This Ashes series has been terrible for my late night drinking. The better the cricket, the better the wine.
Midnight, here we go:
Chablis Les Clos 1985 The label’s gone, but I reckon it’s Fèvre. Amazing. Deep orange gold, Buttered brazils, crème bloody brûlée apple peel, hazelnut and the serious mineral streak of a housemaster’s metal ruler.
2 am and we’re on top. I’m in 7th heaven with Coche-Dury Meursault 1990. That’s red Meursault. Made by the King. Don’t mess with the King. If he wants to make blue Meursault, he does. This 20-year-old red from a top white wine village is the Burgundy stuff poets and dreamers talk of and we never get. Raspberry-and-strawberry fruit, a whiff of herbs, a touch of – whatever. This is simply sensational Burgundy. Dear M. Coche-Dury, don’t uproot those red Meursault grapes for Chardonnay. Please.
One in the morning. Just one more wicket. Don’t let me finish the bottle first.
Château Palmer 1978. Jesus! This is why we lay down Bordeaux. This is so succulent, so mellow, so dry yet lush, blackcurrant fruit dallying with cedar wood and graphite, but above all – that amazing texture that no one in the world can do like the best boys in Bordeaux.
And I was going to sell this! No chance. I might not even share it.