Wine Club

Forget the blasted Advent calendars and the vile tat in the shops, it’s the time-honoured festive offer with Corney & Barrow which tells us that Christmas is really on its way. And hurrah for that! No, not Christmas, silly, we could all do without that, I mean hurrah for the offer, which is nigh on

The last bell of term has rung and that’s it for the Spectator Wine School for another year. Conducted via Zoom over four successive Thursdays, the sellout course was expertly taught by Laura Taylor, marketing director of our partners Private Cellar. Truancy rates were almost nonexistent — but then three 75cl bottles of wine per

So I’ve had my booster jab — hurrah! — and if it wasn’t for my early-onset CADDAD (Christmas Affected Doom, Depression and Despondency) I’d be raring to go. As it is, though, I seem to be en route to the Depths of Gloom via Lowest Point and a change at Rock Bottom. The blasted carols

I love burgundy, you love burgundy, we all love burgundy. And for those who didn’t fill their boots a fortnight ago with treats from the Jaffelin stable, we’ve an absolute ripsnorter of an offer this week, featuring six stunners from the mighty Domaine Chanson. Founded in Beaune in 1750, DC has been owned by the

Getting to grips with Burgundy and its wines is a life’s work. But what greater quest or hobby could there be? Trainspotting? Quilting? Collecting postman’s hats? I think not. As you know — well-versed wine-loving Spectator reader that you are — there are just two grape varieties to bother with in Burgundy: Chardonnay and Pinot

Yet again we have been cruelly misled. All the wild assurances from those supposedly in charge that Christmas had been cancelled — thanks to Covid, Brexit, Insulate Britain, leaves on the line or whatever the current mismanaged crisis is — turn out to be complete bunk. Unfortunately, despite no petrol, no delivery drivers and no

Yippee! It’s that time of year again which canny, wine-loving readers pine for. No, silly, I’m not talking about Christmas. That’s still yonks away, even though the shops are already full of ghastly festive tat. Indeed, only last week, in search of a Soho loo stop after a magnum too many in the Academy Club,

Alsace is my favourite of all French wine regions. There, I’ve said it. Bordered by the Vosges and the Rhine, it’s achingly pretty with rolling, wooded hills and exquisite medieval villages. The food is sublime (26 Michelin-starred restaurants), the climate benign (second lowest rainfall in all of France) and the wines, well, they’re stunning, from

We had the first of our new season’s Spectator Winemaker’s Lunches last week and what a rip-roaring, shirt-popping success it was. Held in the Jacobite Room of Boisdale Belgravia (our extremely congenial temporary home while the unfortunate flood in our boardroom dries out), it featured the extraordinary wines of Joseph Phelps Vineyards in California and

My longed-for trips to Greece and Spain are booked, England thumped India in the third Test, Spurs are top of the league (and Arsenal are bottom, that’s to say last, 20th out of 20, the back marker), and, having long abandoned any attempts at Alcohol-Free August, I’ve been drinking the wines of mighty Mas de

I keep pinching myself. After the misery of the last 18 months, things really do seem to be on the up. Everyone I know is double-jabbed, they’re all desperate to carouse and I’ve been out on the toot five nights (and three lunches) on the bounce. Spurs beat mighty Man City in their season opener

I have quite the spring in my step as I write and no, clever clogs, not just because of my regular mid-morning sharpener, satisfying and restorative though it was. What do you take me for? No, it’s because I have nothing but good news to impart this week and I’m confident that your happiness is

Klaxon alert! Calling all wine lovers! Whatever you’re doing, stop it this instant and read this immediately for we have a bona fide belter of an offer this week: an exclusive on the newly released 2015 Chateau Musar. Thanks to our chums at Mr Wheeler and their longstanding relationship with the estate, Spectator readers have

We’re looking back so as to look forward this week. It has been such a rotten 18 months that in order to greet our longed-for freedom in appropriate bottle-draining style, we’re revisiting highlights of past FromVineyardsDirect offers. Previous vintages of all the bottles below have been huge hits with readers and I have every confidence

Robin Yapp, the dentist-turned-wine merchant who founded Yapp Bros in 1969, used to scare the pants off my poor father on forays to France. A somewhat insouciant driver, Robin would belt along in his ancient right-hand-drive estate car, foot to the floor, with his mind on other things. Every now and then, mid-anecdote, he would

After a monumental, liver-challenging but heart-lifting and even tear-inducing 12-hour lunch with Fuzzy, Nigel and co, we’re back with a bang. We drank, we danced and we hiccoughed our happy way home as if Covid and the long, spirit-sapping lockdowns had never happened. And so, jabbed and double-jabbed, drinks in hand, here we are strolling

I haven’t been to Le Marche for yonks. Heck, I haven’t been anywhere for yonks. Who has? My last jaunt abroad was an overnight flit to Paris in February last year. It was huge fun, with the opera followed by such an exhaustive bar crawl that I needn’t have booked a hotel. I only went

After the debacle of my crash landing at The Griffin the other week, Mrs Ray has been keeping a frustratingly close eye on me and I’ve been forced to take it easy. It turns out that I’m on some sort of probation and spend much of my time on the naughty step alongside No. 2

I think it’s fair to say that I overshot the runway at The Griffin the other day. So excited was I to be out and about, large glass in hand, mixing with much-missed mates on the East Sussex gastropub’s fabled ‘Serengeti’ terrace, that I foolishly didn’t keep as close an eye on the speedometer as

We’re so nearly there. This time next month, groups of six will be able to dine the night away indoors and then, just five weeks later, we’ll be free. Hurrah! Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again, dum-de-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum. I simply cannot wait. I miss my mates, I miss the bottles we