Drink

To rehydrate, drink beer

‘The nuisance of the tropics is/the sheer necessity of fizz.’  Over the past few days, during which England endured sub-tropical sweltering, it was more a matter of beer. I do not wish to denigrate water, which is all very well in its place. I often drink it. But for urgent, nay life-saving, rehydration, nothing beats beer. Now that almost all beer is properly made, I just tend to order any pint that catches my eye. In recent temperatures, the eyes have been busy. As I may have written before, there is one curiosity about beer. The Belgians, Czechs and Germans – plus other European countries – produce lager-style beers that

Grape Britain: English wine is having its moment in the sun

Our homegrown wine was, until fairly recently, regarded internationally as a bit of a joke. Peter Ustinov could quip that he imagined hell to be ‘Italian punctuality, German humour and English wine’. Likewise, Lord Jay, serving as a diplomat in Paris, recalled the British ambassador rubbing up against resistance from the home side – let alone foreigners – as he sought to be an early advocate. The ambassador was hosting Edward Heath, President Giscard d’Estaing and the governor of the Bank of France for lunch: ‘I remember [ambassador] Ewen Fergusson saying, ‘Sir Edward, wonderful that you’re here. I am tempted to serve you a delicious English white wine”. “I hope,

The lure of St James’s 

Procrastination may be the thief of time, but in the right circumstances, it can be fun. The other day, I was enjoying myself in St James’s, my favourite London arrondissement. There are delightful contrasts, from the grandeur of the royal palaces and the St James’s Street clubs to the charming, intimate side streets and alleys with their pubs and restaurants. The late Jacob Rothschild would often cross from his palatial office in Spencer House to Crown Passage, in order to lunch at Il Vicolo (regularly praised here). His Lordship never bothered to reserve a table. Instead, he would send someone across with his form of booking: a bottle of Château

The loveliness of Ligurian wine

We were talking about Italy: where and when to sojourn. I confessed to so many gaps. It is years since I visited Genoa and I know that the Ligurian coast has innumerable hidden treasures. There are the well-publicised places, such as Portofino and San Remo, which I am sure are pleasant enough out of season. But for many months they are likely to resemble an eastern extension of Monaco. Small is the key word. We are not dealing with the mighty names from Piedmont. In Liguria many of the local wine producers have tiny plots, sometimes only a couple of acres. They will supply the local restaurants which also draw

How to save Britain’s pubs

In Bradford a few weeks ago, I popped into a pub called Jacobs Well. It’s a squat old building, all but submerged behind the stultifyingly ugly road that grinds around the edges of the town centre. The Well was fairly quiet on a Monday night, but everyone there was congregated around the bar and it was immediately apparent that this was a place where long friendships are nurtured and strangers are welcomed. There were interesting cask ales, free hotpot and doorsteps of bread on a side table for anyone who fancied a meal, wonderful photos of old Bradford on the walls and a blackboard chock-full of handwritten notices advertising upcoming

The art of the political lunch

We had been discussing Ukraine, Gaza, Iran, the possibility of a nuclear exchange across the Punjab and other trifling matters. It was decided to change the subject. A youngster was planning to write a piece on lunching and suggested I might know something about that. I did not disagree. In the old days, lunching was a vital part of the political process. It was a good way of getting to know politicians, so that contacts would ripen into friendships. That said, it was not an efficient method of discussing complex matters. Lunch was forgossip and general political impressions. If detailed rumination was necessary, the place for that was in the

The reinvention of limoncello

My first memories of limoncello, I expect like most people, are from an Italian holiday, the slender bottles as yellow and radiant as the Amalfi sunshine. And at a local, family-run Italian restaurant, cheerfully slammed down on the table at meal’s end. The lemon liqueur is now having a new lease of life, born again as an aperitif. The limoncello market grew 31 per cent from 2019 to 2023 and it is popping up everywhere from Australia to Germany. Above all this is down to the advent of the ‘limoncello spritz’, which was even added to the menu at J.D. Wetherspoon last year. Having enjoyed two decades as top dog, the

My new-found love for Marsala

Western Sicily is one of the most wonderful places on Earth. From the Greek temples in the south to the Arab-Norman architecture and frescos around Palermo, there are endless treasures and glories. There are also records of fascinating characters, especially the Emperor Frederick II Hohenstaufen, Stupor Mundi. Historians still argue whether he was a prototype of a Renaissance ruler, with a distinct flavour of the Enlightenment, or merely among the most remarkable men of the high Middle Ages. He was a polymath, but one of his most distinguished qualities ultimately limited his inheritance. He found it impossible to stop fighting, not least against a succession of popes. In that particular

The Chinese tried to get me drunk

China: what next? Around the time of the millennium, I wrote that during this century, many of the world’s great questions would be answered in Chinese characters and that great fortunes would be made, and lost, in the China trade. That is one prophecy which might hold good. No one ever says that they could take or leave Maotai Churchill said that the longer you can look back, the farther you can look forward, and it is worth following the Chinese example and thinking in epochs. Consider one of the most significant might-have-beens in history: the career of the 15th-century eunuch admiral Zheng He. He commanded an enormous fleet and

The paradox of West Virginia

West Virginia. There is a paradox. A state of natural beauty, glorified by mountains and watered by rivers – including the Shenandoah (surely the most beautiful word in American) – carved out of reluctant nature by hard human labour, then divided by slavery and war, but ending on the Union side – it ought to be an honoured political jurisdiction. But the West Virginians broke away from the rest of Virginia. In its early days, it was governed by cultivated gentlemen, who filled their cellars with fine wine and their libraries with fine books. Yet the way of life which managed this transplant of European civilisation was sustained by slave

Could Trump’s tariffs be good news for British wine-lovers?

