Take a trip to Champagne

Jump in the car, drive down to Dover, get on the ferry and go champagne tasting. Don’t blame me if you come home with three cases of great champagnes your friends have never heard of. And they’ll have cost less than the next eighteen bottles of froth you won’t have to buy in the UK, nicely covering the cost of the ferry and most of the petrol. If you’re diligent like us, you’ll also learn a lot about champagne while sampling more than fifty different bubblies. You may spend a fair proportion of your time a little tipsy. That’s my kind of weekend break.

The champagne region is an area of rolling hills in north-east France, the hilltops covered with bosky forest and every available inch of the slopes clad in noble vines. The town of Epernay is the very epicentre of champagne production, while the handsome city of Rheims is just to the north. So your first choice is whether to base yourself in the town or the city. You could take a rustic retreat among the vines, but then the opportunity to get cheerfully pickled on a wide variety of bubbles is somewhat reduced.

Rheims and Epernay

Rheims, although not surrounded by vines, is actually home to the cellars of most of the biggest champagne names, the “grand marques”. The best and most evocative cellar tours are here, in caves carved out of the chalk beneath the city streets. You’ve also got a nice cathedral, though admittedly we couldn’t find any champagne in it, and plenty of handsome streets lined with shops and places to eat. Oddly, we didn’t find many champagne bars and not for lack of searching. Then again, the locals think nothing of using champagne as a table wine with a light meal.

Epernay by contrast has a number of bars and cellars where you can sample a range of different local champagne producers (the grand marques can go hang, this is where the fun is). There are cellar tours along the Avenue de Champagne, an arrow straight kilometre of road lined with ostentatious villas belonging to various grand marques. Other than that Epernay is actually a rather dull town. In England it would be Bracknell. Champagne is an industry, this happens to be the town at the middle of it, and fate has decreed that it should not have the quaint geography or spiffy chateaux that would combine with the wine to make a really humming tourist spot. C’est la vie.

If you want an all-round weekend break, base yourself in Rheims and take a day-trip to Epernay. If you want to focus on exploring lots of small, independent champagne producers, base yourself in Epernay and take a day-trip to Rheims.

Independent champagnes

You really must take in one or two cellar tours of the grand marques, you’ll learn about how champagne is made and classified and the cellars themselves are spiffy. We’ve enjoyed visiting Mumm, Pommery and especially Ruinart. Mercier was pants. Of course all the tours involve a tasting at the end, with perhaps the chance to try some ruinously expensive fizz that you’d think twice before ordering at home. But I’m much more interested in enthusing about the independents…

Not all champagne is made by Messrs Moet & Chandon. And not all the makers you’ve never heard of are simply mass-producing plonk to slap with a Tesco label. There are small independents by the hundreds making champagnes of real character and quality, never seen beyond the borders of France. I mean it, hundreds. Okay, I’ve wiki’d, there are actually 19,000 champagne producers. Wow.

So pick a sunny day and tour the Marne valley or the Cote des Blancs in your car. Every village has scattered signposts listing a clutch of winemakers, arrows pointing off down little lanes in all directions. Some or all of them will be open for tasting and purchasing. Of course you can’t get round them all (even we couldn’t!) and you’ll have no idea beforehand which ones are good unless you’ve done some detailed research, but that’s half the fun. Don’t choose a Sunday, and Monday is probably dodgy too. Watch out for public holidays. And remain diligently aware of the fact that at 12 midday the restaurants open and everything else closes, wine cellars included. Then at 2pm every restaurant closes and the wine cellars open again. The French want you to run your day their way. Tasting is usually free, no obligation to buy, though some places ask a few euros for the tasting if you don’t purchase anything.

C is for Champagne

For the poor driver of the tour who has been sipping and hopefully spitting all day, allow me to introduce C Comme Champagne (literally “C is for Champagne” – like Sesame Street for grown-ups). This is a bar and cellar in Epernay down a little side-road which absolutely champions the small independent producers. They’ll have nine or so champagnes on tasting, and if that’s not enough then half-bottles for around £8 would open up a lot more options. There are other cellars in Epernay offering other tastings, so you can spread yourself further if you have the time, but C Comme is pretty definitive. Descending into their atmospheric cellar you are surrounded by rack upon rack of independent small-production champagnes, amiable studio photos of the family makers above each rack. There are over 300 champagnes and most bottles will be around the £15-£20 mark.

That’s why you bring your car. Well, the ferry is also cheaper than the Eurostar, but you can’t tour the vineyards without a car and you certainly can’t bring back a few boxes of whichever bubbly wines most tickled your fancy.

