2021 in the Rearview Mirror

BY NEAL MARTIN | DECEMBER 20, 2021

In a slight change of format, I recount the last year month by month. Instead of a “Top 100 Wines from East Uzbekistan, Pet Nat Rosé Category,” I’ve just racked my brain to remember some of the bottles that stuck in my memory and helped me through 2021.

January

I. Hate. January. I am suffering acute January blues while the world is in full lockdown. COVID-19 cases rocket to the point where I look at the daily statistics through my fingers. All events are canceled. Life is canceled. The blank tasting calendar reinforces how much my routine had revolved around traveling, dining or wine events, which are three good things for life to revolve around. I’m tetchy. I hibernate in my lockup, located between the town’s refuse site and an abattoir, sampling 2018 Bordeaux, like solitary confinement in Alcatraz but with more Grand Cru Classés. Pallets of wine land outside my house like UFOs; my driveway has been renamed “Roswell.” Boxes are lugged across town (good for my “guns”), whereupon countless bottles are opened, fingers lacerated by razor-sharp capsules as a polystyrene mountain grows behind me. What to do with all the glass after Surrey County Council confiscated the bottle bank? That’s a bit inconvenient when around 1,000 bottles of wine are arriving – or at least those that passed UK customs, whose thirsty officers have a penchant for claret. Still, my neighbors are happy as Larry when opened bottles materialize on doorsteps (can’t let good wine go to waste). I serve blind the remnants of 2018 Petrus with Mrs. M’s shepherd’s pie, in what might be the only time this food and wine combo has ever been attempted. It actually works rather well. I make a mental note to suggest it to Olivier Berrouet… if I’m ever allowed to travel to Petrus again.

Memorable bottles: 2014 Sérilhan; 2018 Petrus

February

I turn “the big five-oh” in February. When I turned “four-oh,” I organized the infamous KFC at The Ledbury bash. Ten years later and The Ledbury’s future is uncertain as the nation’s restaurants are mothballed. A few are offering take-out meal kits. I order one from the excellent Lorne (see below) for a half-century innings that needs celebrating, since I almost didn’t get there. Dressing up for the occasion makes it feel special; I don my ludicrously expensive tuxedo, which has enjoyed one poxy outing in two years (and no, it was not to Guildford’s refuse site or the abattoir). A very munificent friend wings two bottles of 1971 La Fleur-Pétrus for the dinner (thanks once again). Birthday aside, I continue plowing through 2018s. With tastings, dinners and travel eviscerated, I feel anxious about the wellspring of future articles. My once fathomless reserve is being whittled down. Is this the end? Maybe I’ll be forced to review sub-five-quid supermarket wines or, even worse, natural wines. My palate will never forgive me. At least I had my first COVID vaccine. It feels like the start of a fightback.  

Memorable bottles: 1971 La Fleur-Pétrus; 2019 Minimalist Wines Stars In The Dark

My daughters filling in as waitresses for my 50th birthday in the middle of lockdown. They did a grand job and I didn’t have to pay them.

March

Last year, as we entered the first lockdown, spirits were lifted by the unseasonably warm and sunny weather. It signified hope. This year, the weather in March is absolute crap. En primeur is canceled for the second time toward the end of the month. Practically the day after the 2018s have finished washing up on my driveway, the first of another 1,000 bottles of 2020 begin arriving, with attendant requests for Zoom chats. At least the COVID figures are turning the right way and we are on the prime minister’s “Road to Recovery.” I just hope there are no roadworks en route.   

Memorable bottles: 2018 Fourcas-Hosten Blanc, 2010 La Dauphine

April

In April, I am swamped by primeur samples and Zoom calls, constantly mouthing “You’ve got your mute on” to my computer screen. Zoom has been a savior, yet it makes me yearn to see people in the flesh. Restaurants are allowed to reopen, though only for al fresco dining. Hey, I’ll take that. I book two dinners, one at the sensational Brat. I cannot describe the elation as Tomos Parry’s legendary whole turbot graces our table after months of domestic dining (no disrespect to Mrs. M’s culinary skills). The turbot and the socializing are almost too much. It’s life-affirming to be out with friends, chatting over the hubbub of noise, that unfamiliar sound of shouting and laughter. The following week sees my first upmarket wine dinner with a 1982 La Tâche that steals the show. Decadence is back on the menu – as long as it’s outside.

Memorable bottles: 2007 Rolly Gassmann Pinot Gris Rottleibel de Rorschwihr Vendanges Tardives; 1971 Domaine Clair-Dau Gevrey-Chambertin Clos Saint-Jacques 1er Cru; 1982 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti La Tâche; 2008 Mvemve Raats MR de Compostella

May

Okay, now we’re talking. In May we have the first day with no recorded COVID deaths in the UK, though this is a false dawn – we’re far from being out of the woods as Delta rears its ugly head. I have my second jab. I know it’s not 100% protective, yet it makes me feel better by exactly the same percentage. Inside dining is permitted at the end of the month, and I venture into London to catch up with friends and see if they can remember who I am. By chance, I bump into someone taking elevenses in Soho. It’s a novel feeling: the unexpected delight of seeing a familiar face, the forgotten randomness of everyday life and the cheery hello. I have not traveled to France since last October, so at the earliest opportunity, one day before Macron changes the rules of entry at the end of May, I throw everything in the back of my car and drive from my home to Bordeaux. It might be a 1,000-kilometer schlep, but with hardly a traffic cone in sight, it’s a breeze, even if my daughters have infected my perfectly curated car playlist with Korean boy bands. Six weeks are planned: three in Bordeaux, then Mâcon, Beaujolais, Chablis and, finally, fingers crossed, the Burgfest white 2017s postponed from last year. On the downside, my French has become even worse, if that is linguistically possible.

Memorable bottles: 1978 Château de Pommard Pommard; 2007 Jacques Selosse; Extra Brut Millésime Grand Cru; 2007 Domaine Sylvain Cathiard Romanée-Saint-Vivant Grand Cru 

June