Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Quo Vadis and then the Oak Room became favoured hang-outs in succession). I even star-
ted making notes about Grange; where we tasted it, what vintage it was and how much it
cost. I never quite got round to the more esoteric business of rating it for taste, though I
think I was on the brink of that before deciding it was all starting to get out of hand. It's
thanks to this now discontinued practice that I know the next two bottles we tasted after
the Floodlite were an '87 at Sharrow Bay in the Lake District and a 1990 at Inverlochy
Castle, outside Fort William.
So I'd like to thank Les, Yorkshire, Masham, the Theakston family, the Floodlite res-
taurant, the Sun on Lamb's Conduit Street, London, in its early-eighties real-ale period,
my automobile's feng shui consultant, both my eyebrow stylists, my dog's therapist …
On our return from the Champanay, heading back the few miles to the Forth Road Bridge
in a people carrier taxi, we suddenly plough through a drift of whiteness in a little dip in
the road. The fields for about 50 metres on either side shine in the moonlight, covered
with - we work out after some confusion - hailstones. Otherwise the night is quite mild
and the countryside as dark as it ought to be at this time of night and year. We have to
check with the taxi driver that we're really seeing what we seem to be. More weird weath-
er.
Back home, Ann, Dad and I attack the stash of single malts under the stairs. I believe
it's this night that sees the end of the 60 per cent Talisker.
I think it's how it would have wanted to go.
A week later, after an afternoon's retail therapy in Inverness, Ann and I make for the
pointy pink confection that is the Bunchrew Hotel. We bump into a guy we met on Islay
years ago, when we went to Crowcon, a microcon of people who'd got together over
the net on a newsgroup discussing my books (hence the 'Crow' bit). One of the group
happened to live on Islay and have a connection with Ardbeg distillery, which is why I'd
already been there before the research for this topic.
Another fine meal - I can feel my belt crying out for a new hole to be cut even as
I look at the sweet menu - and we finally have a French wine that does taste quite like
the glorious Grange! Les has been banging on for years about how Grange used to be
called Grange Hermitage because it was the taste of Hermitage that Penfold's was trying
to emulate, and I've been trying to track down an Hermitage that fits the bill all this time.
At last; a Jaboulet Hermitage '93.
During the meal we get talking with a very nice couple from Florida called John and
Tina. In the bar I try to persuade John that his Macallan will taste better with just wa-
ter rather than the soda he's adding, using a Macallan Gran Reserva to do the proving.
He's polite but obviously unconvinced. Ah well. Happily we manage to stay off polit-
ics; crudely statistically there's less than a one in four chance any randomly encountered
