Last month my cousin and I visited a vineyard in Kent, Squerryes. It is a huge estate and has been in the Warde family since the early eighteenth century. We met Henry Warde and did a tasting of their sparkling wines. He was very UC English (upper-class). They’ve only been producing wine for less than a decade, but all three that we tasted were very good.
There are several wineries across the south of England – last summer I visited one as far north as Yorkshire. It is a new industry, a result, no doubt, of global warming. I chose not to mention that to Henry Warde. You know, no digging him in the ribs with my elbow and saying, “So, Hank, that whole dying planet thing seems to be working well for you, doesn’t it?” Maybe not on.
It was a very impressive set-up: the wine shop, a lovely restaurant overlooking their woodlands, a brewery, and a delicatessen. We got talking to the Master of Wines, and my cousin introduced me, as she always does, “This is my Canadian cousin, Elaine. She lives in Orkney.” Which gets the same conversation going, why Orkney? where in Canada? But the conversation became slightly less typical when I said just northeast of our Niagara wine region (usually I say I’m from just outside Toronto, then they tell me they know someone in Vancouver. Same routine each time.). This time the response was, “ooh, the home of ice wines!” And then she proceeded to show me the Peller Estate Ice Wine they carry in their shop! That’s the first Canadian wine I’ve seen this side of the Atlantic.
I bought seven English wines that day: three were gifts, one was for my New Years Eve/Day dinners, one is for my wine tasting group’s meeting in February, and the other two are sitting in the utility room, gently calling to me. I resist. For now.