Freezing my Tits off...

Apologies. Won't be winning a Pulitzer prize for the title. So the big freeze is here. The birds must be a bit miffed. Their inner body clocks would have noticed the increasing lights signifying that spring is around the corner. Time to find a mate and have some fun. Suddenly the wind comes in from Siberia and attention switches from thriving to surviving.  

            I have a peanut feeder, thankfully, squirrel proof and three dispensers of various seeds. One of which is exclusively for goldfinches. No-one else seems interested. The peanuts are almost exclusively taken by my friends, the tits; blue, great and coal. The occasional long tailed tits, as well, noisy and les regular visitors with as the name suggests extremely long tails. I say almost exclusively, as we’ve recently had an unusual visitor. A female blackcap. A female blackcap like a female blackbird is actually brown. Her cap that is.  Sexist? Very possibly but this isn’t the time to delve into the rights and wrongs of garden bird nomenclature. This isn’t the Guardian. Now the blackcap, with, as the name suggests, a black cap, is actually a summer visitor to the UK, but some do overwinter and I have seen the male a few times this winter too but not recently. Maybe the cold sent him south, like an ex-pat seeking warmer climes. Only the female has appeared, standing her ground against the aggressive great tits, these past few days.

            As for the sunflower seeds,  the great tits and coal tits favour them and the robin is the most regular visitor to the other seed dispenser. The cover of the packet promises all sorts of birds but it’s mostly the Robins that use it. They are, of course, the UK’s national bird and very popular but they’re actually very aggressive, bordering on psychotic, in their defense of territory and to a lesser extent, feeding sources. Then there’s the dunnock. Easily overlooked with their brown and grey plumage, I like them, they keep themselves to themselves mostly and will take seeds too, but are generally happier feeding off the ground. One of the commonest garden birds, there’s always a couple around. And in summer, a few more. Female dunnocks like to have two men on the go, in fact. And the males like to spread it around too, but that’s for another time.

            Another of my favourite, the tiny and endearing wren, struggles in this weather, as they don’t take from the feeders. They have to work very hard and will cover every nook and cranny to find (presumably frozen?) enough insects to eat.

            A treat for the blackbirds with the ground frozen is some chopped apple. They will be on them within half an hour, guaranteed. If not the squirrel will nab them.

            So far, so normal. Nothing too unusual, the black (brown) cap aside. A chaffinch comes from time to time, again feeding from the seeds that have dropped to the floor. When I was young, chaffinches were very common but here at least it is the aforementioned goldfinches which are most prevalent. Likewise, greenfinches which came to my feeder every winter in Glasgow, are rarely seen. 

And the other rare visitor is the striking greater spotted woodpecker. He comes to the suet feeder. Resplendent in black red and white, his presence never fails to thrill and he seems to be the only one interested in the fat. Interestingly enough, it isn’t entirely unheard of. They are known to come to gardens feeders, what is amazing is the fact that he doesn’t live near here. They live in woodland with mature trees, the nearest of which to is about a mile away. So how did he know? Do they just fly around on the off-chance? We call him Dan. Seems to suit him. Extraordinary thing, nature. Anyway bon appetit aux oiseaux…

The Boys in Blue no longer have the blues...

Being Scottish and a rugby fan equates to much pain, much of the time, so when good things happen they’re all the sweeter.

So, we beat England for the first time in ten years. That’s a long time; England have ten times as many players as we have, ten times as much money, so it’s no surprise really.  And in a neat way, we beat them, on average, every ten years. And normally we beat them in a scrap to the end. Winning ugly and desperately. And we don't beat the Welsh or the Irish much either. But this Scotland team is different from most of the Scotland teams of the last twenty years. They do all the hard work, those warrior forwards. Whatever changes, rugby remains a game that is won or lost in the forwards. But, in this team there is beauty too. And personality. And panache.  Epitomised by Finn Russell. He makes passes that few other players in the world could even contemplate, let alone execute. It doesn’t always go right but when it does the rugby this team plays is arguably the most spectacular around.  His long, looping pass to Huw Jones who took the ball at pace and ran to the other end of the pitch, leading to Maitland’s try, was wondrous. This is a rather new feeling. Up until a year or two ago, we didn’t really score tries like that. In that surreal first half we scored more tries against England than we have in the last five matches at Murrayfield. For too long we’ve accepted mediocrity but the good work started by Vern Cotter and continued by Gregor Townsend makes this victory feels a little different. Vern gave us balls, toughness and a better winning mentality. Gregor, of course, has added the sprinkling of flair and pace which had been developing these last couple of years. If that combination can be maintained, we may finally begin to gain some respect internationally and feel proud to be Scottish (in Rugby terms). Perhaps a false dawn but I have a feeling it’s a new dawn. We’ll see in two weeks in Dublin.

