23 April 2015

28 Days Later


Here I am, nearly, twenty eight days after a perversely prescribed sobriety of the same measure. I scribe from the comfort of a pair of newly acquired beige canvas trousers. You can see, beyond any shadow of doubt, that the re-calibration has been a difficult one and I veer dangerously close to the obnoxious. So profoundly have I missed the clink of mismatched Riedel that my malted pursuits have fallen totally astray and my vinous escapades only intensified, I only fear that I am a step shy from ascending the ranks of the red trousered regiment and regaling you of a quaint 'Bojo' flight I had in the local oeno-café.
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@Rob_Gilmour has been writing for Empty for too long to mention, he is currently working in wine in Edinburgh where he runs @Wine_Edinburgh and somehow has found time to be Vice-President of the @IWSScotland. Being a balanced, multifaceted individual Rob's only interest in not wine, he is also interested in wine education as well having passed with distinction his WSET L3, not to mention Rob has a fondness for having his ego stroked, demonstrated the purring he made while receiving a WSET Scholarship. If you'd like to contact him email: emptyglassie@gmail.com


Thankfully, while I sail perilously close, my oenophilic dogma has left me rooted. What I mean to say is I really can't abide the wearing of red trousers, or the turn of phrase 'Bojo'. Fuck that; Call it by it's name. The only greater nonsense to get my goat in greater measure, in fact, is the draping dumb-fuckory that is the someone lauding more 'Champers' be poured. I am as always, digressing, and to subtly steer myself back to my predestined course I will come to my point; I have been engaging in my usual hypocritical-highfalutin-wankery and been subject of a short flight of Italian biodynamic wines in the most recent addition to Edinburgh's wine scene, Anfora. 

Anfora is of course the subject of this piece and in my eyes one of the most integral pieces of greater Edinburgh's Vinous identity. Every city with attempting to retrospectively forge it's identity as a wine 'port' city needs a standard bearer. Dublin, with her Docks has Ely housed in the chq, a beautiful venue harking back to a beautiful history of 'exotic' imports arriving into the simple stone archways of a bond. The inclusion of the almost pre-historical Mitchell and Sons in the same building only helps to further the feel. The chq bond, dating to around 1820, was the design of Lothian mind, John Rennie an architectural giant of his age. 
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Like what you've read? Have a wee gander at another post: Empty & Full; The Stop, Start nature of Empty

24 four miles from Preston Kirk the birth place of Rennie, lies Anfora, and it's housing and the view from my living room window, the Vaults of Leith. Rennie, no stranger to Leith will have know the Vaults. He had seen his plans for the redevelopment of Leith Harbour realised in 1817 at least three years before the completion of the chq building in in Dublin. This rejuvenation of Leith's docks by Rennie secured another 200 years of prosperity for Leith. Yet, long before Rennie's works in either Dublin or Leith, the Vaults had been busy preserving the trials of time.

There seems to be some discussion as to when the Vaults where constructed, with the architectural styles of the building disagreeing with the anecdotal history of the building. Whatever the exact date for the initial build of the vaults, the ground floor, now Anfora, would have been completed in the late 1580s. Sometime before the home of Dublin's flagship wine bar was conceived in the mind of Rennie. 

In it's more recent history, the Vaults hosted a wine bar, The Vintner's Rooms, alas, it seems of tlate that wonderful, almost idealist idea's come to die on Leith's Henderson Street, need I mention The Vintage, however unlike the Vintage, I could not bemoan this particular loss as it, like the Vaults to Rennie, pre-dates my time in this city, closing in 2011. Instead I am taunted by tales of the marvels that lay inside, the surrounds that seemed to have been set to almost surreal levels of perfection. 
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Like what you've read? Have a wee gander at another post: Smoke & Substance

Thankfully, the Vintner's Rooms has had a new lease of life (Oddly enough, just as The Vintage has too in the form of the equally impressive V Deep). Now, under the guise of the Anfora, Edinburgh has regained a jewel her vinous crown. It's taken me nearly, twenty eight days of sobriety, and then almost the same again to cross the threshold as a soul looking for libation. Even then, I have only popped in for a drop and a gargle. How, so far, do I judge this jewel? 

Anfora is, first off, beautiful. Crossing the cusp of the surrounding stone walls is something of a gateway from the real world to start. Here you are, the trample of tyres rattling off the cobbles over the wall and all around weather carved and set stone. A stairway in the courtyard leads to the lofty heights of the Malt Whisky Society while tucked away, cosily beneath the climb lies Anfora's fresh regal robes to the world, a striking heavy black door. Truly transcending the boundaries, you descend, literally. Only a step, mind you, but the psychological impact rings home, you have curled away from reality. The intrusion of a bright day is checked within and the lighting is comforting, soft. Almost, as if it were trying to mime your hosts.

Out they come, from behind the bar, to greet more personally; They've already managed a sincere smile and hello. "Just popping in for a drink, if that's okay?" garners a table for two wherever might take your fancy. Drinks are ordered, promptly delivered. And finally, we come to the point. It's a wine bar. It's about the wine. I the flight, my companion, minder and general yoke, Zara, a Riesling. 
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Like what you've read? Have a wee gander at another post: Why we Drink.

A nod of contentment traverses across the table from my CMaGY. The flight comes in to land, a warning. The Catarratto, it's au naturel. Bare, unfildded (Bar of course, the picking, delivery to the winery and failure to finish the wine that is). It is cloudy. I mean cloudy apple juice cloudy. It's also, characterful, charming and never quite enough so your mouth trundles back to the glass. It's fresh, and rugged, but quirky and interesting and I want more. The Valpolicella is rustic, textured, and as I am on a Valpolicella reappraisal binge, I think it unfair to mutter to much in the way of praise for a glass of wine I desperately wanted to like (And, did with ease). 

So it comes to one of those grapes, great, but. Nero d'Avola. Over yielded, it's still great but for the nagging of the oeno-dogma of "If only". Yet, the sole 'if only' to come here is if I could only 'if only'. The glass has concentration, depth and character. There is an element of fire to it. Maybe this is the fire to the smoke of all the Uisce Beatha lurking in our rafters. Not that your surrounds allow your thoughts to flee these ancient surrounds. 

The usual dream shattering, occurs. "Bill, please." Squeaky bum time. 'It' arrives, shy of £15. One full glass and three very decent tasters. Not a dud among the lot. Not to mention the waitress has already caught you up in conversation. The Hungarian chef, it appears, is Michelin star trained and our Italian host mimics a kiss to his produce. I might burden you and say, I am even now feeling over due a return. When, interesting wine at nothing shy of excellent value is served up in settings as amazing as the Vaults by such enthusiastic and friendly staff, it would be an affront not to. Edinburgh's new jewel is shining quite brightly it seems.  


                               

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