This round is on me...

Here’s to alcohol, the rose co ...red glasses of life

F. Scott Fitzgerald

I mentioned in an earlier Reflection of my discovery of the demon drink at the tender age of thirteen. This week I return to the subject.

That early discovery amounted to an occasional pint of Newcastle Brown Ale consumed furtively while musing on the future with friends. We’d disappear into a farmer’s field, to drink our beer, away from the view of passers-by. Yes, a farmer’s field. It wasn’t all coal mines in the northeast of England. At my youthful age, a single pint was, as Dickens would phrase it, a splendid sufficiency. The smooth caramel flavour of ‘Dog’ as it’s nicknamed in the northeast, offering me a ‘hoppy’ glow. And all for the price of one shilling and ninepence. I’ll leave you to Google what that is in ‘new’ money.

While Newcastle Brown Ale may have been my first tipple, it did not become my favourite Brown Ale. That is Vaux Double Maxim. It’s as smooth and well balanced as Newcastle Brown Ale but with a sweeter aftertaste that I prefer. Vaux, a Sunderland based brewery, is sadly no more. However, you can still buy Double Maxim. A couple of enterprising ex-directors of Vaux purchased the rights to the recipe. They then set up a small brewery in my old hometown of Houghton-le-Spring, of all places. Coincidently the brewery is no more than a long stone’s throw from the edge of my farmer’s field.

Over the years my tastes have extended from those early pints of Newcastle Brown to many other forms of alcoholic beverage.

I like my red wine, full-bodied, plummy, with the richness of dried fruit, and Italian. Ideally from the Valpolicella region. I like my white wine, crisp, with gooseberry acidity, flinty and French. I like my cocktail of the Mojito mix of lime, sugar, mint leaves, white rum, and soda water. I like my English beer served at room temperature, with a rounded hop and malt balance and a left-over hint of malt sweetness. I like my Guinness at cellar temperature, poured in two stages and with a two-minute wait in between. Oh, and preferably in a small bar in Dublin. I like my ‘international’ beer, chilled and overlooking the Med or some such body of water. I like my Whisky.

I like my Whiskey too, for that matter. I’m a firm believer in this from Raymond Chandler, “There is no such thing as bad Whiskey. Some whiskeys just happen to be better than others”. Although a wiser head than mine might have also followed this medical advice from the American Social Science Association in 1900, “A man is a fool who drinks before he is fifty, and a blank fool who does not do so moderately thereafter”.

I’m fortunate to have enjoyed many flavoursome drinks, in some beautiful places, along with warming company. In cosy country pubs, bars with grand vistas, historic restaurants, and cafes. I’ve sampled Bellini in Harry’s Bar in Venice. I’ve celebrated a birthday overlooking Rome’s rooftops while drinking what is arguably Italy’s finest wine. Sassicaia, a ‘Super Tuscan’. I’ve sipped Pastis in Marseilles’ Bar de la Marine. Letting my mind wander to thoughts of snappy ‘Popeye’ Doyle, and suave Alain Charnier. I’ve discovered a simple cocktail in a London hotel that became my Christmas morning tipple. Franciacorta with a large splash of Limoncello. Beats Bucks Fizz easily.

The taste of some beverages lingered long on my tongue and even longer in my mind. For instance, the superb Valpolicella Ripasso that my wife and I stumbled upon in a small trattoria near the cathedral in Verona. The day was hot, our legs weary. We took respite in the dark interior of the unprepossessing building. Yet we soon forgot the heat and our tiredness with one mouthful of a perfectly balanced wine. Liquid velvet of bitter-sweet blackberries, rich blackcurrants and the ripest of cherries. Another drink that my memory still savours springs was a pint of Cameron’s’ Strong Arm’ in a small pub close by my brother’s home in Thirsk. The owner certainly knew how to keep a cellar. I’ve drunk many a pint in my lifetime and the term ‘Angels Kiss’ is now a tired cliche, but it’s a perfect description of the creamy texture of that delicately balanced ruby red ale.

So over to you. What has been your most memorable tipple? Because of taste, location, or company?

As you ponder that I need to decide what music is in keeping with this week’s subject. ‘Red Red Wine’ springs to mind. Or ‘Roll out the Barrel’. Or a Sinatra favourite of mine, ‘It Was a Very Good Year’.

However, I’m going for. ‘Sing All Your Cares Away’ by Damien Dempsey. The opening lyric featuring a favourite ‘glugging’ whisky of mine. The lilt of the singer from the Isle of my other favourite ‘glugging’ whiskey. But most importantly a song that’s social commentary.

Sit back. Maybe take a sip of something and listen to what is my type of song. To paraphrase Plato. Some write music because they have something to say; some because they have to say something. I like my music from people that have something to say….