I’ve been “holding space” in this particular corner of the Guardian for a few weeks now, and don’t believe I’ve introduced myself properly. Hi, I’m Hannah. I’m a Virgo (which apparently means I’m organised), I’m a size three shoe (so I get all the good stuff in the sales) and I’m enormously delighted to be this paper’s new drinks writer.
How did I end up here? Well, it’s a long story and I have only 500 words, so I’ll tell you the first chapter for now. We have a long time to get to know each other.
To begin at the beginning, they say it’s the fate of all writers to mine their family for material, but when I found out I’d got this new gig, the Crosbies gave a collective sigh of relief. You see, I was raised by two parents who, at one point, were both social workers which, coupled with a rather awkward, friendless youth, meant there wasn’t much opportunity to partake of the great British pastime of underage drinking. The few parties I was invited to, I’d spend an hour beforehand pleading with my mother to let me have a can of cider. She never yielded. I get it. It’s not a good look if you’ve dedicated your working life to helping children in need, and your own brood are off in a park somewhere chugging Strongbow Dark Fruit.
It wasn’t until my first restaurant job at 15 that I was properly introduced to booze. While being quite bad at holding three plates in two hands, I had my first meaningful opportunity to interact with wine. The mostly Italian wine list fitted neatly on a single side of A4, and from this sheet of paper I learned the basics. Red wine with steak. Seven glasses of prosecco per bottle. Pinot noir is a grape. Chianti is a place.
Over the next six years, while working on-and-off during my studies, I became just as interested in who was drinking as in what was in their glass. I will never forget two office workers who came in at 1pm one Wednesday. They’d met their annual targets a month early and ordered a bottle of Perrier Jouët Belle Époque to celebrate. The experience was almost ceremonial: I polished the special glasses painted with the same white-and-pink Japanese anemone painted on to the bottle. I poured carefully, observing their glee as the froth rose to the top of the glass, then ebbed back past the flowers and into a golden pool.
I watched customers inspect wine through candlelight, telling me what they liked, what they didn’t, and tales of vineyards they’d visited on their holidays. At this point in my life, I had been abroad only once, so hearing about long car rides, vineyard walks and cellar tours filled me with excitement and romance.
I’ve now seen enough cellars to last a lifetime, but my curiosity remains. I’m still just as interested in you, the drinker, as I am with what’s in your glass. I look forward to finding out what you like, what you don’t like and your own experiences. As I said, we have a long time to get to know each other. I can’t wait.
Four go-to bottles
Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut NV £39.95 (down from £50) Jeroboams, 12%. Floral and peachy notes make this an unmistakable champagne. A good offer, too.
Tesco Finest Pedro Ximénez £7.25 (37.5cl), 15%. PX was the first sherry I ever tried. It’s rich, figgy and good drizzled over puddings.
The Society’s Sicilian Reserve Red 2021 £8.95 The Wine Society, 13.5%. As a nod to the nearly all-Italian list that started my journey, this cooperative-made Sicilian red is equal parts fruity and spicy.
Three Choirs Vineyards Coleridge Hill 2022 £11.99, Grape Britannia, 11%. I’m currently in an English still wine phase, and this blend is all elderflower cordial with crisp citrus on the palate.
