School. Of. Wine. I don’t think I’ve ever been more eager to learn. At real school, the one where you need to be an actual child, I was a terror. When I was in attendance that is, because if I could help it, I wasn’t. I turned bunking-off into an art form; me and my bezzie mate and partner in crime, Leah. I remember our classmates reporting back a quote from our French teacher who, frustrated at our continued absence burst out, “sod this kids, let’s all bog off down the pub with Helen and Leah.” My parents actually live opposite one of my old teachers, and one day he dared to ask them what I do now. My mum said his face was a picture when she told him about my career in psychology. I can’t say I blame him. Must have been quite the shock.

So I was clearly more interested in boozing than studying, but my oh my, how things change when the two are combined. School of Wine is a once a week, 13 week course, starting out with the basics of tasting and winding on through viticulture, vinification and various wine producing countries; France; Italy; Germany and Austria; Spain and Portugal; Australia and New Zealand; the USA; South Africa and South America. The course finishes with fortified and sweet wines, followed by the grand finale – sparklers and champers, with CHIPS.

Every Monday night, our group gathered around a long, candlelit wooden table in the back of Green and Blue, an award winning wine shop in East Dulwich, specialising in natural wines. You gather and chat and drink and try to stop yourself from slumping under the table by munching on hunks of bread from the local German bakery.

Kate Thal is the wonder-woman running the show. She delivers most of the sessions herself and the depth and breadth of her knowledge is staggering. I can completely relate to her, because we both hate any kind of pretension or snobbery when it comes to food and drink. This anti-elitism is the absolute foundation of School of Wine. You can always tell the difference between someone who really knows their stuff and someone with their head stuck up their own arse because the former will tell you that there are no right or wrong answers when it comes to tasting.

I’ve been through a couple of phases with wine. At first, it was just the complete and utter unknown, I didn’t know where to start. I learned a little bit, met a few unhelpful people, felt silly and overwhelmed. And then I went to wine school.

I learned about the horrors of mass produced wines; the way the grapes are so immature and badly grown that they have literally no character of their own and are ‘flavoured’ with dirty little teabags of artificial nasties. I learned about my favourite grapes and regions; the former are Riesling and Gewürztraminer, the latter Alsace and anywhere that grows Riesling and Gewürztraminer. Extensive notes back up the classes which steer you and your buds up and down rambling hillsides and through lazy 4-hour fantasy dinners of cassoulet, confit and smoky, iron-rich reds. It was a genuinely emotional journey. A grown man and I nearly shed a tear over a Loire Chenin Blanc and I drunkenly agreed to join the Women’s Institute.

If you have an interest in wine, then go go go. This is not your regular selection, but carefully chosen and genuinely interesting. You’ll taste an average of 11 each week and share out the leftovers between you. Some were cloudy, some keenly crisp; there were chilled reds, vegetal, raw, slightly dirty whites and stickies like distilled raisins. What really elevates this course though, is Kate. She is eloquent, witty and engaging. More than one of the boys had a crush on her. Hell, I almost had a crush on her. I dare you to go these classes and not come away with the utmost respect, not just for Kate but for her entire philosophy. She does it for the love, as do the producers she sources from. Some are so small that they are barely making any money from the backbreaking work that is the reality of making decent wine.

There cannot be a wine course in London that is better than this one. You can enter it at literally any level and mine Kate’s brain as little or as much as you want. You will feel inspired and if you’re anything like us, you will gush about it for months afterwards. The classes run on Monday nights, which I suppose is my only criticism. Still, it does ensure that most people are available and I still don’t feel right on a Tuesday morning unless I’ve got a sniff of a hangover. So much so in fact, that I’m going right back to school. Secondary School of Wine is nearly upon us, and I’ve got my brand new pencil case.

Do read fellow student Graeme’s post, which is brilliantly written and much better than this one.
Thanks to Ewan-M for the photo of the shop front.

Green and Blue’s School of Wine costs £325 for 13 weeks of tasting, teaching and learning. I was invited to try it free of charge.

Green and Blue Wines
38 Lordship Lane
East Dulwich
London
SE22 8HJ
T: 0208 693 9250
School of Wine

Food classes are all the rage; I’ve been a dedicated student of  ham school, pig school, steak school and currently,  wine school. I never miss a chance to learn a skill from an expert and I was nothing short of ecstatic to be invited to a butchery class at one of London’s most renowned: Allens of Mayfair.

