The most magical of all grapes is Pinot Noir. It takes on an ethereal shimmer when it ages. It is often likened to autumn woodlands, and the gentle scent of decay - leaves rotting into damp earth - becomes a part of its flavour. It can feel like drinking ghosts, both life and death at once.

Younger Pinot Noir picks its way across the palate like a tightrope walker. It tastes as the sap of a cherry tree ought to, or a strawberry leaf. There is promise and vibrancy, but never anything so flagrant as blowsiness.

For some winemakers, it is the "holy grail" - hard to grow, hard to produce good wine from, and therefore viewed as a "test". It cleaves to cooler vineyards, thriving most notably in Burgundy and New Zealand. It is no swiggers' drink.

Recently, I have become somewhat obsessed with it. The craving began after a bottle of Jacques and Francois Lurton's Les Fumees Rouges, Vin de Pays d'Oc 2001, which I drank on a heady evening in Le Caprice as summer was just beginning. It was a sumptuous Pinot Noir with all the power of the White Queen's Turkish Delight.

Then I went on holiday. In a rather swanky restaurant in the south of France, we had quite the best bottle of red Sancerre (also made from Pinot Noir) I have ever drunk - Pascal Jolivet's Sancerre Rouge La Bondenotte 2002. It was served lightly chilled and was utterly delicious. Alas, it is not to be found anywhere in this country.

So what is to be done? One of the best-kept Pinot Noir secrets is also one of the most unlikely. The Prahova Valley Pinot Noir Reserve 1999 (Sainsbury's, £4.29) is from Romania and it is a thoroughbred. It has confounded experts who praised it in a blind tasting above dozens of other more likely-sounding candidates. Do be sure to buy the "Reserve" version of this wine - barely more expensive than the ordinary one and superior by quite a stretch.

There is also the Nepenthe Pinot Noir from the Adelaide Hills, Australia (Oddbins, £13.99), which is currently on special offer - buy one, get one free. The offer makes it extremely good value and I enjoyed my bottle, though I must confess that, for me, the sprinkling of fairy dust was not present in this wine. On the other hand, the Jackson Estate Pinot Noir, New Zealand (Majestic, £10.99) has the irresistible teasing presence of a just-withheld promise, caught in the wisps of its delicate fragrance.

At the moment, that is all. I have my roving eye on the expensive Pinot Noirs from New Zealand's North Island district of Wairarapa. It may be folly to try them, and find myself in their thrall. So far, I have resisted the pressure they would place on my finances. If I succumb, I will report back.