Lock up your Burgundy – the Chinese are coming!

We should all perform good works. A friend of mine helps to run a soup kitchen in Soho. She summons the wives of the mighty from their seats, in order to fill the lowly with good things. There is a degree of competitiveness. Soignée ladies arrive from Belgravia and Knightsbridge, keeping narrowed eyes on one another’s provender. The rough sleepers are comforted with ris de veau comme chez Troisgros or gnocchi alla Milanese, even if they would prefer a bag of chips and a bottle of meths. Ad maiorem Dei gloriam.

My duties are more demanding. I serve on the wine committee of a London club. That is much harder than it sounds. It would be equally simple to satisfy the easy sleepers of Pall Mall and St James’s. All they want is crisp, flinty Chablis followed by subtle and sonorous claret — at the prices of two decades ago. So there is a lot of frustration, especially when dealing with the cynicism and ruthlessness of the Bordelaises.