Exploring northern Beaujolais

I have to confess how excited I was about visiting Beaujolais. As I am (deceptively) mature, Beaujolais was one of the first wines I heard of and, indeed, consumed. This was shortly before the British wine market became flooded with New World wines and even when I was working at Oddbins in the early 1990s, Beaujolais Nouveau was still quite a big deal and involved some very early morning deliveries. As soon as it came off the van we'd open it – of course – and this light boiled sweet and bubblegum confection went surprisingly well with a McDonald's Big Breakfast or two (you'd be hungry at that hour). It's hardly representative of Beaujolais though and did as much for the reputation of the region as Liebfraumilch did for Germany.

We got to experience the real Beaujolais on holiday last summer, spending a couple of nights in tiny Lancié near Fleurie. We stayed in the beautiful family run maison d'hôtes Les Pasquiers (see top) where we enjoyed breakfast and evening meals, all based around local produce, even sourced from their kitchen garden. Dinner at Les Pasquiers also included local wines from Méziat down the road in Chiroubles.

We spent two nights in Beaujolais but, with our daughter in tow, didn't have too much time to devote to wine. So, after our first night at Les Pasquiers we had a relaxing morning by the pool before heading out for lunch at Domaine de la Madone in Fleurie. We spent the rest of the afternoon following the Route des Vins through northern Beaujolais – Moulin à Vent, Chénas, Juliénas and St Amour before looping back to Lancié via Romanèche-Thorins. Other than the more famous communes of Fleurie and Juliénas, these were mainly quite modest little hamlets, but the old stones and seas of vines help reveal Beaujolais' long history. Place names like Juliénas and Romanèche-Thorins hint at the region's Roman heritage.

The following day after checking out of Les Pasquiers, we headed south through Chiroubles and Villié-Morgon and Brouilly, passing extinct volcanos Mont du Py and Mont de Brouilly (see below), sources of serious, age-worthy wines. It would have been tempting to stop off in the handsome town of Brouilly with its bustling cafés and bars, but we were heading to Lyon for lunch.

Next time we'll also include southern Beaujolais, especially the scenic Pierres Dorées district, but this visit we focused on the northerly crus – the finer wines of the region. I'm so pleased we did. After a few disappointing decades, Beaujolais is now back on track producing some of France's best value and most enjoyable wines. For me, Beaujolais has graduated from perking up a dreary November to often taking top billing at Christmas. It deserves a bit more than a Big Breakfast.

(If you're planning to visit the region take a look at this useful piece by Sue Style on the Decanter website.)

J Lohr Wildflower: a summery red from California

I used to have quite a soft-spot for this wine and recently had the chance of tasting it for the first time in nearly two decades. In May I was representing some Californians at the London Wine Fair and just along from us was the J Lohr stand. It was great to have a chat and be reacquainted with a wine I'd enjoyed selling at Oddbins in the early 1990s. Back then it was called Wildflower Gamay and was a Californian alternative to decent quality or 'cru' Beaujolais.

It's a distinctively juicy wine with soft gentle tannins, but it's not made from the Gamay we know from Beaujolais, but a grape called Valdiguié or Gros Auxerrois (originally from southwest France) that used to be referred to as Napa Gamay. To avoid any confusion (it's not made from Gamay and it doesn't come from Napa) the wine is now labelled Wildflower Monterey County Valdiguié.

Anyway, I was thrilled to see it again and last week we enjoyed the bottle I was given at the fair with some sausages, mash and sauce diable from Rachel Khoo's Little Paris Kitchen cookery book (more about which another time). The wine's generous ripe aromatic fruit was delicious with the hot cayenne pepper in the sauce. Chilled briefly, with its refreshing acidity and fairly moderate alcohol (12.5 abv), it turned out to be an ideal choice on a warm summer evening. Time does fly, however, I look forward to enjoying Wildflower again soon.

Enotria is the UK importer and it is available for about £11.50 from Great Western Wine and various other independent merchants.

Naturally interesting

Here in the UK there seems to be a big fuss at the moment about natural wines – strange, really, given that natural wine bars are already quite commonplace in France. Perhaps it's because wine is much more inherent to French culture and proximity to wine regions allows these potentially fragile wines to be served in more favourable conditions. ('Natural wine' is an unregulated term, but suggests that the wine has been made with minimal intervention and low levels of sulphur dioxide; here is a good explanation.) The growing presence of these wines in the UK and the Natural Wine Fair that took place in May at Borough Market have generated some surprisingly heated reactions. I wasn't able to attend the event, but I'd like to taste more of these wines, being a lover of quirkier wines (and bored with the anonymous, bland tasting alcoholic fruit juice that now passes as wine).