As our cosy group of six gathered around the famous octagonal butcher’s block to absorb information about safety and don some rather fetching protective gloves (secured around my dainty laydee hand with a couple of laccy bands), I found I became strangely nervous. The kind of nerves you get when you really want to make someone proud; it seemed that David (one of two owners) had already become like a favourite teacher – I didn’t want to let him down.

I needn’t have worried – this is about as friendly as it gets and yet utterly professional. We stood, mouths hanging agape watching David butcher a whole lamb, instructing us to ‘”let the knife do the work” and to “move the meat around – it’s already dead.” He shimmied it back and forth across the block with the ease of an entirely automatic action; the knife like a natural extension of his arm. To watch the pros at work is really something; I can see why many top London restaurants choose Allens, London’s oldest butcher’s shop, as a supplier.

We giggled as David mused on the difference between the male and female approach to the classes. Apparently men tend to barge in with testosterone fuelled caveman hackery while women, in general, adopt a more careful, considered style. A stereotype of course but also a valuable message: butchery is an art, a skill – not a lesson in who can make one lump of meat into many in the shortest time possible.

We began the class with the humble chook. Now I’ve hacked away at many a bird in my time and despite owning a copy of ‘Knife Skills Illustrated’ and having free and easy access to Google, I’m ashamed to say I’ve never looked up the proper method for jointing. That leg joint has flummoxed me on too many occasions; on Saturday I learned that all one needs to do to release that joint is put a hand underneath and push upwards.

The extra trick with the legs is also to preserve the ‘oyster’ – regarded by some (including, famously, Marco Pierre White) as the most delicious morsel of meat on the entire bird. I failed miserably on my first attempt but nailed it on the second (above, the one on the left has the oyster, at the top).

Next was oxtail; the trick here to locate each joint and then slice just next to it – your knife should glide through easily. If it doesn’t you know you’re off track. Most of us needed help – some joints are more elusive than others. Everyone took pride in lining up their pieces in size order as suggested.

After the simplicity of the oxtail it was on to a French-trimmed rack of lamb. This was daunting due to the need for sawing of bones but careful supervision left us all with a  rack to be proud of. No sniggering at the back please…

The grand finale was just that;  jitters set in – what if we made a wrong cut? A spectacular 3 bone piece of sirloin demanded all our attention and respect. The challenge was to remove the bone, the unwanted fat and gristle and roll, securing the joint with some surprisingly tricksy butcher’s knots. Our teachers really excelled themselves in terms of patience and attentiveness; we were all terrified of making a wrong slice on a clearly expensive piece of meat.

At the end of approximately 1 1/2 hours, a quick squiz around the room revealed a bunch of people with silly, cheesy grins. The team at Allens are charming, patient, funny and extremely good at what they do. That’s not a gushing, biased blurb but a heartfelt recommendation that you try this class for yourself. It costs £100 and you will take home valuable experience, knowledge and a shed load of high quality meat that you have butchered with your very own hands. It is extremely good value. Schoolin’ just doesn’t get better than this.

See Allens website for details. Type of meat and cuts change according to availability and season.

Allens of Mayfair
117 Mount Street,
London W1K 3LA
Tel: 020 7499 5831

Full Flickr set here

I am not a regular visitor to Clapham. Mostly, it seems to be full of the kind of bars that think they are unique but are actually based on the template of All Bar One. My heart yearns for a proper boozer. The only time I’ve ever really dragged my judgemental ass over there, was to get loaded in the park. I’ve also been to Trinity a few times; each visit finding myself befuddled trying to work out who exactly they are catering for.

Head chef Adam Byatt offered the explanation of “everyone”. Customers in Clapham are mixed: young and hipsterish, yummy and mummyish, older couples with older kids. It’s a local restaurant with a whole lot of target customer on its plate; you’ve got to admire them rising to the challenge. Adam also keeps himself busy running cooking sessions at the kind of schools that require you to pass through a metal detector on the way in, and now they are running classes for the grown ups too, like this one – ‘The Pig’.

I never turn down an invite to anything with pig in the title and so found myself seated around the chef’s table watching Adam portion a half loin of Gloucester Old Spot on the bone, from Blackwell Farm, in Essex. The demonstration would be followed by a meal featuring various bits of one they prepared earlier, matched with Trimbach wines. You can do this too, for £70, although your meal will be served with a selection of ciders and perrys.