More Nature Notes...Feeding the Birds....

            I remember the first time I fed wild birds. It was the summer of 1987. In the cupboard of our kitchen was a jar of chopped nuts that had remained untouched for about 2 years. I think they might have been bought for Christmas and subsequently ignored. I put them on the window ledge of my bedroom and they were gone within days devoured by blue tits, greenfinches, chaffinches and so on. I would look in wonder at these colourful little creatures from behind my curtain and I was hooked. Sometime later in the year, a plan was needed, however. Pigeons had discovered the food source and that was the end of that. Luckily, technology was on my side and every winter I would fix a plastic feeder - inaccessible to larger birds - to my window and wait. They always came and it was always the blue tits, first. You'd hear them before you saw them. I'll never forget the feeling of being in my bedroom and hearing their high-pitched call. They remain amongst my favourite birds.

            All these years later, moving to a flat with a large garden, the time was right to resume my support of my feathered friends and I have been doing so for the last two years. Feeding wild birds is slightly Machiavellian, in a way. Altruistic yet manipulative and self-serving. It costs time and money and goes beyond simply doing a good deed. It procures great pleasure and becomes almost an obsession. But a magnificent obsession, I’d say. There is, perhaps, a fine line between helping them out and making them dependant on you, but it’s probably too late. “You can check out any time you like but you can never leave”. As I say, its more than simply doing a good deed. It’s a relationship. A thirty-year relationship.

            So, more of the birds. The following are my regulars; blue tit, coal tit, great tit, robin, goldfinch, dunnock, woodpigeon, blackbird – the female is brown -, magpie. I see these birds every day. There are many others that I see less often, but one thing at a time. I have several feeders, all designed to feed birds and not squirrels. My pathological hatred of squirrels is of course, slightly irrational, but not entirely so. It’s not their fault, they’re just following their instinct, but they are a menace. I admire their athletic ability but I don’t like them. I feel the same way about modern footballers.

            My favourite feeder is perhaps the one that locks the minute the squirrel climbs onto it due to the weight of the animal. Ingenious. And there’s a nice democratic system in place. The smaller birds only can access the feeders, but the mess they make picking out the seeds, drops to the ground giving the collared doves, woodpigeons and blackbirds their fair share too. 

            Goldfinches are amongst the commonest visitors, certainly the most colourful and possibly the noisiest. Now, for me, as a teenager, a goldfinch was an exotic and distant bird. It was a bird of the country, not the west end of Glasgow. They are much commoner in the city these days, certainly, in London, almost certainly due to humans feeding them. That said, places like Hampstead Heath that I’m not too far from, will have the vegetation to support Goldfinches. Their favourite natural food is thistle seeds but some bright spark discovered that they will eat Nyger seeds. I’d never heard of Nyger seeds but on the packet it claimed they would attract goldfinches and this was too exciting a possibility to ignore. There was even a special feeder that allows the goldfinches’ beak to access the seed. Who discovered this? They must have had time on their hands. Anyway I was doubtful but literally within a couple of days they’d arrived and have never left. Extraordinary thing, Nature. How did they know?  Very beautiful birds but perhaps not the brightest. Constantly fighting with each other over the food source when there’s plenty to go round.

            For sheer personality, the award has to go to the Blue Tit. Pretty colours themselves but not exotic like a goldfinch. Cheeky, acrobatic and lively, they particularly like peanuts but also sunflower seeds and suet. Varying your food supply, of course, adds to your number and variety of visitors. And occasionally you might get a more unusual visitor or two. More of that and my other regulars next time. They all have a story worth telling…

Winter Thrushes in North London inspired by Gilbert White

Welcome,

Sorry about the title.

Have any of you heard of Gilbert White? Probably not and that's a pity. He was a late 18th century man of letters. A reverend, a poet and also a blogger, of a sort. But unlike most bloggers, he came up with something useful.

