Beaujolais Nouveau

I know the wine in the picture is not Beaujolais but read on please - we'll get there.

It’s BJ time here again. Now don’t be rude. I mean Beaujolais time. Despite wicked rumours to the contrary, the French actually keep some for themselves, mainly to sell to ex-pats like me who reminisce about the classic marketing ploy of the 80s and early 90s, when you couldn’t move in the City (of London) without sampling several gallons of the stuff….before lunch!

J had actually bought a couple of bottles last week and despite my protestations, forced me (yeah right) to drink some. It was actually very nice….if you like that sort of thing. Young, light and fruity. Just like me. It just goes to show. You can take the boy out of the dirty drinking habits of the past but you cannot take the dirty drinking habits of the past out of the boy. And good for me I hear you say.

With regard to wine, I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that I am a plonker. And by that I mean, I prefer drinking plonk, or to be more accurate, I don’t mind drinking plonk. Oh to have a cellar full of Mouton Rothschild or Chateau Margaux or even Gevrey Chambertin, but I don’t and so I buy the wines I know look good. You know the ones – they’ve got gold labels, maybe even an award for being picked by Lidl or if you’re really lucky, they have a number on the label which makes it look like they’re a limited edition…….of two million bottles probably! But in my ten years down here, I have learnt to be discerning. I buy a bottle. Glug it down that night and if it is better than average at a good price, I hot foot it off back to the store to get the rest of their stock the next day. It works. I’ll have you know that I’ve been complimented on my wine choice by some very knowledgeable, or should that be drunk, people.

The other night we were to meet our female friend’s new boyfriend (fiancée as it turned out) and I was told to be on my best behaviour and to talk slowly as he did not speak a word of English….as if that would make any difference. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting him as I’m not too enamoured with the French (read my blog) but as I ‘welcomed’ him into our house and he handed me two bottles of Gevrey Chambertin, I suddenly felt the urge to snog him which he took rather good naturedly.

I’d been introduced to Gevrey by a dear friend of mine and probably have not had a bottle for at least ten years and so sipping that delightful red burgundy was a real pleasure, especially as I would have to save up for a bottle now I’m a poor pensioner.

Anyway, his wine choice and my previous knowledge of it, broke the ice. We drank several bottles of my plonk and kept his Gevrey for the latter stages of the meal. As he was driving he had to keep his wine input to ‘reasonable’ levels but not so his fiancée who demolished a bottle of Amaretto, as I knew she would. The fact that the Amaretto had been strategically placed in her sight certainly helped matters along. She has 'previous' you see!

As they walked off hand-in-hand to the car, I just knew that I’d made (or was about to make) his night. It was the least I could do after his very generous contribution to the evening.