Adam selected a large saw from his surgical tray of implements and took to dissecting the loin with gusto. Sweat beaded his brow as he wrestled to remove the rack, puffing out his enthusiasm for buying whole and butchering, as it encourages the development of the chefs’ craft, allows for greater control over cuts and gives you more bang for your buck.

The rack removed, it was cleaned and trimmed, with all bits of extra meat going into a pot to be minced and mixed with onions, prunes, sage, chestnuts, thyme, breadcrumbs and sloshes of port and brandy. Its heady, herbaceous fragrance wafted around the table, piquing appetites for the meal ahead.

The stuffing was layered between meat and skin and tied up with heat resistant string in an appropriately cheffy manner.

And then it was time. The meal began with plump, rosemary-scented devils on horseback followed by spectacular biscuit like ‘flatbreads’ for scooping up dollops of smoky whipped taramasalata. Next, a white onion and thyme velouté, which triggered a hazy memory; I’m sure I’ve had it before here as an amuse. Deeply savoury, silky smooth and seasoned with pin point accuracy, it came in a small bowl which was actually a big cup. The only right way to consume this was by picking it up, although I saw others daintily spooning. It didn’t see eye to eye with a spiky 2007 Riesling sadly, which seemed a rather harsh accompaniment.

Smoked eel, steamed oyster and sole goujons with horseradish cream was “about as pretty as Trinity gets” according to the chef. This first experience of a steamed oyster was dominated mostly by alarm at its bogey-like appearance. It didn’t prove much more pleasant in the eating. The smoked eel sliver was perfect though, coating the mouth with its lingering oil and cut with horseradish bite. A very saline dish, buffered charmingly by the softness of a pretty leek terrine.

Pig’s trotters on toast were a gelatinous treat, cut by a pared down gribiche, which thankfully omitted the usual chopped eggs and much of the oil, presumably to avoid overkill against the rich, gummy trotters. A perfect strip of blistered pig skin balanced its bubbly self on top.

Trimbach Pinot Noir Reserve 2007 arrived alongside, but I failed to jot a single letter about it. At this point, the wine people started having a very in-depth technical discussion about some winey thing or other; I switched off and contemplated how best to steal the piece of neglected crackling on my neighbour’s plate. Food will always be my first love.

Pork belly came water bathed (for 16 hours), pressed and slicked with maple glaze and accompanied by cockles, celery heart and black olive oil mash. The combination of shellfish and pork is a personal favourite, but here I felt the cockles were slightly ill fitting, particularly against the aesthetically challenged mash. I think Douglas describes it rather well in his post as evoking “a pat from a cow prescribed a laxative-only diet.” Quite.

A quince tart tatin was thankfully just the right size for once (what is it with those monstrous versions?), glossy with oozing caramel and perfumed with star anise, as was the accompanying floral syrup: Gewürztraminer Selection De Grains Nobles (’89). My favourite wines are nearly always Gewürztraminers, unless they are Rieslings. This is because I have a “hyper-sensitive” palate according to a tall man in a suit who gave me a sticker to prove it. A bold, sticky, harmonious marriage between liquor and pud.

Throughout the meal, the enthusiasm and charm of Jean Trimbach, Adam Byatt and (sommelier) Rupert Taylor was unrelenting and there were moments when my tongue was tied by the magic of a developing wine or a stunning element on the plate. Sadly, some of the food and wine matches felt forced and in these instances I couldn’t suppress the longing for one of those bubbly ciders. You need not worry about this however. Consume your Trimbach wine as you wish and keep an eye on Adam Byatt and Trinity; not everything coming out of that kitchen is perfect, but ambitions are high, sights are set and there’s a driving force of pure passion. I wish them all the success in the world.

The Trinity Pig masterclass costs £70 per person, including the butchery demonstration and lunch, matched with ciders and perrys. It runs from 10am-1pm. The next class will be held on Tuesday 2nd March. You can find details of other classes here.

You can see the rest of my photos from the evening here.

Trinity Restaurant
4 The Polygon
Clapham
London
SW4 0JG
Tel: 020 7622 1199
www.trinityrestaurant.co.uk

Trimbach Wines