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

A question of style

One of my new reader posed an interesting query recently. Not about the quality of grappa nor its quantity but rather the manner in which it is delivered. Namely - do you prefer a shot glass or a long-stemmed affair?

My gut reaction (how appropriate is that?) was to say long-stemmed. Having recently purchased one for a good friend's birthday and also received a set from my fine father, it seemed the only possible answer. It seems a fine way to take a grappa, perhaps with a pinkie pointing provocatively in the air.

But then I reflected for a moment on how it is dished out in the mountains. The rag is dragged from the top of the bottle and then any receptacle will do. A shot glass, maybe, the dirtier the better.

Still, I think, on balance I have come so far down the road of the long-stemmed glass that it is too late to turn back. I like the grappa that arrives like that. You can hold it up to the light, perhaps contemplate its colour - and then get fired into it. Some, of course, prefer a pint glass but there are very few of them alive to tell the tale.

An auld acquaintance

I bumped into an old acquaintance at the weekend. I would say friend but that would be putting too strong a term on the relationship. Someone I used to work with, socialise with occasionally but who, I eventually realised, I didn't actually like all that much.

We had a brief conversation which I will relay as best I remember.

Me: So, what you up to these days?

Him: Trainee manager, mate. Tesco, mate.

Me: (Wondering why it was said with such pride) Oh!

Him: Be managing my own store in no time.

Me: I'll watch out for their shares plummeting, then.

Ah, it was short but sweet. I set off with a spring in my step...

Potter envy

I never thought it would come to this but blogging elsewhere and wandering around bookshops I have had a strange feeling. It has come over me slowly and I have tried to deny it. But the time may have arrived to come clean - I'm a bit jealous of adults who read Harry Potter.

It's not that I like the books - I read the first and found it completely put-downable. However, I am envious of the excitement they generate. I also turn a bit green at the sheer collectability of the series. It's a bit like Panini football stickers, although obviously not quite.

Having said all of that, there is little or no chance of me trying to recoup my losses and starting out on the whole lot of JK Rowling's works. I already have a book which I almost completed on holiday but have read not one page of since I got back to work. Maybe its this darn blogging that gets in the way...

Never look a gift horse...

I am a man of few demands when it comes to what constitutes an enjoyable night out. Good food, good company and good drink usually clinches the deal. Even two out of three is usually sufficient.

So imagine my delight on a recent night out when I got all three and an extra special surprise. A top notch meal, family and friends and a lovely Argentinian red - PLUS a free bottle of grappa (pictured right).

My host had a few bottles in his cupboard and asked if I would like one. Well, who was I to refuse?

I had the chance to sample it at the weekend and it is not half bad. I have got a taste for Moscato grappas of late even if they are a little bit on the perfumey side for some people's liking. I find them, in general, to have a little bit of the roughness I like without being downright undrinkable. The grappa equivalent of a rustic Tuscan farmhouse which at least has double glazing and central heating installed.

Anyway, one of the funniest parts of the bottle is that it has measuring marks down the side. It reminds me of a giant test tube. Still, handy for checking how much I drink the next time Martino comes to visit. Although, usually only the zero millilitre marker is any use after that.

Grappa Ma Raki update (see below)

Aniseed!!! Yeeeeuccchhhhh!

If you didn't know by now then remember unless it says Prodotta in Italia on the bottle stay well clear of anything claiming to be grappa.

Looks can be deceptive

This is the grappa I was served in Librizzi's in Edinburgh on Friday night. Have you ever seen such a dark grappa? It was almost like a malt whisky in colour. The owner explained that it was a Francoli grappa that had been matured in oak for 18 months and that's what gave it such a dark colour.

Although it didn't look like a grappa I'm pleased to say that it certainly smelled and tasted like a grappa.

As did the second one I had just to make sure.

Is there anything wrong?

I have been wondering this for a while but never got round to blogging about it. It has been prompted by my wife's great love of white wine and the number of bottles we have been consuming of late. It has caused me to ponder - is there any difference between a cork and a screwtop?

There was a time when the screwtop was the sign of a truly awful vino - maybe a Liebfraumilch or a dodgy Valpolicella. But now nearly everything comes with the easy access option. I am no wine expert but I am intrigued as to whether using a cork makes any difference to the quality. Or is it just pure snobbery?

I wonder if it could be extended to grappa too. Although I like the reassuring "pop" of a cork stopper. There is something almost scientific about opening a bottle. You feel like you should pour it into a test tube and watch the fumes fly...

Holiday present

My brother and sister-in-law have just returned from holiday in Crete and as a present brought me a bottle of something called

"Grappa Ma Raki"

Somehow I dont hold out much hope for this one.........

A rare sortie

It is unusual for me to travel on a Thursday night. Usually, I like to stick close to home and be able to enjoy a glass of wine or two withing 'stoating' distance of my house. But sometimes the call of the wild - or, more precisely, a good meal - can be too great. It was thus last Thursday.

