feeling a trifle delicate when tasting the dozen or so wines from FromVineyardsDirect for this offer. A late night at the Academy Club had turned into early morning at the Experimental Cocktail Club and neither Mrs Ray nor I were at our best. Indeed, Mrs R decided it was all too much and retired to bed blaming me for everything while also inquiring as to when I might be planning to grow up. It was a strange question that I refused to dignify with an answer. Anyway, the point is that I was not in the best of health when I first sampled the wines, yet I still managed to like them. When I tried them again later, I absolutely loved them and would be surprised if you don’t too.

There are worse ways of spending the late May bank holiday than tasting a dozen or so wines from Swig, the merchant beloved of my sainted predecessors Messrs Waugh and Hoggart. Mrs Ray did question why I had to start so early, finish so late and ask so many neighbours to help but then she, too, got swept up in the fun and agreed that putting out spittoons would only spoil things and add to the washing up. She’s a trouper all right. This selection from Swig is the perfect summer fare The 2021 Di Meno Grillo (1), from the hills of north-west Sicily, is so engaging it demanded inclusion. I don’t get much on the nose – maybe a touch of peach and melon – but on the palate I get plenty: lemon zest, herbs, melon and grapefruit, and I love it.

Feeling desperately fragile after a cocktail-soaked long weekend with Lunch Club in Berlin, I tried to appease an exasperated, eye-rolling Mrs Ray by vowing never to drink again. Wouldn’t touch a drop. As I rallied, though, and the Berliner katzenjammer slowly cleared, I pulled myself together and pointed out that there was work to do and fine Italian wine from Mr Wheeler to taste. Mrs R is a sucker for top Italian vino so it didn’t take long for her to join me, and we had a merry couple of hours coming up with the following selection. She even made her signature pappardelle pasta with venison ragout to soak it all up, so all is well.

I happily did my bit for Blighty during the coronation and drank nothing but English wine, beer and spirits the whole weekend. If I was guilty of slightly over-egging the pudding it was only through an excessive bout of patriotism and I can report with pride that even my much-needed hangover cure – The Original Pick-Me-Up from D. R. Harris & Co – was English made. Once off the naughty step and given reluctant permission by Mrs Ray to resume active service, I moved straight from the vinous delights of Kent and Sussex to those of Burgundy, courtesy of Honest Grapes and Albert Bichot. Founded in Beaune in 1831, Albert Bichot is the leading buyer at the Hospices de Beaune auction and one of the region’s largest producers, with more than 150 different wines on its list.

I’m seeing Jason Yapp next week and am deeply nervous. It’s been a while since we caught up and as followers of this column might recall, he and wicked step-brother Tom Ashworth have form in leading me astray. I think I told you about our little adventure in that backstreet bar in Biarritz. It was years ago and I’m still in shock. And still paying off the credit card. And still apologising to Mrs Ray, although she really should have moved on by now. The fact that mighty Gavin Rankin, le patron of London’s finest eatery, Bellamy’s – that fabled ‘club without a sub’ – is going to be joining us and that we are convening at 12.15 p.m. ‘because we’ve a lot to get through and the Pink Coconut opens early on a Wednesday’ only heightens my anxiety.

It’s uncanny, but if I gauge it right, I can summon my wife as if by magic. Mrs R’s hearing is at its most acute in that lull between her afternoon Earl Grey and evening G&T, at which point she can hear me pop a cork from two floors away. She’ll be down in a trice, equipped with an inquiring thirst. ‘Ooh, a tasting,’ she’ll declare, all fresh-faced innocence. ‘Can I help?’ And so it was that we hoovered through some fabulous wines from Corney & Barrow together and came up – unanimously – with this final selection. The 2021 Pãsãri Chardonnay/Feteascã Regalã (1) is one of my wines of the year. Made at a British-owned Romanian estate by an Australian and a Spaniard, it’s deliciously undemanding.