I did, however, enjoy some delicious natural wine over lunch recently. We selected sharing platters of cheese and charcuterie which were complemented superbly by the lively rusticity and fresh acidity of Terragno Dolcetto from the Colli Tortonesi in Piedmont. When the wine was first opened, perhaps because I was looking for it, I detected some cideriness on the finish. However, this soon cleared and I was struck by the wine's vibrant, authentic character. It had quite a funky aromatic bitter cherry nose, earthy, stoney and smoky. On the palate, yes, it was rustic, but it also had great purity of fruit. It evolved in the glass and, at one point, I got a delicious hint of marzipan on the finish, albeit bone dry. What's more, we were at Black's Club in Soho which was the ideal setting for this – atmospheric, bohemian and not remotely corporate.

We didn't finish the bottle, so I was able to bring it home where I polished it off with my husband. He particularly enjoyed it. By then, after several hours' exposure to air, it was tasting more gamey and savoury. It made no difference to my husband that this was a natural wine – we just prefer satisfying, well balanced, refreshing wines that don't taste mucked about with. The Terragno ticked all the boxes.

I don't understand why people are being so polarised by these wines. Recalling my Oddbins days in the early 1990s, specialist beers have had a large following for a long time (even the challengingly tangy lambic beers which we had no trouble selling) and Belgo restaurants probably played a significant role in raising their profile in the same way that bars and restaurants in London such as Terroirs and Artisan and Vine are introducing people to natural wines. There is now a definite backlash against the might of the supermarkets and the industrialisation of food (and drink), with people increasing concerned about the provenance of what they consume. Watch this space...

Terragno Colli Tortonesi Dolcetto 2009, Valli Unite
available from Aubert and Mascoli

Oddbins: the best of times, the worst of times

Yesterday I heard some particularly sad news – the Notting Hill Gate branch of Oddbins was due to close last night. Oddbins has been in a fragile state for some time and a few weeks ago went into administration. However, the closure of its probably most iconic branch is particularly moving.

Later this year I will be celebrating 20 years in the wine trade. I started my career as a graduate trainee at Oddbins in High Street Kensington, a short distance from the flagship Notting Hill branch. As now, we had been in recession and I was thrilled to have been appointed by what was, at the time, probably the world's most exciting and distinctive wine merchant. It certainly wasn't the salary (or the hours) that had attracted me to Oddbins, it just seemed, without question, the best place to begin a career in wine. The staff-training was exemplary and, of course, there was that enormous, eclectic range. As a recent graduate, it was the perfect place to start full-time employment. The atmosphere was casual (even subversive); you worked hard, but you played hard, too, and almost always with like-minded people, crazy about wine. It was thrilling working for Oddbins during its pomp and it has informed a great deal of what I have done since.

The Notting Hill Gate branch played host to our staff tastings – memorable because of the wines and the huge characters often present. The branch represented the peak of achievement within the company – the manager was better paid than most head office staff because of the continually successful sales figures – so it attracted some charismatic individuals. It was an exciting time. In the early 1990s London felt like the centre of the wine world and Oddbins was at its beating heart. In those days Oddbins was owned by Seagram and, as long as we sold a certain proportion of their products, the business remained viable.

There was a trade-off. Working at Oddbins became your life and you need to be tough (physically and mentally). Being a retailer, the hours were exhausting, but exacerbated by being an off-licence. Most branches didn't close until 9pm and were obviously open at weekends, and Christmas was the busiest period. That would be tiring enough but, being a key-holder, I would occasionally be called by the police in the middle of the night because the shop alarm had gone off. Sitting in the Camden branch on my own in the early hours with a gaping hole in the window wasn't much fun (with colourful nocturnal street-life ensuring you didn't nod off). Someone had to be there until the glaziers arrived the following morning! One busy Saturday afternoon when I was in charge of the shop the IRA set off a bomb across the road hidden a litter bin outside McDonalds. That was truly terrifying. A few months later once I had moved to the attractive Charlotte Street branch (gorgeous location and closed on Sundays) I was held at gun-point while alone in the shop with a customer on a sunny Thursday morning. Our attackers didn't get away with much as I couldn't remember where the safe key was kept (I'd just started working there), so they only took some notes from the till, cartons of cigarettes and some bottles of spirits and Champagne. Terrifying again, but pointless and pathetic. They committed 19 similar offences and went to prison for several years. These experiences demonstrate the extent to which working in retail makes you vulnerable.

Despite all the delicious perks and entertaining, knowledgeable colleagues, it was good to move on. I left Oddbins to join André Simon, the retail arm of Layton's (now Jeroboam's). I was only there a few months before quitting retail entirely to join Mitchell Beazley book publishers. For so long Oddbins led the way, attracting the most enthusiastic staff and offering a genuinely innovative range. Things have changed dramatically over the past 20 years, with wine retailing increasingly polarised between supermarkets and specialist merchants, leaving the high street "offie" struggling in the middle ground. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the future of Oddbins in some form and hope it stands a realistic chance of competing in this challenging marketplace.

The photograph is of the London Bridge branch, overshadowed by the Shard. I took the picture as I left the Big Fortified Tasting as it was such a powerful image of the old and the new.