Cheers!

There now follows a postscript of pure wine geekery, for those interested…

Understanding champagnes

Champagnes are made out of three grapes: Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier. The process is different from ordinary wine in that there are two fermentations: in the first, the grapes are fermented

as usual to make a still white wine; in the second the still wine is fermented in sealed bottles, trapping the fermentation gases which dissolve back into the wine. That’s the fizz. The fermentation sediments are then removed from the bottle by an arcane process called “riddling” but I will you to learn all about that on your cellar tour.

In a classically balanced bubbly the Chardonnay provides acidity, brightness and a sense of terroir; Pinot Noir provides body, character and depth; Pinot Meunier provides fruit and balance. But you can enjoy a “blanc de blanc” champagne made with 100% Chardonnay (the only white grape of the three) or a “blanc de noir” made entirely with the two black grape varieties.

Rosé champagnes are typically made by adding a little red wine (also locally made) after the first fermentation, but more rarely the rosé can be made by leaving the red grape skin in during the first fermentation of the champagne wine for a couple of days before removing it. These methods are called “assemblage” and “maceration” respectively.

There are three things contributing to the high price of some champagnes: marque, cru and vintage. As mentioned before, the grand marques have been around a long time and are now world famous brands, so naturally they command a premium price. Of course they produce good champagne, but that doesn’t mean they’re the only ones doing so.

Within the Champagne region there are a handful of villages surrounded by Grand Cru vineyards, a bigger handful having Premier Cru vineyards, and plenty of villages with neither. So of course to be deemed a Grand Cru champagne producer you must make at least one champagne consisting entirely of Grand Cru grapes. This will definitely add some prestige (and price) to your bottle.

Most champagnes are “Réserve”, meaning they are non-vintage as they have been made with wines reserved from a couple of different years and mixed. This mix is important. Each champagne house has its preferred “style” of champagne, yet each year’s harvest may have a

markedly different balance of flavour and acidity. The art is in mixing years to ensure that your standard champagne remains roughly the same. So the attraction of a vintage champagne (labelled “Millésimé” and the year) is that it will represent the true character of that year’s grapes – for better or worse. If the year was exceptional, so will be the price of that vintage.

Review: Chutney Mary, Chelsea

The dining room at Chutney Mary is certainly a good place for a celebratory meal, especially if you can get a table under the conservatory at the back. Surrounded by palms with a leafy tree overhead you might almost – almost – be eating under the stars in a palace garden in Udaipur. The lighting is certainly set to about the same level that you’d get from a couple of big candles.

We opted for the tasting menu, and it started predictably with a scallop. Admittedly this one was set on a pool of pistachio sauce freshened with various bright spices and a blob of tomato relish. Yes, “various spices”. My palate for Indian food isn’t good enough to pick out all the various spices, not by a long chalk, so I’ll have to be descriptive rather than precise! Well cooked scallop, good sauce.

Next starter was a succulent piece of tandoori chicken with a tangy strawberry chutney. The tandoori flavour was spot on, as was the cooking. This was followed by a lamb chop, again extremely adeptly griddled and clearly good produce even through the spicing.

Our main course was something of a thali: four bowls appeared containing a lamb chakuti, a pungent Goan chicken curry, a tarka daal and a spinach dish akin to a saag bhaji. If my spelling of these dishes doesn’t match yours, then I’m only following in the footsteps of most Indian restaurants. Anyway, what to say about the dishes? I have to summarise, really. Each was good, a well-executed specimen of its type, although I’ve had better daals.

Service was friendly but a bit on the patchy side, drink requests forgotten and the like. Bringing out a cupcake with a sparkler in unbidden was a nice touch, except that the waitress presented it to my father whose birthday it was not. The birthday girl did get her cupcake, although the sparkler had by then fizzled out. Oh, and the waitress still wished my father happy birthday when we left.

So that brings me fairly swiftly to my conclusion. Despite the glitz of the reception area and the desire to seem gourmet by offering a “tasting menu” at £45, what we got at Chutney Mary was a very good and very traditional British curry (with a crème brulee for pud). And that’s odd. Because their menu offers a host of seemingly more interesting looking dishes, while the wannabe gourmands like us who opt for the tasting menu are given the safest options. Whyssat?

Oh well. I like Chutney Mary anyway. It’s a good place to go for a top-notch celebratory Ruby Murray, albeit at King’s Road prices.