His main work, The Nature and Antiquities of Selbourne is, in essence, a nature diary, through letters and observations of nature's cycle that remains the definitive example of a nature notebook, par excellence. I discovered him, as a teenager through reading the monthly nature report in the BBC wildlife magazine. It was an article which spoke of the things likely to happen that month in the world of nature and often used quotations by White, printed in wistful prose, on the page, very much in the writing style of the period in which he lived. I've often been very grateful of the sanctuary that a love of nature and wildlife has given me and it's partly thanks to Mr. White. Even today, centuries later, his text and prose has a vibrant yet gentle effect on the soul, if nature and it's ever changing moods is of interest to you, at least. If it's not maybe you should give it a go. The world he describes feels near yet distant at the same time.

Modern ecological, charitable and environmental movements owe much to Gilbert White.

I've long fancied doing my own little nature diary and until now those thoughts have remained in my head, which is a shame, for me at least, but wandering through Alexandra park the other day, a sight drew me in, as it surely would have my spiritual friend, Gilbert White. So what was it? It was Redwings. What are Redwings, you may ask? They're a bird, of course. A thrush actually, that visit these shores in winter. A smallish thrush that travels in flocks, it doesn't really have a red wing, more red under its wing and it's usually the creamy stripe above its eye that you're likely to notice. As I walked along I spotted a couple feeding on the ground, under a tree, looking for worms, no doubt, then another then another. I'd guess there were around 30 or so, which was nice to see. They have visited my garden from time to time this winter, though in fewer numbers and I've always liked them. They represent the seasons changing; they can be heard in late autumn, at night, their high-pitched call on still clear evenings revealing their arrival from the continent and indicating winter's imminent arrival and they'll be gone again in a couple of months from now, indicating spring and summers' inevitable if not imminent arrival. They have a gentle vibe. Not all thrushes can claim this.

Mistle Thrushes, large and quite noisy, for example, are capable of psychotic behavior. I first time I saw this was thirty years ago, on a snowy day, from my bedroom window watching a pair of them repeatedly dive bomb a magpie. I watched the same thrush, another time, dive bombing a cat which, terrorized, came running through the close at about fifty miles an hour and dashed into the street. I still laugh about that one, cruel as that is.  Anyway, back to winter and thrushes; even more exciting, was a couple of fieldfares in our garden, the following day to my seeing the redwings. So what? Well, a fieldfare is also a thrush. Also a winter visitor. A large and beautiful bird, a grey head, reddish back and beautifully speckled breast, they are more imposing than a redwing and less common so a sight is always a thrill. There has been one who has visited the garden, I first saw him around Christmas gorging on next door's apple tree's one remaining apple. Seeing those two the other day, was a welcome surprise and seemed to serve as a reminder that winter is not over and indeed since then it has become much colder.

Winter itself has been relatively benign, in London, at least but feeding the birds as I do, ensures plenty of feathered visitors, especially when it is cold.

More of them in my next blog.

Hope you enjoyed this, if not, I won't be offended, my late friend, Daniel Kirkpatrick, my only birder friend, would, I'm sure have appreciated it and if you do fancy the real thing, there's always Gilbert White.

https://static1.squarespace.com/static/56c46cbd27d4bd71b93e75a8/t/5710e5a7e707ebb8c590d1da/1460725161213/fieldfare.jpg

Let's talk about Barolo, The King Of Wines....

Let’s start the new year looking back shall we? To Hogmanay that is, that’s right, New Year’s Eve as the rest of the world calls it. We had a Scottish Italian fusion to celebrate European cooperation. Haggis, neeps and tatties with a wonderful Barolo from the Villadoria estate, 2011 Riserva! Simple yet wonderful winter food meets sophisticated wine. It was tremendous.

            What do you actually know about Barolo I must ask? Here’s the basics; it is grown  - almost exclusively, more of that later – in Piemonte, north–west Italy, near a town called Alba. Wonderful region, literally as the name suggests, at the foot of the mountains, the Italian Alps, snow-capped and spectacular. The main city is Turin, Torino, fantastic place, home of Juventus, once my favourite European football team, when I used to like football. Home of Nutella which used to be and still is one of my favourite things, though I’m currently “aff it” as they say in Glasgow as one spoon is never enough.

 Anyway, back to the wine. I first discovered Barolo when I worked in a wine shop in Glasgow and I liked the fact that it is called the wine of kings and the king of wines, that appealed to me, for some reason? I didn’t learn much about it till a lot later – didn’t sell much of it, well any of it, in that particular shop where Tennant's Lager was the main seller. Luckily, when I did discover it, it turned out to be amongst my favourite wines. Almost certainly top three. However, this is an issue. Like all so-called “great wines” it ain’t cheap. But let’s not worry about that in the meantime.

