Wine Book Review -The Wine in My Glass

I thought it would not be too immodest to publish this review from The World of Fine Wine, which is in my opinion the wine publication which carries the most serious writers and articles. They very kindly reviewed my book, all profits from which go to charity, to Vendanges Solidaires. I very much hope this will encourage people to buy it and raise some funds for such a good cause.

Many thanks to Raymond Blake for the very kind and thoughtful review and to the editor Neil Beckett for asking for and publishing it.

Candid, personal, and without rancor

An enthusiast's armchair tour of the wine world.

By Raymond Blake

Raymond Blake reviews The Wine in My Glass by Adrian Latimer, illustrated by Arabella Langlands-Perry.

Refreshing candor bereft of rancor is the hallmark of The Wine in My Glass, written by an enthusiast with no connection to the wine trade other than as a committed customer over many decades. Andrew Latimer, now retired from a career in the insurance business, is new to wine writing, though he has written a quartet of books about his other great love, fishing, and the profits from this book go to Vendanges Solidaires, an association founded in 2016 to assist winemakers struggling in the face of weather depredations such as hail and frost. In his own words, “All comments, opinions and tastes are purely personal. The idea is not to instruct, pontificate or make money, just to write for fun, and, I hope, the reader’s pleasure. So here you go…”

Over the course of 22 chapters Latimer takes the reader on a wide-ranging armchair-traveler tour of the wine world, alighting in faraway Argentina (the fishing is good), though usually staying closer to his Parisian home base, from where he sallies forth to Tuscany, Piedmont, Madeira, the Rhône, and most particularly Burgundy, where one senses his heart lies. The chapters are largely standalone and can be dipped into and read in random order. My eye first fell on “Napoleon’s Tipple”—an ode to the joys of drinking Madeira, underpinned by a clear-eyed consideration of the challenges of producing it. “Syrah in Excelsis” is similarly well informed, with considerable space given to the search for a Cornas that won’t shrivel the taste buds; Jamet, Allemand, and Clape all get honorable mentions. Guigal’s famed “La-Las” are less fortunate: “a Guigal La Turque kindly poured by a generous friend […] was opulent, plush and impressive, but for me tasted more of winemaking and élevage than place or grape. I can see why it garners the high scores, but I found it too much about dress and make-up.” High-octane Châteauneuf-du-Pape is dismissed in similar fashion: “Finesse over hedonistic power, please.” Wines warped by winemaking are not for Latimer.

This is not the only instance when high-alcohol wines are subjected to a verbal thrashing, and on that, as well as many other points, my opinions run parallel with Latimer’s. Hardly a page passes without a crisp insight that reveals the sort of deep understanding that is only achieved after years of alert engagement. On Beaujolais Nouveau: “I should probably in fact bury my prejudice and be happy about the ghastly Beaujolais Nouveau, as it has done so much (undeserved) damage to the image of Beaujolais that the real ‘cru’ village wine is terribly undervalued.” On Argentina’s signature white grape, Torrontés: “I have tried for ages to like it, but even after our trip to Salta last year, showplace of Torrontés, I remained unconvinced.” He is also similarly unconvinced by other aromatic varieties: “Talking of bias, I am not a fan of fat, spicy, overtly floral or very aromatic white grape varieties. Once you get into exotic fruit and lychees, my palate runs for cover, even though I love them as a fruit salad. I cannot get on with Gewürztraminer and struggle with Viognier unless it is something subtle like Vernay’s Condrieu.” On big wine tastings: “I am not a great believer in these huge comparative tastings when people proudly show off the thirty (or more) bottles that they’ve just heroically tasted through, what, a quarter glass of each? Swirl, sniff, slurp, spit and render immediate judgement. It’s even more impressive if the bottles carry smart labels and hefty price tags to show off. Great for the ego, hard on the taste buds and frankly not very interesting for the reader.”