I was called to a friend's house to sample Chinese cuisine of the highest order. Won ton soup, followed by a wonderful beef dish, sweet and sour chicken, satay prawn skewers, Singapore noodles and probably a few other things I have forgotten. And all in good company. Where else could I hope to hear about people being attacked by a hippo in Botswana, discuss whether Rod Hull was murdered by emu AND listen to a tale or two about gay pornography.

A great night indeed.

Long time, no grappa

You know, I can't actually think of the last time I had a grappa. That, for me, is a bad sign. It is a sign that life has become too serious and there is not enough nutty nonsense going on. There was a time when I lurched from one grappa-daze to another.

True, my Thursday night regular outings have mostly been at the Chinese of late where, sadly, grappa is in short supply. Still, there is no excuse. I have my fine collection building up at home. I must make a return to using it very soon...

Too much of the tipple?

A worrying event, recently, even in my own grappa-addled existence. While idly flicking through the pages of the latest Champions League magazine while trying to feed my daughter her porridge, I spotted an intriguing letter. "Good on that man!" I thought to myself as I read it. Essentially, it sang the praises of Milan's achievements in comparison to the three English sides to reach the semi-finals. What a laudable world view, I thought.

So, imagine my surprise when I got the end of the letter and saw my own name. Yes, apparently I sent it in "via email" but I have absolutely no memory of writing it - let alone sending it to Champions magazine. Spooky or what? The only options are 1) There is another person with my name who thinks exactly the same as I do. 2) I sent it in but was so drunk/stupid I forgot all about it. 3) Somebody aped my views and used my name as a nom-de-prune!

Whatever the explanation, it has sent me scurrying for another drink.

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.

The pursuit of P and Q

I often wonder, when I read the blurb on the back of a book, how did the author manage to get their work done? How often do you read something along the lines of "So and so is the father of four children, aged six, five, four and one" or "Such and such is a mother-of-six who splits her time between Kent and Tuscany". How did they write 100 words, never mind 60,000 plus?

When did they get the peace and quiet they needed?

Take my house with just two children. The screaming usually starts about 5.30am (and it's not my screaming before you ask). Then children need breakfast, bottom changed, dressed, entertained, etc. Then I go off and do a day's work to return to teatime, bathtime, suppertime, stories and bed. At the end of that I can barely read 500 words, never mind write them.

Am I lazy? Or should I be more selfish and go and run to a soundproof room somewhere to get some work done? That's the trouble with trying to write - it is so antisocial. There must be plenty of parent/authors out there but it seems so daunting sometimes. It does get easier as they get older, they keep telling me. Still, I am going to try and do it, I swear I am.

A project in mind

After what seems like an eternity away from the keyboard in any creative sense I think I might just about be ready to get back into book-writing mode. My target this time is the totally unambitious idea of writing "The Great Scottish Italian Novel" (that's not the title, by the way). As far as I am aware nobody has done it so far. There have been a few non-fiction books on the subject, some plays and screenplays and a few novels that have scratched the surface. But nothing going into the depth I would like to reach - a kind of Godfather trilogy for the fish and chip frying fraternity.

The premise is simple enough, really, tell the story of a family forced to leave Italy through poverty in the early 20th century. Their trials and tribulations in Scotland, tough times through the Second World War when many were interned and finally, I guess, their victory over that adversity. Something along those lines anyway.

At the moment I am trying to immerse myself in the culture of Italy from about 1900 to 1940, if anybody has any recommended reading material it would be gratefully accepted. Of course, another part of my inspiration will be some truly bad, home-brewed grappa. Although probably not too much or I might find myself slumped across my computer.

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

A farewell to Zen

During my recent sojourn overseas (Millport) I was shocked to open the obituaries section in the Times to find one for one of my favourite British crime writers. Michael Dibdin, who brought the world the Venetian sleuth Aurelio Zen, was no more.

What I liked about his books was how deeply rooted in their locations they were and also how authentically he captured Italian attitudes. In addition, as a real Venezian, there was usually a bottle of grappa involved somewhere. I am sure it was Zen who claimed a cure for a bad cold was to drink a good bottle of red wine and a whole clove of garlic. Certainly worth a try, if not likely to boost your chances with the opposite sex.

The news reached me just as I was finishing Back to Bologna, the latest Zen novel I think. Which featured both football and grappa on its pages. Hard to think of a better combination than that. Addio, Zen.

The perfect day?

So I was offered a new job today which I accepted and decided to go out to celebrate at my local Italian restaurant with my brother and sister-in-law.

Anyhoo my brother was driving so when it came to ordering the after dinner drinks he decided to only have an espresso while I had my usual grappa and an espresso. Fortunately the waiter misheard and brought two grappas and two espressos. My brother being the sensible chap that he is decided not to say anything to the waiter but instead gave me the grappa. Could a man hope for a better brother?

So a new job and a free grappa. I've had worse days.........

Off to the islands

It is almost time for one of my regular trips to a small Scottish island to drink my father-in-law's whisky. Although, I have some fears since I heard reports he has given it up. Does that mean I will drink it alone? Or, worse, not at all?

You can imagine my concern. Perhaps a hip-flask of grappa will have to be packed. I just hope the kids don't get their hands on it...

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.