            More facts for the geeks amongst you; the grape, Nebbiolo, as I said is grown mostly in this region. As always, the terroir, in its physical appearance adds to the pleasure experience. The grapes thrive on the beautiful hillsides where autumnal mists cover the vines whilst pigs search for truffles. Unlike, those other great “B’s” of the wine world, Bordeaux and Burgundy whose grapes have been high jacked by the rest of the wine world, Nebbiolo remains exclusively of the region. Maybe unlike Italian food, it just doesn’t travel well. Who knows but it remains that bit more special, I think, for being uniquely Piemontese...

Like it’s glamourous cousin Pinot Noir from Burgundy it has a light colour, think red-brick but this delicate hue in no way reflects the wine. It’s big, rich and bold, yet elegant and restrained too. Riserva status, like Gran Reserva in Spain, indicates 5 years ageing, including three years in oak, before release. Mine with six years subsequent years development drank perfectly, the tannins subtle though there was still a lot of fruit so it could have waited another five easily. I couldn’t wait. Some people believe that all Barolo needs years before it can be drunk. This isn’t always the case. Generally, the communes to the west, La Morra and Barolo itself are more approachable when young. Soils differences to the east tend to create more complex reds that a need a bit of time. Mine produced in Serralunga D’Alba fits this category. In any case, at best; elegance, finesse and power defines this wine. There is a price to pay, but for special occasions you can’t go wrong and it's nice to feel like a king every so often!

            And as a tip, Barolo’s little sister, Barbaresco, a little more delicate but very appealing nevertheless is also made in the region with Nebbiolo and you won’t have to pay nearly as much. More about that next time. And good luck with dry January...

Red Wine chat and Christmas Suggestions

As a heathen and a non-parent, Christmas never feels as much to me as I’d like. A time of excitement, tradition and love usually manifests itself as just a bit of self-indulgence and guilt so in the spirit of giving which is what Christmas should be, I’m going to hopefully entertain and perhaps enlighten you with a few wine suggestions. It’s hardly turning water into wine, but never mind. And these wines are for life, not just christmas.

            Four wines, four countries, the Latin countries; France, Italy, Spain and Portugal. Where else of course, if you know my tastes. Now what you having for Christmas dinner? Turkey? Beef? Game? Fish?

Can’t really help you with the last one, actually, I’m talking about reds. The first wine is a fascinating one to start with. A red from Rioja? So far, so dull you say but wait. This is anything but dull. Single varietal – rare in Rioja- and it’s rather rare for this grape in general, as a singleton, that is, it’s usually used a blend. A wee ménage-a-trois with Syrah and Mourvèdre, for example.  A grape called Mazuelo. Never heard of it? Maybe you have under a different name. Carignan, in France or Carineña is other parts of Spain. The Spanish like to use their own names sometimes. Just to confuse things further Cariñena is also a region in north-west Spain.

Now Carignan doesn’t have a great reputation. Too much acidity, too much tannin, too much alcohol, not enough fruit or charm. Not quite the Theresa May of the wine world in terms of popularity but perhaps not far off. Thankfully, in the right hands, in the right place, it can be delightful. This one I tried from the Quinta de la Cruz vinery in Rioja was tremendous. Silky, some spice, red and black fruit, full of character and not quite a normal Rioja which is the ultimate excitement, as much of the fun is discovering something surprising.  You will find it on the High street, as a single varietal, most likely from Spain, it’s native home, or perhaps France where it grows in Languedoc.  Some tips, it should be hand-harvested, it’s doesn’t like machines and you'll need to spend at least a tenner or more but it’ll be worth it. They say lamb goes best with this grape but the one I had would have been delighted to spend some time with a pheasant, a partridge or even a turkey as long are there is some cranberry.

Second wine is a Frenchie. Cairanne, Côtes du Rhône Village.  Côtes du Rhônes are easy. If it has a specific name, such as Cairanne, it comes from a specific village, in this case, Cairanne, naturally and that almost certainly guarantees a step-up in quality from the regular Côtes du Rhône. Lower yields, more attention to detail, a little more ageing makes for happy wines. Classic Rhône grapes are involved here, Grenache, Syrah and some of our old friend Carignan, creating a smooth, beautifully balanced and immediately palate-friendly wine that will match beef, venison, partridge but has enough finesse that it’ll partner a turkey. Expect to pay a tenner, fifteen will get you a cracking wine.