Damsons and meringues

I’ve got a real lust for damsons at the moment, can’t get enough of them. I wish I could forage them easily, but wandering around Shropshire it seems as though every last damson tree is pretty much in someone’s garden and of course they pick the ripe ones for themselves. I would too! If you know (and love) damsons already then you’ll understand. If you haven’t paid much attention to them, I’ll try and explain. They’re like tiny plums, and tried raw they are indescribably tart and unloving. Damsons come to life when cooked, having a bold and unique flavour that is herbal, hedgerow and fruity all rolled together. I can’t think of any fruit I like better stewed.

But as usual I also can’t help fiddling. You’ll know of cardamoms, but may not have encountered black cardamoms. They are like the evil twin of the familiar green cardamom, giving a very dark and smoky version of the exotic cardamom flavour. So I like to squash a couple of black cardamom pods and add them to my damsoms, with half a stick of cinnamon and perhaps a couple of star anise before simmering them with a splash of madeira and a couple of big dessert spoonfuls of sugar (or honey) for about twenty minutes.

This compote adds immense character to yogurt or porridge for breakfast, or ice cream for pudding. In this case it makes a brilliant combination with soft meringues and some crème fraiche.

Damsons and soft meringues (serves 4)

Punnet of damsons
4 tbsp madeira
2 tbsp honey
3 black cardamoms
½ stick cinnamon
1 star anise
2 large egg whites
90g caster sugar
4 tbsp crème fraiche
  1. Put the damsons, madeira, honey, cardamoms, cinnamon and star anise in a small pan and bring to a boil, then simmer for 20 minutes or so
  2. Pre-heat the over to 150C and line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper
  3. Whisk the egg whites to stiff peaks in a clean bowl, then whisk in the sugar a dessert spoon at a time. Finally whisk in 1 tbsp of the liquid from the stewed damsons
  4. Scoop dessert spoons of the meringue mix onto the baking sheet. Pop into the oven and immediately turn it down to 140C
  5. Bake for 30 minutes, then turn the oven off and leave the meringues in for at least three hours
  6. Meanwhile get your fingers filthy digging through the damsons to remove all the stones. It’s that or just warn your diners to eat carefully and spit ’em all out!
  7. Serve by spooning some damsons into a bowl, then adding a couple of meringues, then more damsons and a spoonful of crème fraiche.
  8. Enjoy!

Review: Lumière, Cheltenham

Something trivial bugged me about our lunch at Lumière in Cheltenham. Bear with me, there is arithmetic. We arrived intending to have the lunch menu (£22 two courses, £26 three courses) but the a la carte menu was so full of intrigue that we splashed out (£42 two courses, £47 three courses). And of course we had dessert. Maureen decided she fancied one of the desserts from the lunch menu though.

When I got the bill I was surprised to find our meal set out as “1 x 3 course a la carte £47, 1 x 2 course a la carte £42, 1 x lunch dessert £8”. You see what I mean?

Oh come off it, you’re saying, don’t quibble over four quid! But as other bloggers have pointed out, our memories of a restaurant are (perhaps unfairly) formed by our final impression of the place, especially the bill. And given that my lunch at Lumière was essentially excellent, that little spot of unfairness on the bill (perhaps unfairly) sticks in my head. Some chef will have to explain to me why pairing a lunch menu dessert with an a la carte lunch should double its cost?

We did have a delicious lunch, though. While studying the menu we enjoyed pork crackling that dissolved with a salty-sweet fizzle on the tongue, and tiny savoury scones slathered with a truffled cream cheese. I’d have cheerfully demolished a plate of those.

My starter was a lesson in how to keep scallops interesting. The scallops were perfect, with great caramelisation. They were accompanied with generous blobs of puree richly spiced with anise and orange, with delicate crisps of cumin caramel, and with pieces of salty pork belly cooked down to scrunchy. Scallops want punch, and that’s what they get here. Maureen’s starter was essentially an elegant riff on paella; a fishy piece of mullet, juicy mussels and cockles, on saffron orzo. Jolly tasty but nothing especially bouncy or exciting; I’d have really enjoyed it as a main course.

Maureen’s venison main course was essentially faultless. Too many times I choose venison and find myself wondering why I didn’t just pick the beef. This darling piece of deer was fantastic produce, a great reminder of why I really ought to pick venison more often. It melted, and yet had bite. The quince was excellent, the licquoric-y sauce done with just the right delicacy. I kept up my surf-and-turf theme for main course: halibut with oxtail arancini. Lovely piece of fish, very savoury oxtail arancini. The accompanying red cabbage was boldly spiced and brought the whole dish together, along with dark wine-red salsify and white pickled onions.

