The bottle's on the table

There are sweet words on a night out which are a pleasure to hear. Perhaps the whisper of your loved one telling you how they feel. Possibly one of your dining partners saying they don't really like langoustine and could you finish their portion. But, above all, your host saying: "There's the grappa, I'll leave it on the table".

It was one of those nights on Thursday. A table for 12, some good friends down from Glasgow and a lot of old pals round a table. A mix of stupid football talk, memories of nights gone by and crude humour. A perfect combination - I am sure you would agree.

When the bottle landed on the table, it knew it was being consigned to history. With a dozen grappa drinkers round about what did you expect? All credit to our host for sacrificing a bottle to us. Although work was a bit slow the following day...

Grappa and the City

As you will no doubt know by now, I don't get out much. Certainly not beyond the confines of south west Scotland. Yes, it is true, I sometimes break free for Tuscany. Occasionally, I know, I seek island solace on the Isle of Cumbrae. But, by and large, as a father of two young children my forays into what normal people call "having a social life" are few and far between.

The times when that involves my wife are even fewer.

So, it was with great fear and trepidation that I ventured to Edinburgh at the weekend. It was, by my good lady's reckoning, the first time we had been away overnight as a couple sans enfants (how's that for pretentious?) in five years. Yes, you read that right, FIVE YEARS!

I was so convinced that this weekend would not actually happen that I did not pack my bags until the last minute. I knew, with every pessimistic bone my dear old Nonna put in my body, that one of my children would start coughing and wheezing and we would be unable to leave. I stayed up the night before we left, fully expecting to have to wrestle off an infant's duvet cover strewn with sick. So, when none of the above happened, I was in a state of delirious shock as we left for - the Capital.

My sister and brother-in-law travelled with us and we had a splendid time. A glass of wine with lunch at All Bar One gave that light-headed, floating-in-a-bubble feel to walking along Princes Street.

http://www.list.co.uk/place/100320-all-bar-one/

There was footballing entertainment, of sorts, as Hearts succumbed to Motherwell 3-1. Tragically, there was no pie to review here as they had sold out of all food! I ask you, this is a club with delusions of making it into Europe!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/scot_prem/7051961.stm

Then, at night, dear sweet Librizzi. A favourite haunt of my co-auteur of the diaries, this is the place where they offer you a choice of grappa. The whole lovely meal - duck liver followed by monkfish in lemon and chilli - was but a preamble to this moment. "Chiara o scura?" the waiter asked. "Chiara! Chiara!" I almost belowed. He furnished me with three bottles from which I selected a Cabernet/Merlot mix. Fantastic, truly fantastic. My only gripe was that I spotted him using a measure to pour it out.

http://www.librizzi.co.uk/

There is a vaguely amusing postscript to this story which will certainly entertain any Edinburgher reader. We were staying very central, and decided to park in a big NCP car park just off Princes Street. It was busy when we arrived on Saturday but, laughed smart driver me, look how empty level 4 is! I swung into my parking space smugly and left the Grappa Diaries People Carrier (GDPC from here on) until the following morning.

Have you guessed the punchline? Perhaps not. This was the Omni Centre car park where, unknown to us country folk, they hold one of the biggest car boot sales in Edinburgh every Sunday from 9am to 1pm, guess where? On level 4!

http://news.scotsman.com/edinburgh.cfm?id=1523342006

We emerged with our cases into what I can only describe as my idea of hell on earth - even if I wasn't trying to wheel my luggage. The four of us bravely fought through but I had visions of us being stuck their forever (or at least until the afternoon) gazing forlornly at Neil Sedaka LPs and unwanted wedding presents. It was only good fortune that a kindly security person took pity on us - "Happens all the time," he smiled and limped up the down-ramp to set us free.

God bless you sire, whoever you were. You guided me from the depths of despair back to a semblance of sanity. Then it was back down the road to the children howling the house down. Ah, we must go away again some time soon. I've got a free weekend in 2012...

Let this be a warning

I have just finished reading an amazing story about a girl who suffered some kind of overdose after taking SEVEN double espressos. Now, even as a man who likes a coffee, I would stop short of such a quantity.

Indeed, I have never actually seen the point of a double espresso. In fact, I might go further and say that I have only ever seen it ordered by show-offs. You know the kind of people - I am so tough I can drink three coffees at 3am and still get a perfect night's sleep. Balls.

