Christmas at The Eversley
December, 2009 - James and Claire wanted Evie to spend her first Christmas at home, so they arranged to come down in the week between Christmas and New Year. As a result we had a relatively quiet weekend, although it didn't start well. On the Wednesday before Christmas Jill was going to the shops for some last minute essentials when her car-key 'self-destructed'. The plastic fob split in half and the electronic thingamajig inside flirted out, meaning that the key wouldn't start the car. In the event she used my key instead, but on examining hers, I saw that the metal blade of the key fits into a tiny socket in the fob, held in place by a screw, so that when the key is turned all the strain goes on to this small 'junction'. Anyway, it was too close to Christmas to do anything about it, and we're changing the car in March anyway, so I thought we would manage with one key between us.
James, Claire and Evie duly came down on the Monday after Christmas, and James went out to move our car so that they could park. As he inserted the key into the lock, exactly the same thing happened as had happened to Jill's key: it split apart, the thingamajig leapt out and, to make matters worse, the plastic fob came completely away from the blade, which was still in the ignition. It would neither turn nor be removed. We managed to release the handbrake and push the car forward successfully but, of course, the steering was locked so it could only move a few feet.
For the record, the car is a Proton Impian X, first registered on the 26th April, 2005, so coming up for five years old, and with about 26,000 miles from new. I bought it from the garage which had sold it new, and they've serviced it ever since, so it's been well looked-after. At this age, of course, everything is well out of guarantee, but as I put in my letter of complaint to Proton UK about the two keys 'self-destructing' within five days of each other: "I am no mathematician, but I think that random odds for this happening must be close to those for being hit by a meteorite or winning the national lottery".
As the car was neither driveable nor towable they had to send a truck to pick it up, and we got it back a week later with two new keys, along with a bill for £338.11. They keys are £76.38 plus VAT - a nice little earner for Proton, I'll warrant. They should receive my letter by the end of the week, and I'll record here what the outcome is. [See 15-Jan-10 above]
Anyway, once the car business was out of the way we got down to the serious business of Christmas. Jill always puts on a spread of nibbly bits (mostly prawny and crabby things) for when they arrive, and we somehow managed to get down a magnum of Jacquart Brut de Nominée, especially since I only had one glass (not much of a lover of fizzy wine, although the others made up for it, especially James).
We had decided not to do the present thing until the Tuesday morning, so the next stop was dinner. James loves to go rooting in my wine rack for dusty old bottles that he thinks I've forgotten about. Jill had prepared a couple of brace of spatchcock poussin and James dug out a bottle of Riberal Reserva 1996, from Bodegas Santa Eulalia in Ribera del Duero, which required very careful decanting. I wasn't sure how it would have survived (I've moved house twice since then) but, in the event, it was still there, and drinking splendidly: mature, aromatic and delicious, with just a hint of fading on the finish. I haven't got any more of that vintage but if I had I'd say it needs drinking up soon.
We did the presents on the Tuesday morning. Evie is, of course, much too young at 14 weeks to understand what it's all about, but she got the biggest 'stocking' of all, including a Winnie the Pooh which is almost the same size as she is. Claire has had to ask all their friends not to buy any more clothes for Evie as she now has an absolute wardrobe full, in all sizes up to a year old. I got a nice woolly jumper and, erm, well, I'll think of it in a minute. I never know what to buy for Jill and she never knows what to buy for me, so I gave her the bill for the car, and she gave it back to me.
We haven't bothered with turkey for many years, and Jill usually does a crispy duck - Peking style - which we all love and which she has perfected over the past 20 years until it's always absolutely spot-on, but this year she's developed a recipe for crispy lamb. She takes a shoulder of lamb, rolls it out and marinates it overnight with the same spices that she uses on the duck. It then goes into the oven until it's well and truly roasted - almost black - before being smashed up, again in the style of crispy duck. They like it Mongolian-style, rolled up in pancakes with cucumber, spring onion and hoy sin sauce (like the duck, again) but I prefer it Mediterranean style, with coarse salad inside a toasted pitta bread. In either case it disappeared very rapidly. We drank a bottle of Bruñal 2004, a gift from the importer (Besos wines of Chichester - 01-243-511-151), which was just as well, as it retails at about £85 a bottle. Bruñal is an obscure grape which only grows in one small plot in Pereña de la Ribera, in Arribes. The winemaker at Bodegas Ribera de Pelazas, Julio Gallo (no relation - he's actually Uruguayan) discovered the abandoned vines and decided to resurrect the vineyard, with a first vintage - of only 1,500 bottles - in 2003. I first tasted it at the London Wine Fair in 2006, and was astonished at the quality. The 2004 performed no less well with the crispy lamb: big, powerful fruit with balanced tannins and more than enough 'oomph' to cope with the food.
