Reception at Lafite

Vinexpo, the great biennial Wine Fair in Bordeaux is not so much an exhibition as an excuse for partying. The Wine Trade – all of it – comes here and can, of course, party pretty well. But a big, hot, mile-long shed, placed at the hub of all the worst traffic jams in Bordeaux is not the best place to party. It’s a good place to avoid.

Especially when for miles in almost every direction there are the loveliest wine châteaux in the world. The owners of these châteaux compete with each other for partying … as well as for Parker Points and prices. Some have the means to do it rather well.

And you are going to hate me. Last night I went to Lafite-Rothschild. Me, my boy Tom and nephew Andrew from our Sydney office. As Monsieur Ali our constant taximan drove us in late afternoon sun through gently rolling immaculate Médoc vineyards, past all the turreted and castellated wonders, like a drive through the most expensive wine list in the world. I swear the boys' lower jaws did drop.

We posed before Margaux, bowed towards Latour, gasped at Beychevelle and Palmer. And and and....






We arrived at Lafite and a beaming Baron Eric. We weren't first there. We thought we'd be fashionably late; we were second.

On the terrace lawns we scoffed perfect oysters and Spanish ham as well as little delicacies that just materialised before us. I got introduced as “our biggest customer in Britain” which surprised me but then the Baron has quite a lot of Domaines apart from Lafite … which our customers are enthusiastic about.

At dinner we had first his Aussieres. One sip of that took me right back to Narbonne last week. Then the Caro Malbec took me right back to Mendoza two months ago, and the Dix from Los Vascos similarly back to Chile. The fourth wine was Lafite '83! Thing was, the other wines were not eclipsed. It was perfectly fine to serve them alongside possibly the greatest wine in the world just now. £1000+ (a bottle!) The Baron and his team do things well.

Met old friends, made new. Clambered into M. Ali's taxi. Then … a bit of a blur, rushing about, and I'm back home in England reading that 65 year olds have had their wine allowances halved. Thud. Back to earth. I may emigrate.