After the incredible madness of December, January is a horrible month. I feel thin in January, and sadly I don’t mean weight-wise. Just thin. A large part of feeling like this is because this is the month my little brother died: it will be ten years next week since he did. But as the month goes on I’m being fattened up by life. Watching my children run in the low winter sunlight. Seeing Currently Bearded Husband tending to his leaf-burning bonfires. Pulling up the blinds to a breath-taking pink and blue dawn (even though I’d rather be sleeping). I sense hope in the air. And he’s there.

Current white in fridge: Cantina di Monteforte Passo Avanti 2009 Soave, Italy, £5.69, Waitrose.com
Italy grows over 1000 different grape varieties across a million vineyards. The Italians drink quite a bit of it themselves but they export more wine than any other country. Much of what we get is the ubiquitous Pinot Grigio but when you start exploring other indigenous Italian white grape varieties, it gets much more interesting. This one is made from the Garganega grape and made in the Veneto region by a New Zealander. The result is a lemon/apple/pear mash up with gorgeous sunshine fruit. It sings rather than shouts, just as I like it. Put it with simple roast chicken. 


Current red on side: Montgras Carmenere Reserva 2010, Chile, £6.40, Waitrose.com
I plonked for this one when doing the online shop (told you it wouldn’t be the last time), always a bit more risky because you can’t really tell what the label is like. I do like a nice-looking label. Anyway, this was a joy. It was wintery, squashed full of bramble fruit and topped off with a lovely waft of spice. For years, the Carmenere grape was mistaken for Merlot in Chile and the two grapes were harvested and vinified (made) together. Now, it is often vinified separately. Good job too, as Carmenere has a bit more grip and attitude than Merlot. Made from grapes grown in the up-and-coming Colchagua Valley. Loved it with roast beef on Sunday.

Here’s hoping x

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25 Comments

  1. This is lovely. Sad, but lovely. Here's a cup of tea (this is one of those two days a week) to you and your bro.

    And thank you for your comment – you have encouraged me to stop lurking here and start commenting.

    And I need to recommend you to my currently bearded husband – although as he's just bought a barrel (yes you did read that right) of Olivier Leflaive Les Setilles in bond (he's sharing it, but still), I don't need any white recommendations for a while, thanks…

  2. planb – ah, thank you *clinks tea cup*. Love your blog. Stop lurking x ps – Olivier Leflaive Les Setilles….YUM. That'll keep you going for a while…

  3. Heard your mum mentioned on Jeremy Vine (radio 2) talking about your brother as I drove through Beaulieu yesterday afternoon. Serendipity maybe? I remember sitting in the bath with you, Alex & Tim many, many years ago! Thinking of you all at this difficult anniversary. Loving your blog. cxxx

  4. I lost my little brother seven years ago and was thinking about him all day today. Your post hit a chord.

  5. Will raise a glass of Vermentino to Tim tonight and also to my dear daddy who would have been 70 today! xx

  6. I'm sorry KM – but yes, thin is the right word for January

    Have added those to my order for this week – need some nice kitchen wine to help get through the rest of this month

  7. Gosh, ten years. Thinking of you all. Pooey January x

  8. Thinking of you all x

  9. Yes, January is a enough rotten month even without those sad memories. Hope you get through it OK, sending warm wine-free thoughts x

  10. KM – hugs to you – January definitely is crappy. My 'loss' month is March (little sis) but at least there are flowers, blossoms and all the signs of spring to bring a little cheer to the sadness…

  11. Oh you must have been so close to him, you have described the pain so well. It's an odd time as nappy valley girl said. Have to think of it as new beginnings but not doing too well on that…I am trying to cut down on my week-day drinking by slugging down non-alcoholic beer (it does the trick)

  12. I'm so sorry. So sad.

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