Professional Englishmen and women – doctors, accountants and even journalists – could once afford to drink first-growth claret like Château Latour on a regular basis. In 1972, when the Daily Telegraph’s Guide to the Pleasures of Wine was published, Pomerol was still an obscure corner of Bordeaux, known for offering ‘very good value’. Those days are long gone. Prices began to take off in the 1980s, with Auberon Waugh blaming ‘American millionaires looking to impress their guests’. The 1982 Bordeaux vintage was highly lauded by a then-unknown young lawyer called Robert Parker Jnr who would go on to become the most influential wine critic in the world. After this, anything

The Berry Bros supremacy

For more than 50 years I have assumed that any sensible person will be a right-winger, even if not all of them will admit it, and that this will be especially true of oenophiles There are exceptions. Harry Waugh, a clubman, author – Bacchus on the Wing is especially good – and merchant-connoisseur, was one of the most delightful wine experts of the last century. It was an education to sit with him as he talked his way through a good bottle, which effortlessly became a good several bottles. Moreover, Harry lived to be 97. I spent far too little time in his company and cannot remember his ever talking

The seductions of Provence

Riches, ancient cities, great architecture, splendid landscape, agriculture to match, trade routes, romance. Records of human settlement stretching to the dawn of civilisation, recurrent conflicts and invasions, dynastic struggles which lasted for centuries, wars of religion followed later by revolutionary conflicts. We are contemplating Provence, a region with a glorious history but which has often produced more history than it could consume. That gives rise to an ironic parallel. In the UK, we too have a Province, pronounced Prov’nce. It too has exported a lot of history, for which it has received little recognition. Almost a third of the signatories of the US Declaration of Independence had Ulster Protestant roots.

Last orders: farewell to my 300-year-old local pub

The Cherry Tree on Southgate Green began life as a coaching inn on one of the historic routes from London to York and beyond. It has been trading since 1695, when what are now the north London suburbs were open fields. But the other evening, the pub – my local – rang last orders for the final time. The brewery that owns it is having it refurbished as a brasserie, its pub status coming to an end after 330 years. I went on its final evening for the closing-down party. It was like being in an episode of EastEnders, in the sense that it was a pub full of faces

Should you bother decanting wine?

We were almost having a symposium and I was invited to define Toryism in one sentence. I replied that one book would be easier: the late Roger Scruton’s On Hunting, which ought to be subtitled: ‘From Horse-Shit to Heaven: the Search for Love, Order and God.’ ‘But what if you leave out God, and therefore heaven?’ said one fellow: ‘What would be left?’ ‘What indeed. Many learned Tories – Dr Johnson, Salisbury and Quintin Hogg being obvious examples – would have given a simple answer: nothing.’ Those of us who have to do without God and yet avoid the abyss of nothingness can only fall back on eupeptic pessimism. Edward

The best way to approach sake 

We were discussing civilisation, as one does, and its relationship with cuisine. Pasta in Italy, paella in Spain, the roast beef of Old England; wurst in Germany, burgers in the States –though with those latter examples we are moving away from the concept. What about Japan, a complex society which is full of paradoxes? For three-quarters of a century, the Meiji Restoration was the most successful revolution since the Glorious Revolution itself. It was part of a process which opened Japan to western influences and vice versa. Rather as in the UK, ancient forms were preserved, which helped to ensure social stability during a period of rapid change. Japan often

The key to finding the best pubs in Britain

Entering the New Inn in Llanddewi Brefi in Ceredigion is like stepping back in time. The only pub in the village (since the Foelallt Arms closed down four years ago), The New Inn seems to hail from the 1970s. Its till is a pull-out wooden drawer full of coins and notes. There’s a coal fire in the grate. The bar is littered with eccentric and old-fashioned clutter: a jar of pickled eggs, boxes of Swan Vestas as if smoking in pubs was still the norm, plaques to award the winners of a conker competition long past, sheep farming memorabilia.   The clientele are dressed as if they’ve just got back from marching

The bitter cocktail of British decline

You can’t get a Pegu in Rangoon any more. That may not sound like a disaster for the ages – nothing, say, compared to the ongoing chancellorship of Rachel Reeves, MP for Blankstare-upon-Derr – but it is quite telling, once you know the background. To explain, the Pegu is a cocktail. Here’s the recipe, if you fancy making one: Sounds nice, right? Well, maybe not if you’re in Blighty shivering under 3°C and an overcast sky (why on earth would you do that?), but if you’re in Rangoon sweltering under 33°C cloudless skies, as I am, then this sounds utterly delish. Refreshing, icy, boozy, tart, bittersweet, mmm. And so it

The Reagan effect on wine lists

Let us indulge in a slight paraphrase. What rough beast slouches towards the White House to be reborn? The inauguration ceremonies remind us that many Americans still hanker after monarchical splendour. Even as contentious a figure as Donald Trump is accorded the dignities appropriate to a head of state. The same of course is true of M. Macron, who carries them off better. The dignified portion of the constitution, or the efficient one? It could easily be argued that President Trump is better in the latter role. In his early phase, President Macron wanted us to see him as a Napoleonic figure. Indeed. Napoleon le Petit. If a bottle was

Kemi should prepare for a political pounding

It is extraordinary to remember. When I was a small boy in Scotland, Christmas Day was not a holiday. My father almost closed his office, but someone was on duty. The main festivity was Hogmanay: not a holiday in England. Now the whole country closes down for a fortnight. A friend who is a serious industrialist says that far from afflicting productivity, this is a good thing. After two weeks, apart from those who have gone in search of sun or skiing, most people are fed up with family life. Even the brats cannot wait to get back to school. So his employees return to work with renewed vigour. We started with