A taste of heaven on earth

The supermarket chains are not always blameworthy. Their missionary efforts have helped to ensure that wine drinking in Britain is much less bedevilled by social anxiety than it used to be. There was a time when Mateus rosé, God help us, exploited that in its TV ads. The boss invited home for dinner: how could the husband navigate the social minefield of serving wine? Answer, Mateus rosé. How sad. If I am ever asked about wine by someone who professes to know nothing, I always make three points. First, trust your taste buds and your nose. If the wine smells like a car engine, there is something wrong — and not with your olfactory system. Second, if you are so inclined, there is a lot of enjoyment to be had from wine lore. Third, and above all, wine drinking is fun: nunc est bibendum. Solemnity and concentration should always be mingled with sensuality and revelry.

The Greeks and the Romans understood this, which their temple ceremonies reflected. So do Messrs Berry Bros. in their temple at the foot of St James’s Street, where they have been dispensing pleasure for more than 300 years. They were in business before the Union of 1707. They are also in considerably better shape. While half of Scotland wishes to turn its back on the world economy, Berry Bros. embraces it. Simon Berry described a recent tasting at which a sophisticated, self-confident Chinaman was being twitted by Brits who knew that he would be able to cope. He was. Spreading his arms in mock self-deprecation, he said: ‘This, from people who put milk in their tea.’

Berrys’ premises have a reverential aspect. In ‘Little Gidding’, T.S. Eliot writes of a place where prayer has been valid; where his own prayers blend with those of the reverend dead.