Brothers in a bottle

You know, there is something in the chemistry of a good night out that I would love to bottle and preserve. You can put all the same ingredients together 20 times and they won't work out. Then one night they all fall into place. This Thursday was a good example.

Yes, when my old co-conspirator of the Grappa Diaries, Martino is in town there is always a high percentage chance of a fine night. In presidential parlance, his approval rating is about 100%. It has never dipped below that, as far as I can recall. Pull up a chair, pour him a grappa and sit back and relax.

However, his presence alone is not enough to explain the magic which took place. There I sat with a local shopkeeper, a fish and chip man, a farmer, a furniture restorer and a water worker and had a fantastic time. The meal was good, naturally. A starter of pasta with Italian sausage followed by pork escalopes in a cream and mushroom sauce. Also, my surrogate father (for when my own is out of the country) kept topping up my glass with a lovely Vermentino. All that before the grappas even arrived!

You know how a conversation just sometimes flows? That was how it was. It was daft, irrelevant, crude, nonsensical and fantastic. That's the part you just never know about.

It inspired me to come back to this blog - I have never really been away. This is my security blanket, I think. I need a little snuggle every now and again and couldn't live without it. Viva la Grappa, ragazzi!

A salute to the Generali

I like to think it takes a special occasion to prompt the opening of a new bottle of grappa. So what better occasion than it being Thursday night again? Or, more truthfully, the fact that my best grappa-guzzling pal and co-author of these diaries was in town.

Whatever the reason, I plucked my new bottle down from the shelf with the usual feelings of joy and trepidation. Don't get me wrong, I know I am going to enjoy the drink but just how much? Will it measure up to the anticipation as you open its cardboard box, cut the plastic seal and hear the reassuring "pop" as the cork slips from the bottle?

The answer, of course, was yes. What do you expect from a grappa di brunello? Like Milan in Europe, they rarely let you down. This particular variety hails from Il Forteto, a vineyard just one kilometre from Montalcino which also produces Brunello (of course) and its own olive oil (which lacks the same punch). I have put a link at the bottom if you want to read more.

I was not firing on full review cylinders when I sampled it - but then a huge Chinese meal and a couple of Peronis will do that to you. Nonetheless, it seemed to have the right mix of rough and smooth, pleasure and pain that I look for in a good grappa. I may give a more considered opinion in future but drunk with a good friend on a Thursday evening after some fine conversation this certainly hit the spot.

http://www.ilforteto.it/frt/ns.asp?wci=home&lng=1040&cur=3057

Back on track

It's been a while since I felt inspired to pen something for the Diaries. However, last night I was back in action with a bottle of Bocchino Gran Moscato on the table and boy did it feel good. Mysteriously, it also cleared up the nasty cold I have been suffering for about a week. Lemsip Sinus - who needs it?

It was a small outing, just me and my uncle, but we talked plenty of rubbish about football before I turned my attentions to a nearby table. Two Manchester United fans were spouting forth about how Celtic would get on in their league. To be fair, one reckoned they would be a top six team easily, the other said midtable. Midtable? I spluttered. Behind Bolton? Behind mighty Reading or some such?

I was also lucky enough to get deep in conversation with an American woman of some kind of Italian extraction who had never drunk grappa and had no idea whereabouts in Italy her Italian grandfather came from. What a joy to be able to spout forth about my favourite drink to somebody who had not heard all my patter before! Needless to say by the end of the evening she was looking round for an emergency exit. But still, it felt good to hold court on one of my specialist subjects.

The witching hour

This has been a bad week to build up to a big Thursday night grappa fest. My son has decided that 5am is a good time to start talking to us through the intercom. This is endearing for about 30 seconds and then soul-destroying. Maybe grappa fume breath is the only solution?

A team of 11 good men (and Martino, hee hee) will be gathering to celebrate the Giovedi club over a hearty steak and a few glasses of red wine. I know there will come a point in the night when I should switch to softer beverages and head to the hills. Will I learn the lesson at last? Unlikely, I would imagine. But then my little five o'clock alarm will sound...

Return of the boys

The anticipation is building for another big reunion Thursday night next week. A lot of my old grappa drinking partners have pledged their attendance which raises the question. Should I try to get the Friday off work?

On the one hand, it would be nice to have a lie in. On the other, I have two young children who make it virtually impossible. Also, I have survived plenty of Friday's in dodgy condition before so why not just work this one?

Oh decisions, decisions!

That's more like it

After my despair of last week it is only fair to post better news. My father is back from Tuscany and promises me he has a bottle of grappa which he secreted in his case for me. The anticipation, as always, is great.

I don't know if I mentioned this before but I have decided to escalate my grappa passion by endeavouring to collect as many bottles as I can. It is my ambition to invite friends round, have a good meal and then, with coffee, offer a variety of my favourite tipple. "Morbida, secca o fatta-in-casa-dio-mio-quanto-brucia?" will be available to all.

People are proud of their malt whisky bottles, I want a little mini-bar area full of grappa. OK, I'm starting small, I now have two bottles in the house. And a visit from Martino is imminent. The omens don't look that good for building the collection, do they?

Say it ain't so, Giovedi!

Anyone who has ever met me or cast a weary eye over this blog will know that Thursday is a special day for me. For the past 20 years or so it has been the traditional meeting night of the Giovedi Club. An institution of dishevelled, disgraceful and dissolute fellows which meets once a week to eat pasta and steak and drink red wine and grappa.

Over the years the dedication of its members has become legendary. People have rearranged holidays, travelled through six foot snow drifts and generally overcome all sorts of obstacles to make a "meeting". Nowadays, however, it seems that things have changed - for the worse.

How's this for a list of excuses? One is on holiday (reasonable but badly planned), one has been ordered by his mother to go to her house for dinner (feeble), one is worried about his waistline (astonishing) and another is packing a case for a trip on Saturday (disgraceful). I'm not even going to start on the people who come along and "really can't manage such a big plate of pasta!".

Has the lure of the grappa become so weak? Is my company really so bad (possible, but not to be seriously contemplated)? Or, as I suspect, has our new recruitment drive brought in some thoroughly soft members?

The club would never have started if people worried about their weight! The boys of the old brigade would not have dreamed of using such a lengthy list of feeble excuses for their absence. Is it time to call the whole thing off? Tonight it is just myself and my dad keeping the Olympic flame alive. Emergency! Emergency! Can anyone out there save the Giovedi?

Match report

How was my four day birthday drink-fest I hear you ask? Didn't I? Well, I have just about surfaced in time to tell the tales.

Thursday - A grand grappa-drinking session with 14 fellow fools. The tapas was a treat and the steaks cooked to perfection. Afterwards the bottle came round the table with pleasant regularity although I did have my suspicions as to the lack of bite to the grappa. Still, a wonderful evening and some excellent conversation.

Friday - Running at a slightly lower peep due to previous night's efforts still managed to partake of a crab/prawn starter and pork fillet in mushroom sauce main course at aforementioned jazz club. The only jazz was on a large screen next to us but, thankfully, drowned out by our conversation. Grappa points nil, unfortunately, but still a good night although the place lacked a bit of atmosphere.

Saturday - Indian time with my wife. Much more relaxed affair. Pakora/samosa combo to start followed by Balti chicken and king prawn dopiaza. Top notch but no grappa once again.

Sunday - As always an outstanding meal round at my mum and dad's. Once more nobly fired into the red wine and coffees before collapsing in bed for about an hour in order to recover. Luckily, off work for a week in order to prepare for festive binges to come.