If you don’t like fine, well-priced Provencal rosé – crisp, clean, lively, refreshing and perfect for spring – then look away now. If, however, you’re an out ’n’ proud pink-drink lover like me then what are you waiting for? Get stuck in! Rosé has never been more popular, and with reason: the best are very tasty indeed. I’m not talking about so-called ‘lady petrol’, the grim, off-dry to sweet, neon-coloured, bubblegum-like California Blush Zinfandel, designed for chugging back over ice from a goldfish bowl in the beer garden of the Dog and Vomit on a Sunday afternoon. No, I’m talking about beautifully crafted, pale, pale pink wines made with the same care and attention that goes into the making of the finest reds and whites.

Mrs Ray can’t stop humming. She loves this time of year. It might be sheeting down and there might be a massive leak in our roof which none of five different builders has managed to fix, but all she notices are the daffs in full bloom, the fluffy pink cherry blossom and her treasured magnolia bursting into life. I suspect that Mrs R’s high spirits might have been somewhat enhanced by the dozen or so bottles of Rioja from Honest Grapes that we’ve just tasted, especially as we didn’t trouble the spittoon quite as much as we should have. But, heck, the wines were just so moreish, perfect with the marinated anchovies and roast leg of South Downs lamb we had for supper. They were almost impossible to narrow down to six.

Whoop, whoop, it’s another Spectator scoop! Mighty Ch. Musar of Lebanon has just released its latest – 2017 – vintage, and wily Johnny Wheeler has ensured that readers are the first in the UK to get their hands on it. This wine is not available anywhere else until Easter and, with Musar repositioning the brand (aka putting the price up a fiver a bottle), you won’t find it cheaper. If Musar’s your thing – and it’s certainly mine – do get stuck in. Yes, the 2017 Ch. Musar White (1) is an acquired taste but it’s one that I have most definitely acquired and trust you have/will too. It’s hard to know with what to compare it, weaving as it does between dry white Bordeaux, white Rioja, white Rhône and even Manzanilla sherry in style.

I don’t know how Laura Taylor does it. Private Cellar’s marketing director has managed – after a similar coup with the previous vintage – to snare an elusive and handsome parcel of 2022 Hamilton Russell Vineyards Chardonnay and Pinot Noir especially for readers of The Spectator. You cannot buy these anywhere else yet. These are wines of the highest order and greatly sought-after and we are blessed to be so honoured. Indeed, as Anthony Hamilton Russell himself said to Laura: ‘Your allocation is more than many countries get!’ It helps, of course, that Laura knows the estate – in South Africa’s Hemel-en-Aarde Valley – well, and that she visited it only a month or so ago.

I adore the wines of the Rhône. What wine lover doesn’t? There’s variety and there’s value, especially when compared with Bordeaux and Burgundy, and it’s possible to drink your fill without visiting the same well twice or fretting too much about the cost. Last time we had a small Rhône add-on to the main offer; this week we’re going the whole hog, with just a tiny nod to Alsace as a postscript because I adore their wines too. With all the Dry Jan nonsense behind us, Mrs Ray and I fell upon the selection of Rhônes that Esme Johnstone – the canny fox at the helm of FromVineyardsDirect – sent me to try on your behalf. I even managed to break a couple of glasses in my haste.

So that’s it, a month on the wagon almost done and dusted. Hurrah! You might recall that owing to a spat over some liqueur chocolates, Mrs Ray declared that I was in clear breach of the Dry January code and promptly zapped me with a one-week penalty, now almost spent. Allies of mine – Dave and Tony down the pub – voiced serious concerns about how the investigation was carried out and question just how independent Mrs R’s independent ethics adviser is, given that she’s her sister (who gave me the chocs in the first place). I plan to appeal. Meanwhile, I’m free to taste wine so long as I don’t swallow (as if!) and positively basked in the bottles that Robin Davis and the gang at Swig sent me.

Mrs Ray can be so sneaky. I thought that Dry January was all about spousal solidarity and mutual encouragement; she thought it was all about catching me out. It kicked off when she busted me sucking dry the liqueur chocolates I’d squirrelled away at Christmas and had come to rely upon. I said they didn’t count; she said I was an idiot. ‘Do grow up!’ she wailed. As a result, Dry January is now deemed to have started on 6 January. Still, sobriety has its rewards, and I can plan this year’s drinking with a clear head. I’ve rotated the stock in the cobwebbed cupboard under the stairs that serves as our cellar and will be certain to plug the resultant gaps with this bin-end bonanza from Mr Wheeler.