While Ramadan lays down a precise and universal schedule of privation, Lent is a matter of individual choice. It is for each Christian to decide what to renounce, the only stipulation being that it should be something enjoyable. The contrast here - between a religion of obedience and one of choice - should not be lost on readers of this column, who have every reason to be grateful to a faith that has made wine both sacred in itself, and the first of its founder's miracles.
How, in view of this, can I be expected to give up wine for Lent? Sure, I could give up a particular kind - New World wine, for instance. But do I enjoy it so much, that renouncing it would be a sacrifice? Corney & Barrow's offer for the Wine Club arrived on the very eve of Ash Wednesday, and I discovered that yes, I could sacrifice New World wines with an easy conscience, because they can be as good, or almost as good, as the real thing.
Take the Millfield Shiraz from Australia's Hunter Valley. You can taste searing sunlight, eucalyptus, soil and sweat in this magnificent soup of flavours; maturation in old French oak has imparted an ironical smoothness not unlike that of Dame Edna at her most ludicrously coy. This wine enables you to understand not only why Australia has overtaken France as an exporter of wine to the Brits, but also why France has overtaken Australia as an importer of Brits to the wine. You can drink this climate with pleasure, but could you really live in it?
Quieter and less satirical in style is the Araucano Merlot from the Colchagua Valley in Chile. But what would you expect? The wine is made by two globe-trotting Frenchmen, Jacques and Francois Lurton, who have snatched up land next to the picturesque old-world village of Lolol, and encouraged the locals to devote themselves to the Chilean national pastime of reliving the culture of Europe. This is an old-world wine in new-world bottles, full but gentle, and a superb accompaniment, we discovered, to jugged hare.
Chenin Blanc is easy to grow but hard to like. This example, from Stellenbosch in South Africa, is not only maximally strong (nearly 14 per cent) but has a deep, flowery aroma and a clean, sharp attack. Great care went into its production, and it will improve as the wines from several old plantations mature and combine in the bottle. Finally the Sauvignon Blanc: very much what you would expect from Marlborough, New Zealand, although produced by refugees from the British media. Rod and Di Lofthouse began making their wine in 1995, and since then every vintage has won a medal. After tasting it I decided that it really would be a sacrifice to give up NZ Sauvignon. So for the next few weeks I shall be sticking to Sancerre.
