Things you should never do
Number one: Make Kiwi-fruit wine.
We were given a bottle of this fine Welsh delicacy a few years back. It was put in the wine rack alongside more sophisticated drinks; delicacies like Cloudy Bay Riesling, Brown Brothers Tarrango and Ca'del Solo Bloody Good Red. And there it was left alone to gather dust.
Recently an urge to get rid of things has swept through the house. I've been trying to flog old tat on ebay and generally throwing out stuff that's been around unused for more than a decade. This wine's not that old, but neither was it worth keeping.
Normally I'd pass it on - there's a charity auction at the village Christmas party this weekend and donations of alcohol in bottles always go down well - but I've a nasty suspicion that this wine's been through that process at least twice before. And besides, it was a gift, so I decided to open it.
And it was green.
Not just slightly green, but vibrant in a way that can surely only be achieved with synthetic polymers. And it smelled like an explosion in a boiled sweet factory.
Still, I was a wine merchant once, and it behooves me to try out new experiences. So I took a sip.
One was plenty.
I've made wine in the past, and if you're going to do it at home, fruit versions are far more convincing than any attempts at making a decent Claret or Chablis. My greatest success was a raspberry concoction, made with several kilograms of ripe Scottish raspberries from the garden of an ex-flatmate. It made a foul, syrupy mess in the airing cupboard with its first fermentation, but the finished product was nectar.
On the other hand, my attempt at Gooseberry Champagne was a sad failure - dry and tart with a nasty sodium metabisulphite undertaste. But this Kiwi-fruit wine made it seem like a vintage Moet in comparison. The only way to get rid of the horrible saccharine sweetness and bitter chlorine steriliser tang was to down a large glass of Islay malt whisky, closely followed by another. It was fouler than anything I've ever drunk, and I used to like Dr Peppers (well, no-one else ever asked for a swig, so I got the whole can to myself).
If this terrible concoction had come from the kitchen of some well-meaning but misguided smallholder, I might have forgiven as I poured it down the sink (threatening the viability of the septic tank). But no, this was a product for sale, something proudly marketed as Welsh. Something people might pay money for.
But only once.
We were given a bottle of this fine Welsh delicacy a few years back. It was put in the wine rack alongside more sophisticated drinks; delicacies like Cloudy Bay Riesling, Brown Brothers Tarrango and Ca'del Solo Bloody Good Red. And there it was left alone to gather dust.
Recently an urge to get rid of things has swept through the house. I've been trying to flog old tat on ebay and generally throwing out stuff that's been around unused for more than a decade. This wine's not that old, but neither was it worth keeping.
Normally I'd pass it on - there's a charity auction at the village Christmas party this weekend and donations of alcohol in bottles always go down well - but I've a nasty suspicion that this wine's been through that process at least twice before. And besides, it was a gift, so I decided to open it.
And it was green.
Not just slightly green, but vibrant in a way that can surely only be achieved with synthetic polymers. And it smelled like an explosion in a boiled sweet factory.
Still, I was a wine merchant once, and it behooves me to try out new experiences. So I took a sip.
One was plenty.
I've made wine in the past, and if you're going to do it at home, fruit versions are far more convincing than any attempts at making a decent Claret or Chablis. My greatest success was a raspberry concoction, made with several kilograms of ripe Scottish raspberries from the garden of an ex-flatmate. It made a foul, syrupy mess in the airing cupboard with its first fermentation, but the finished product was nectar.
On the other hand, my attempt at Gooseberry Champagne was a sad failure - dry and tart with a nasty sodium metabisulphite undertaste. But this Kiwi-fruit wine made it seem like a vintage Moet in comparison. The only way to get rid of the horrible saccharine sweetness and bitter chlorine steriliser tang was to down a large glass of Islay malt whisky, closely followed by another. It was fouler than anything I've ever drunk, and I used to like Dr Peppers (well, no-one else ever asked for a swig, so I got the whole can to myself).
If this terrible concoction had come from the kitchen of some well-meaning but misguided smallholder, I might have forgiven as I poured it down the sink (threatening the viability of the septic tank). But no, this was a product for sale, something proudly marketed as Welsh. Something people might pay money for.
But only once.
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