I am, therefore I drink – Chapter 19

It has been a while since one put pen to paper. Times move on. It was last autumn, Chapter 18, and the 2005 Grand Puy. A great claret. I still love that wine, and the chap I drank that bottle with. A great soldier.

The Stonelands beef herd has expanded; the sheep flock has grown too. One waits eagerly for autumn, with great sport, food, and the rewards of summer to enjoy. The colours are changing.

The sons have grown bigger and fitter. They are both military-bound; one Army, one Navy. Different coloured berets, outstanding regiments. Underfunded, but outstanding. The daughters have grown from girls into women, and one has flown the nest to her own Dales farm over the hill. So, so many cows. Tides and time, my friends, wait for none of us.

It Was Not Me still lives with us, though. Phone chargers disappear, my socks vanish, the dishwasher is stacked wrongly, and the occasional wrong bottle is opened without permission. Kids leave, but never really leave.

The cellars have been missing the blog and the virtues of stories of fellowship being shared. They are in fine fettle. The 2005 red Burgundies are a treasure, and my 2010 whites are reserved only for the best company. Better value are the 2016 red Italians. Plenty to go at both at Stonelands, in Italy, and of course at my favourite East India Club and other eateries around St James’s.

Many have asked for the I drink therefore I drink to recommence, and it was the opening of Traditum’s London office, expansion of the team, and general hectic life that paused activity, in writing anyway. In consumption and conversation, it has been excellent. Let me share a few gems in the coming weeks. But let’s start with this one.

There is something about the Italians from Northern Lombardy, much like folk from the hills. At Traditum, we call it Character, but a better word would be authenticity. They know where they come from, rooted like an Albion oak, strong in their sense of identity and work ethic. The Italians balance this work with play and enjoy some of the finest wines. In Lombardy, they make some of the finest too, often overlooked.

When it comes to a pre-dinner tipple, the Italians do it best. Prosecco is for hen parties, in my opinion, or the greatest oxymoron ever to touch sport: Ladies’ Day at Doncaster’s St Ledger. Even the Prosecco has a fake tanned orange-like glow.

For Italians, Franciacorta is their rival to vintage Champagne. Nothing in Lombardy is sipped quietly. For me, a quiet drink is Chablis, sipped at your desk by the fire as night draws in. Franciacorta, however, is for conversation, for the awakening of the taste buds before dinner. It is for laughter, fun, and serious enjoyment. If Dionysus chose an aperitivo, he would choose this. It is a serious wine.

Try the producer Nicola Gatta and his Arcano 180 Lune. It is my recommendation. It is biodynamic, with fresh citrus notes and no chemicals. Fifty per cent Pinot Nero and fifty per cent Chardonnay. It is very dry and sits on the lees for 180 months, whereas your top vintage Champagne will be doing about 120 months. Huge value, not cheap, and it exudes class. Like the current Mrs Mitchell. Worth it.

The wine is exceptional. Made better with good company, as all great wine is, and a wonderful setting and view. My favourite is the Aurora restaurant on Lake Como’s eastern shore. We drank a few bottles before a long lunch. Our company was good friends who live down the lake from us. An exceptional couple, full of energy. Like the Gatta.

Our conversation focused on the sad state of our nation and the obvious comparisons with Italy, especially Milan. The overriding point was one of community and values, and how they have disintegrated in much of the UK, with the last bastions now found in places such as the Dales. We live close to our friends in the hills of Yorkshire and the mountains of Italy. Yet we see more of each other in Italy. Life is busy.

That is what I like about wine. It is pleasure deferred and tied to a place and a certain company. Wine rises above politics, religion, skin colour, sexual preference, or whatever group identity has been peddled over the last 30 years. Values should be the same as wine, sitting above division. That nonsense simply bores me to death.

The conversation moved quickly on to lighter matters, but serious wine can accompany a serious conversation.

Our conclusion, reached on our second bottle, was that we should focus on what makes us the same rather than what makes us different. Our political leaders and establishment should peddle that. One does not hold out much hope.

I end this muse with another oxymoron, not from Donny races, but rather about the Gatta 180. It is delicately powerful.

Like the lovely ladies at the races, I am sure.

Try a bottle, find some friends, and drink it before an excellent autumnal dinner.

Maybe try two.

It is worth it.