Anyway, apparently this poor girl was unaware she was drinking double measures. Mind you, I think even seven SINGLE espressos during a day would give you a bit of the shakes. I remember daring a friend to drink freshly ground coffee and he had the jitters for about 48 hours.

The main lesson, however, is clearly that such an exploit should not be undertaken without the obligatory espresso companion, a grappa. If the girl had taken a glass of our favourite tipple with each shot of coffee I am sure she would have been fine. Or, alternatively, she would have passed out until the effects of the espressos had gone. Or possibly passed out before she got to the seventh coffee...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/wear/6944026.stm

The where and when guide

Everything, but everything, depends on context. Where and when you do something has a great impact on how it feels. You might think I am hinting at something else but, of course, I speak of grappa.

Definitely has to be at the end of a meal, almost inevitably Italian. In the company of a large group of friends or family is best. Accompanied by a good espresso, of course. Probably served by a dark-haired, tan-skinned waitress (copyright Martinobhoy). A view of a sunset over the Tuscan hills is ideal too. After a Fiorentina victory, preferably over Juventus. With a lot of money in your pocket courtesy of a win on the horses.

Do I ask too much? Never enjoyed all of the above circumstances, but still, one lives in hope.

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

Another trip, another bottle

Guess what? My dad is due back from Italy on Saturday and you know what that means - hopefully another grappa for my collection. I think he is beginning to suspect that it is not him that I am happy to see. It's the way I say "yeah, yeah, where's my grappa!".

I will, of course, file a full report on these pages as I endeavour to return to more regular postings. A mix of illness and work have kept me away. Surely neither will get in the way so much again.

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.

A new brew

It is always nice to see my old father return from Italy and even better when he carries with him a shiny new bottle of the good stuff. In truth, it is pretty rare that he lets me down on that front.

So, imagine my pleasure when he furnished me with a nice bottle of Torba Rossa made - so the bottle tells me - with smoked red grape stems.

Now, in many ways the imbibing experience is unlike drinking grappa at all. The colour is a pretty intense amber and the smell almost akin to a malt whisky. Even the taste is much lighter than a hardened acquavita fan would be used to.

Indeed, in some ways this looks like one of those "designer grappas" intended to make you part with a lot of money for what ought to be a good old-fashioned mountain man/woman's brew. The packaging is similar to the long, cardboard tubes which the finest whisky comes in. So the whole experience leans on the pretentious side.

Nonetheless, I had no problem sampling my first "dram" at the weekend. Yes, it is more refined than some may like and carries an almost delicate perfume. But, if it takes grappa to a wider audience I am not going to speak out against it. It also prompted me to tidy up my drinks cupboard which led to the discovery of a tiny amount of long-forgotten Grappa Moscato. So that takes my "collection" to three bottles!

Overall, it won't rip your throat out or burn what remains of your windpipe but it is a pleasant after dinner drink - especially if you don't want to feel its aftermath for a few days to come.

Rating: 71%.

Another year, another bucket of grappa

With my birthday looming (Friday) what better way to celebrate than with a four-day long excuse for grappa consumption? My agenda has a hectic look to it over the next few days.

Thursday - The boys of the Giovedi Club are gathering for their Christmas do (among them that fine blogger Martino). A total of 14 (possibly 15) of the biggest scemi in Scotland will join together for wine, food and talk of a nonsensical variety. The venue this year is a tapas bar as our favourite local Italian has switched to its Christmas menu. There are only so many times you can eat turkey.

Friday - My actual birthday. Coincides, as it often does, with the Champions League draw AND a staff night out. This time around we will try a local Jazz Club which also does food. Given that I HATE jazz the omens are not good. Numbers, as always, have dwindled as people call off for a variety of reasons. Does nobody like Christmas parties any more?

Saturday - Queen of the South v Airdrie United, Fiorentina v Milan and, finally, a big fat Indian. Grappa opportunities nil (until I get home) but the chance to nibble a naan. Taking my wife out again. Twice in a year!

Sunday - The family gathering. Mum putting on a lunch for her kids and grandchildren. That should make a total of ten of us round the table for a bit of antipasto and the like. Then it will be off to a darkened room to recover.