Our nine merchant partners – Armit Wines, Corney & Barrow, FromVineyardsDirect, Honest Grapes, Mr Wheeler, Private Cellar, Swig, Tanners and Yapp Bros – represent the cream of the UK’s independents and boast centuries of experience between them. They all have particular areas of expertise and stock wines that you would never be able to find on the supermarket shelves or local off-licence.
Order today. So, with Mrs Ray packed off to the airport for her sun-soaked sojourn in Italy, training for The Spectator’s Clays, Claret and Cognac Cruise begins in earnest. The clays could still do with work but I’m close to nailing the liquid element of the jaunt. I’ve been helped immensely by Armit Wines and
Order today. There are some typically quirky gems from Swig on offer this week and it’s great to have Robin Davis and the gang back in these pages. Their offer in January was a rip-roarer and, as before, there is plenty here to satisfy even the most demanding of thirsts. The 2020 Bourgogne Chardonnay Les
Order today. Klaxon alert! Would all claret lovers please form an orderly queue? Esme Johnstone and the FromVineyardsDirect gang are clearing their cobwebbed cellars to make room for newer vintages and are offering us a brilliant baker’s dozen of Bordeaux bin-ends at a special, Spectator-only knockdown price. Hurrah! The wines from 2014 and 2015 (cracking
Order today. Poor Mrs Ray finally cracked. Ever the stoic, she paid no heed to the life-challenging heatwaves and associated power cuts. She disregarded the Covid that raged through her loved ones and took hours-long delays in and out of Gatwick with her usual eudaimonic tranquillity of mind. The baggage chaos at Heathrow, the melting
Order today and use the discount code SPECJULY at the checkout. So, I finally got the plague. No, not monkeypox, the other one – Covid. I blame that Tuscan wedding. Not the hot’n’sweaty event itself, nor the jam-packed flights there and back; no, I blame the three subsequent days on the wagon, strictly enforced by
Order today. We’re just back from a quick flit to Italy and a wild and wonderful wedding. It was all huge fun, although as I look back with throbbing, bloodshot eyes, I see, of course, that we could have done things differently, not to say better, such as by pacing ourselves more sensibly and staying
Order today. The first red wine I ever drank was a scrumptiously succulent Beaujolais, and I’ve had a fondness for the region and its wines ever since. At 52, my father was getting on a bit when I was born and he was desperate to educate me in the delights of the grape as quickly
Order today. We got away with it! I wasn’t actually there, of course (and if I was, I didn’t realise) but I can report that our inaugural Spectator Wine Club BYOB/Wine Time Friday lunch passed off without a hitch. There was no excessive boozing, no fighting, no vomiting, no karaoke and definitely no poor treatment
Order today. I’ve been banished upstairs. Mrs Ray has turned our ground floor into an art gallery in which to show her and her friends’ paintings, prints and pottery during Brighton’s annual Artists Open Houses, and I’ve been told not to come down and talk to visitors ‘or otherwise spoil things’. What can she mean?
Order today. I had my regular May meeting with the accounts department (Mrs Ray) the other night and it did not go well. The general gist was that I’m a profligate fool and that I need to drink less, not to mention less expensively. And no, she did not appreciate me quoting the late, great
Order today. As you know, when it comes to champagne, Pol Roger is pretty much The Spectator’s house pour. Indeed, a dog-eared sign on the door of the office fridge demands that staff always ensure there are two bottles chilling within it for emergency celebrations and commiserations or simply for whenever the moment strikes. It’s
Order today. I don’t know how well you know Amsterdam, but there’s a frightfully swanky hotel there called The Dylan in which I was lucky enough to blag myself and Mrs Ray a jolly weekend a year or so ago. There are many fine things about The Dylan but that which tickles me the most
Email your order today. It’s flipping well snowing as I write, but my Glyndebourne tickets have come and my MCC pass has just plopped on to the mat so it must surely be spring. And where a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, so this old soak’s fancy lightly turns to just
Order now. A reader upbraided me gently the other day saying he felt I was overly effusive about the wines I feature in these pages. He hinted that I must be in the pay of the merchants in order to endorse quite so heartily whatever six random wines they care to offload on me. Well,
Order today. My father loved nothing more than a smutty limerick. Indeed, he delighted in penning lewd lines whenever he was encouraged to do so. This being a family magazine, I won’t sully your breakfast with his verse on Verdicchio – tame though it is – but can happily send under plain brown-paper wrapper or
Anthony and Olive Hamilton Russell love The Spectator and we love them. They have hosted more Spectator Winemaker Lunches than any other producer (they’ll be in our boardroom again next week) and it was only the afterglow of the splendidly bibulous Spectator/Hamilton Russell dinner at Tate Britain the night before lockdown that kept me going
Readers (and writers) of The Spectator have long adored the wines of Château Musar, the cult winery of Lebanon. Indeed, thanks to our chums at Mr Wheeler, we have such a close relationship with the estate that our loyalty is being rewarded by yet another bona fide Speccie scoop: for the next month, this is
Dry January is but a memory and, nearing the end of a demi-sec February fortnight — just a precaution to check that everything is working as it should be — I’m pretty much match fit once again and raring to go. I certainly loved choosing these delectable Yapp Bros wines on your behalf and, with
Well I don’t know about you but I’m just that little bit overexcited. In a couple of days I’ll be free of this ridiculous, self-imposed, puritanical water wagon regime and I’ve the wheelie suitcase dusted off and ready in anticipation. Roll on Wine Time Friday! If Boris leaves us nothing else to remember him by
Cooee, we’re back! And back in some style with a corking offer from Swig, stalwarts of the Spectator Wine Club under my sainted predecessors. I’m so pleased we’ve tempted them back, especially in this, their 25th anniversary year. Founded by Robin Davis in north London’s Belsize Park, Swig has become one of the country’s finest