Third. Portugal. Southern Portugal specifically. No, not the Algarve you tacky tourists.  The Setubal peninsula. Near Lisbon. A placed called Palmela. A grape called Castelão. I didn’t know this grape and don’t normally drink wine from the southern coastal part of the country. They can be a bit fruit –driven and tannin lacking for my tastes.  You’ve never heard of it, either. Course you haven’t, not really grown outside Portugal and far less well known than say, Touriga Nacional or Tourica Franca etc., the Port grapes. Now most Portuguese wines are mostly grown only in Portugal, making them rather unique. This is their best feature. Uniqueness combined with perfume, weight, lots of fruit, spice and nice tannins would describe these wines at their best. The one I had for example had all these things in abundance.  And again in a nice twist, it’s rare for wines from Portugal to be done as a single varietal. Similar food pairing to the Cairanne, I’d say. I’m not sure how easy the wine I had would be to find so Douro, Dão wines and Alentejo should give you little bit of what you fancy, these being the three best known regions and best represented.  Portugal has lovely, uniquely flavoured wines.  Douro can be a little heavy and alcoholic for my tastes, it is after all the same grapes they use to make Port but if you like that, go for it. Either way dive in, don’t let that flashy and petulant Ronaldo put you off the country’s more noble charms. The wines are anything but.

And finalemente, perhaps the star of today show: a wine from southern Italy! A wonderful and unique grape called Aglianico from a denomination called Taurasi in Campania, South-West Italy a place of mountains and volcanic soil. So romantic and rugged the south of Italy and wines like these are no different. Big powerful tannins, dark fruit such as blackberry and plum and a hint of chocolate. As well as unique minerality from the volcanic soil. That volcanic ash may have killed people in the past as at Pompeii so make sure you raise a glass to those poor soils who died for your pleasure. Wonderful combinations that just shout, TERROIR! Try with it venison or hare if you eat that type of thing. Or strong cheeses. Or beef. You’ll be fine. This one will require decanting to really open up. It’s twin, Alglianico Del Vulture from nearby Basilicata is equally impressive. Either way, expect to pay a bit more for this, but it’s worth it, really.

            Christmas shouldn’t just be about pleasure and self-indulgence but a little bit won’t do any harm.

If you go down to the Loire today....

You never know what you might find.

The Loire Valley is responsible for some great pleasures, white on the surface of it. Sancerre, Pouilly Fumé and other delightful Sauvignon Blancs like Menetou Salon and Reuilly. But dive deeper and there's more. There are tremendous dry and dessert wines made from Chenin Blanc, there’s even Muscadet which I’ve always liked even when it was much derided. It’s actually become a bit trendy recently amongst Sommeliers and the like, but don’t let that put you off. Loire even does fizz, the remarkably good value Crémant de Loire.

            But, it’s red I’m here to talk about, in particular wine made from Cabernet Franc the less glamourous cousin to Cabernet Sauvignon but equally interesting if not more so. Not to denigrate Cab. Sav. as they call it but those understated things in life just appeal to me more. And let’s not forget that one of the world’s most sophisticated and expensive wines, the famous Cheval Blanc from the right bank in Bordeaux is made from a blend of which Cab. Franc is the dominant grape. But in terms of glamour, that’s an exception and so back to the Loire which specializes in this relatively little known gem. Usually around 90 % of the blend, so it really is the barometer for Cab. Franc as a representative expression of the grape. It prefers cooler, inland terroirs hence it thrives in Saumur, Chinon and Bourgeuil, all in the central Loire. It’s not always rosy of course, poor weather can affect the harvest and make it a little insipid but generally speaking these days, it’s pretty consistent. Cabernet Franc is a subtle grape; light to medium bodied, perfumed, red and black fruits depending on individual wine and can be drunk chilled, if you so wish. Enough tannin to make it a good food wine but nothing like it’s macho relative.

            Now, beyond that, discovering it is easy as there’s not that much to choose from. Saumur Champigny if you believe the Sommeliers, is probably the most sophisticated, beautifully balanced and subtle and great with food - as they all are - though not roast beef or anything TOO heavy and rich. Bourgeuil and St. Nicolas de Bourgeuil, generally a bit more intense perhaps less nuanced and earthier though still highly recommended (esp. St. Nicolas) and Chinon, perhaps the best known, again, on the delicate side, but maybe the one to avoid at a low price from supermarket shelves unless it’s drunk chilled and you don’t expect too much. Not that price will be an issue. These wines, if you can find them, can be had for pretty reasonable prices and like all my favourite wines, have their own unique personalities and qualities. A decent amount of searching should bring you sufficient reward and significant pleasure!

http://loirevalleywine.com/appellation/st-nicolas-de-bourgueil/