Wine Club

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

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

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

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 Vienna of the other week is but a memory – and a rather sketchy one at that thanks to all those Corn ’n’ Oils – now superseded in the hippocampus by our wine-soaked Spectator tour of Budapest and the vineyards of Eger and Tokaj.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,

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

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

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

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

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

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

We at Spectator Towers love Château Léoube, the Provençal estate founded by Lord and Lady Bamford (of JCB and Daylesford Organic fame) in 1997, the wines of which we serve at Spectator Writers’ Dinners in the boardroom. So popular are these wines at 22 Old Queen Street that I apologise for taking so long to

Private Cellar, supplier to the Spectator Wine Club and partner in many of our jaunts and jollities – not least the notorious Clay, Claret and Cognac Cruise (CCCC) – turns 20 this year and corks are popping. Director Laura Taylor works so closely with us (she’s head teacher at our masterclasses, quality control at our

Iwasn’t so much a kid in a sweet shop as a lush in a winery. I was at the Armit Wines annual portfolio tasting and, with 50 different winemakers presenting some 300 different wines, I was in vinous heaven. I had a clean glass in my hand, a free afternoon ahead of me and the

Oh dear, it all got a bit out of hand. The wines for this all-Tuscan offer from Mr Wheeler looked so deliciously appealing that rather than taste and write them up on my own, I thought it would be a brilliant wheeze to sample them with guests over Sunday lunch. ‘You twit,’ said Mrs Ray.

The boiler has been on the blink for days and I’m tired, cold and grumpy. Mrs Ray, too, is being unnaturally scratchy. Don’t worry, she never reads this.  To cheer ourselves up and to keep out the chill, I suggested that she join me in tasting a dozen or so Burgundies from Honest Grapes, not

Hurrah, they’re back! After years away from our embrace, mighty Berry Bros & Rudd have finally returned to the Spectator Wine Club fold, and I couldn’t be happier. I spent many jolly years working for Berry Bros a few decades ago and it was wonderful to return to my alma mater to taste wines for

So that’s another Dry January finally knocked on the head. Phew! For dear Mrs Ray, it was more of a persistently damp January with a few scattered showers and – the weather forecast was spot on here – one heck of a downpour on Burns Night. For a girl who claims not to like whisky,

Dry January is never easy. Not with Mrs Ray taunting me with her mid-morning Prosecco and early evening double G&T and not with the constant delivery of wines to be reviewed, tasted and – agonisingly – fully expectorated. This offer from mighty Corney & Barrow was a particular challenge. Not because I didn’t like the

At 3.28 a.m. on 1 January, I made myself a promise: I would never touch alcohol again. Having over-egged it horribly during the carnage that passed for the neighbours’ NYE party, I had finally come to agree with Dean Wormer’s fabled observation in Animal House, that ‘fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through

So there I was at some swanky party, so swanky that I knew absolutely nobody. I think I was invited by mistake. I mooched about, got bored and muscled in on a group of fun-looking folk – and soon found myself chatting to one Diogo Veiga, export manager for Brimoncourt Champagne. Never heard of it, I