“Shipwrecked cheesecake” was the odd name of my dessert. It was very, very good though. Caramely tubes filled with a creamy custard that was not overtly sweet at all. No idea what cheese went into it! The accompanying cider gel was tart and very drunken, exactly capturing the kind of farmhouse cider that makes red-nosed west country folk exclaim “Oo-aaaar!” This along with the apple and blackberry textures made for a perfectly judged and not over-sweet pud. Maureen’s dessert was perhaps the least great dish of the day, a small glass cup filled with somewhat grainy chocolate crème brulee that had been jollied up with the addition of popping candy, served with marshmallows that had a powerful passionfruit flavour but were too dense. They were superfluous, except to make the dish look like a cup of hot chocolate, which shouldn’t really be an end in itself.

All in all, an excellent lunch with every dish bar one faultlessly executed. Service is friendly and relaxing, the dining room is smart, light and airy, though admittedly I’ll have blurred it in with a dozen other similar places within a month. The wine list is weighted towards the expensive, only two whites under £35. I think that at £47 for three courses a la carte the food is priced about right for the sheer quality.

Definitely a great choice if you’re looking for a fine meal in Cheltenham.

See? I’m not bitter about the bill.

Review: Euclid Hall, Denver

Luckily I had low culinary expectations for our trip to Yellowstone National Park and the wild west states surrounding it. There were some appalling lows, however. My teeth can still recall chewing doggedly through a chunk of “slow cooked bison” that required more mastication to choke down than a cowboy hat, while across the table my family enjoyed all their main courses between lukewarm and cold. This was in the grand Old Faithful Inn. Even the phrase “log cabin on steroids” cannot do justice to its wooden immensity. Though “wooden immensity” would do for that bison joint.

Of course, I can’t really level this at America. Go anywhere in the world and you’ll find the captive tourist audience being taken for an appetite-crushing ride in all the restaurants and cafes serving them. Here’s an Australian example. It’s cynical and depressing; “Hey, these people can’t go anywhere else if they want food! What’s more, they’re never going to be repeat custom! Let’s serve them crap and charge through the nose!”

Mind you, outside the National Parks we still ended up plodding through a humdrum and predictably protein-rich diet of steak, burger and things-with-cheese-in. Apparently Americans don’t think a sandwich is complete unless there’s some cheese in there. But… in a salmon burger? Salmon with cheese?

I found one sandwich new to me that I loved; the French Dip. This is a sandwich stuffed with thinly sliced roast beef and served with a pot of meaty jus on the side. To dip the sandwich in as you eat it, duh! Menus invariably made me smile with the redundant phrasing “served with au jus” and one waitress endearingly said it was “served with au jus gravy”. Served with with gravy gravy? Pedantic semantics aside, it’s a brilliant idea. If I was doing it myself I would have cooked the beef pink. Oh, and I’d have left out the slice of cheese. Eww.

Yes, small town cooking can be good, but as everything is essentially some combination of bread, beef, bacon, cheese, chicken, fries, tomato and lettuce it can get a bit same-y. So it was a genuine delight on our very final day to be back in Denver and stumble upon Euclid Hall.

Just go to their website and look at the menu, I really don’t have to say any more. If it makes you drool uncontrollably then you and I have similar tastes. The only question you have to ask is, does it taste as good as it reads?

Yes.

One of the simplest joys was a hop-infused pickle. Just an accompaniment really, but the dryly herbal hop flavour coming with a bit of juicy gherkin was excellent. Their bone marrow on toast wasn’t quite up to St John, but the tangy sherry gravy it came with soaked very well into the sourdough toast and tasted divine. Pad Thai pig’s

ear is one of the only times I’ve seen pig’s ear used for anything other than crispy snacking. It worked very well and looked every inch the plate of Bangkok street food. I can’t say I tasted it and thought immediately of Pad Thai, but I can say it was deliciously spiced. I picked out the chicken and waffle as a comparison with our recent Duck and Waffle experience, but it was an entirely refined version of the dish: a breaded chicken mousseline on a potato waffle, with a peppery bechamel that made me think of bread sauce at Christmas, along with a maple syrup gastrique. Delicious. As was the sashimi of kampachi, served on cubes of watermelon and topped with huge mustard seeds glistening with mustard oil as a ‘mustard caviar’. Pow.

So if you’re ever in Denver, consider this a recommendation. And pack a cooler box full of goodies if you’re going to Yellowstone!