A peach of a mistake

Lente, lente currite noctis equi. It only seems five minutes ago that I was devoting this column to the most important intellectual problem in the western canon — the oenophile’s equivalent of the Matterhorn — which red wine to drink with grouse. But the immortal gods are relentless; Phoebus Apollo has spurred on the seasons and, once again, a shy young grouse graces my plate.