Compulsory reading on Burgundy

Burgundy warrants several chapters, but the one that should be compulsory reading—“A Pox Upon You”—tells an unflattering tale about the blight of premature oxidation and its baleful and ongoing consequences. Lovers of white Burgundy will be grateful, if not exactly overjoyed, to see a whole chapter devoted to this thorny subject, the exact cause of which remains shrouded in complication, never mind a definitive solution. Given that this wine style, more than almost any other white, is frequently cellared for an extended period, it is important that a light continues to be shone on the issue, for it is no exaggeration to say that there are still scores of vinous “time bombs” in cellars, both private and commercial, around the globe. Buying anything post-1995 at auction carries enormous risk. Thanks in large part to Latimer’s deft writing and despite the subject matter, the chapter does not descend into a dismal litany of disappointment as it tracks a parade of bottles poured down the sink, or over a friend’s flower bed in one instance. The prose flows while his anger simmers just below the surface: “Due to the potential financial consequences, long lead time and immense complexity as to possible causation, it’s a subject that was kept quiet by too many for too long until the news was well and truly out. Certain domaines stuck their heads in the sand and preferred denial, others were proactive and tried to investigate what was causing it. A few journalists beat the drum, but others talked purely in vague generalities and continued to enjoy their tastings at the very domaines that they knew full well were the most affected. And the trade happily recommended and/or sold wines to you and me when they knew that several bottles per case would likely go down the sink. A conflict of interest?” 

Notwithstanding that quip about journalists, Latimer is cognizant of the challenge of writing professionally about wine: “I think the job and art of being a wine journalist/critic is far from easy, a million miles away from the clichéd ‘oh you’re so lucky, you just taste fine wine all day for work!’” This reflection will come as music to the ears of all vinous scribblers who have endured the endlessly repeated “it’s a tough job…” comment on their profession. And yet, one can sense a raised eyebrow when he considers the circumstances of many large professional tastings: “It’s funny—I have muttered about some of the US wine critics whose tastes are definitely not mine, but the English often now join the rousing applause. I suspect it just shows how pointless these mass tastings are that are so beloved of wine magazines and internet critics. Apart from the palate fatigue, can you mentally really appreciate the fiftieth Chianti of the day with the same energy and interest as the first? And judging often very young, just released wines after a couple of slurps (and no swallowing) is like trying to judge a future adult by a two-minute interview with a child. These tasting jamborees are the vinous form of speed dating.”

Leaving the jamborees to others, Latimer instead takes his reader on a merry-go-round of cellar visits, none more engaging and sharply reported than in the first chapter, “The Artists of La Morra.” Searching for a below-the-radar producer in Piedmont who hadn’t yet been saddled with “ridiculous 100-point scores,” he chanced upon Trediberri, where he was hosted by winemaker Nicola Oberto. Even better, Latimer and friends were early, and another group scheduled for the same time were late, so for a period they had Oberto all to themselves. “Nicola is a larger-than-life character, bursting with enthusiasm, information and opinions. A real force of nature[…]. Nicola gave us a masterclass in the hideously complex geography of the Barolo region.” Latimer continues at some length about what was obviously a wonderful visit—“Nicola’s passion was palpable, his knowledge fascinating”—until the tardy tasters arrived. “The tasting party having turned up late, we then suffered one of those tedious ‘do you know I’m an expert’ men who monopolized Nicola and crept around after him like a limpet glued to his side. Well, more like a puppy. The rest of us could hardly get a word in.”

Engaging and enthusiastic

Keen observations such as this leaven every chapter of The Wine in My Glass. We need more wine writing of this ilk: engaging and enthusiastic first, informed and knowledgeable second—the sort of book that should be read with a glass of wine to hand rather than a highlighter pen. Currently, there is much talk of a crisis in the world of wine, with sales falling and imposters in the form of “no and low” wines gaining currency. Some suggest that more education is the answer, but wine education as it is currently structured tends to turn out a cadre of well-informed experts whose vocabulary makes wine sound difficult and closes out others, so they end up talking to themselves. And many people who love a glass want to learn a little more without engaging in formal study. This book is for them. 

Latimer tells an engaging tale partially hobbled—thankfully only partially—by some minor glitches and inconsistencies, such as the accentless “de Vogue,” when all around it other Burgundy names are correctly accented. And on occasion, “albeit” is puzzlingly rendered as “all be it,” while “palate” and “palette” are not always correctly used. An index would also have been a useful addition. This fine book is worthy of one.

Regardless of these considerations, I have already recommended The Wine in My Glass to wine-loving friends, and though I searched and searched, I could find no use of “curate” or any of its derivatives misapplied to wine lists, wine collections, and the like. For that alone, I say, “Bravo, Mr Latimer.” 

The Wine in My Glass

by Adrian Latimer. Illustrations by Arabella Langlands-Perry

Published by Medlar Press (medlarpress.com); 220 pages; £26