In the late 1990s Robert Putnam, an American sociologist, wrote a rather depressing treatise on the state of our social habits. People were joining fewer clubs, face-to-face time with anyone other than immediate family was declining. And, if things were bad then, look around now. Derek Thompson of the Atlantic let out a despairing howl last year: “If Putnam felt the irst raindrops of an anti-social revolution… the downpour is fully here, and we’re all getting washed away in the flood.” As we cede our time to the digital realm, hanging out in the real one is becoming rarer.
I suspect when we parse the consequences of this great social experiment we will not much like what we see. Which brings me to welcome you to the New Statesman’s new wine club: a model where subscribers can purchase wine at reduced prices, hopefully share it with some friends, and then share your views with us. The merchants Mr. Wheeler were kind enough to send the New Statesman some to try. Here’s what we thought.
First, a Champagne – Brut Tradition, Champagne Michel Guilleminot – which is 100 per cent Pinot Noir. If you want to know how many jokes about Champagne socialism one can endure before snapping and losing their sense of humour entirely, I can tell you with confidence: it is four. Sense of humour failure out of the way, this brioche-y and unusually pink Champagne was lovely and described, somewhat gnomically, by a friend as “pure” (of spirit? Heart? Intention?).
A 2023 Mâcon Uchizy is described by Mr. Wheeler as “pound for pound” the best value white they have come across. A last-minute grocery scheduling error led us to putting a good deal of this in the risotto simmering behind us on the stove. This, as it transpires, was a bit of a waste: we had initially thought it was too appley on the nose, and a kind of paint-bynumbers Chardonnay. Turns out this was user error and it was just too cold. By the time the last dinner guest had shown up (late) it had come up to proper temperature and our folly was exposed. It’s great, and unoaked so, if like me, you don’t like the taste of woodchipper in the evening, you will like it too.
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None of the Pouilly-Fumé ended up in the risotto, but a large amount did end up on the floor owing to an overly zealous gesture from the late arrival. Jay McInerney (most famously of Bright Lights, Big City but also an accomplished wine writer) always says of Pouilly-Fumé that the “gunflint” scent should help you recall the process of making “arrowheads”, which strikes me as an unreasonable expectation of the 21st-century worker. Nonetheless, it was classic: herbal, smokey (arrowheady?) and not the type of Sauvignon Blanc that feels like chewing on mown grass.
Last, two reds: a Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend (Château Ramafort, 2016) is an archetypal Claret (McInerney once described the grapes as “cosmopolitan and arrogant” – no insult intended); and the 2006 Rioja needs decanting, but I think received the most compliments around the table. I heard someone on a podcast argue that drinking a glass of wine was like looking at a painted masterpiece. (The layers of flavour in a good glass are akin to the layers of meaning in a good painting, she said, stupidly.) It was a bad enough analogy to worsen my mood. Of the art forms, painting is richer. And more than that, there are objective criteria for judgement when it comes to the canvas (unfashionable it may be to say). Wine has more variables – age, food pairing, company, temperature.
But we don’t need to entertain the fiction that wine is as serious as The Last Supper to appreciate its own complexities and pleasures. Whatbetter, James Joyce apocryphally said, to sit round at the end of the day and drink wine with friends or substitutes for friends? Here’s a great selection to get started. Though please find something cheaper to put in your risotto.
By Finn McRedmond
Take advantage of offers on these wines and more, exclusively available to New Statesman readers, by ordering online today. Alternatively, download a price-list and order form.