Jonathan Ray

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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

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;

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

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

So this is it folks, the last offer of the year. James Franklin of Corney & Barrow and I worked tirelessly to bring you the tastiest, most Yule-appropriate wines we could at the best possible prices. Indeed, so fine and so well-priced are they that I barely bothered the spittoon while tasting them and will

I woke this morning to find blossom on our cherry tree. For a few blissful seconds I thought it was spring and that I’d slept through Christmas. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and I felt faint with joy. But reality – and Christmas Affected Doom, Depression and Despondency – soon kicked in:

So that’s another term done at the Spectator Wine School. And what a term! We had such a fine teacher – take a bow Mrs Taylor, Head of Vinous Studies, on loan from Private Cellar – and such bright pupils that everyone passed. Not only did our conscientious students pull their weight in class, eschewing