I'm a bit of a backslider when it comes to puddings, but Jill had got some crème brulée, which everyone loves. Indeed, James had bought her one of the blowlamp things which you use to caramelise the sugars (but guess what - it came out of the box 'fuel not included', and all the shops were shut). The family still enjoyed it, however, and James managed to find a really old, forgotten, dusty bottle at the bottom of the wine rack: 1969 Château Guiraud, Sauternes. Indeed, the dust was so thick that I had to scrape it off to read the label. I bought it during my first stint in the wine trade (1972-5) and I might have paid £1.80 for it, or thereabouts. It was actually a present for Jill, who has resolutely refused to open it until now, and I wondered whether it would have survived 40 years (and five house moves), especially since 1969 was not considered a very good year (which is probably why I could afford it).
In the event, the cork was encouragingly sound, and the wine decanted with surprisingly little sediment. In the glass it was perfumed, with no hint of oxidation, and on the palate it was undeniably faded but still retained some of the classic Sauternes magic - gentle, elegant sweetness and a lovely old-fashioned style. Another one to drink up, but what an experience 40 years on and from a pretty duff year... Although, of course, Guiraud is a Premier Cru.
As with Christmas, James and Claire wanted Evie to spend her first ever new year at home and, with more snow forecast they decided to head back on the Wednesday, and had a quiet journey - I think most people had stayed at home - punctuated by the regulation stop at the bikers' café at Box Hill (their bacon and egg baps are astonishing, but the coffee is so hot that you can't drink it until it's too late).
01-Jan-10 - Our own new year weekend was as quiet as Christmas - indeed we didn't set foot outside the house until the 9th January to replenish urgently-needed stocks (whisky, Bourbon, brandy, milk, er, oh, and there wasn't a loaf to be had in the supermarket) and guess what. After scraping an inch of snow off the windscreen and getting the car going, the wipers went 'phut' and have not moved since. That'll be another 300 quid then... B****y Proton! [See 15-Jan-10 above]
James, Claire and Evie duly came down on the Monday after Christmas, and James went out to move our car so that they could park. As he inserted the key into the lock, exactly the same thing happened as had happened to Jill's key: it split apart, the thingamajig leapt out and, to make matters worse, the plastic fob came completely away from the blade, which was still in the ignition. It would neither turn nor be removed. We managed to release the handbrake and push the car forward successfully but, of course, the steering was locked so it could only move a few feet.
For the record, the car is a Proton Impian X, first registered on the 26th April, 2005, so coming up for five years old, and with about 26,000 miles from new. I bought it from the garage which had sold it new, and they've serviced it ever since, so it's been well looked-after. At this age, of course, everything is well out of guarantee, but as I put in my letter of complaint to Proton UK about the two keys 'self-destructing' within five days of each other: "I am no mathematician, but I think that random odds for this happening must be close to those for being hit by a meteorite or winning the national lottery".
As the car was neither driveable nor towable they had to send a truck to pick it up, and we got it back a week later with two new keys, along with a bill for £338.11. They keys are £76.38 plus VAT - a nice little earner for Proton, I'll warrant. They should receive my letter by the end of the week, and I'll record here what the outcome is. [See 15-Jan-10 above]
Anyway, once the car business was out of the way we got down to the serious business of Christmas. Jill always puts on a spread of nibbly bits (mostly prawny and crabby things) for when they arrive, and we somehow managed to get down a magnum of Jacquart Brut de Nominée, especially since I only had one glass (not much of a lover of fizzy wine, although the others made up for it, especially James).
We had decided not to do the present thing until the Tuesday morning, so the next stop was dinner. James loves to go rooting in my wine rack for dusty old bottles that he thinks I've forgotten about. Jill had prepared a couple of brace of spatchcock poussin and James dug out a bottle of Riberal Reserva 1996, from Bodegas Santa Eulalia in Ribera del Duero, which required very careful decanting. I wasn't sure how it would have survived (I've moved house twice since then) but, in the event, it was still there, and drinking splendidly: mature, aromatic and delicious, with just a hint of fading on the finish. I haven't got any more of that vintage but if I had I'd say it needs drinking up soon.
We did the presents on the Tuesday morning. Evie is, of course, much too young at 14 weeks to understand what it's all about, but she got the biggest 'stocking' of all, including a Winnie the Pooh which is almost the same size as she is. Claire has had to ask all their friends not to buy any more clothes for Evie as she now has an absolute wardrobe full, in all sizes up to a year old. I got a nice woolly jumper and, erm, well, I'll think of it in a minute. I never know what to buy for Jill and she never knows what to buy for me, so I gave her the bill for the car, and she gave it back to me.
We haven't bothered with turkey for many years, and Jill usually does a crispy duck - Peking style - which we all love and which she has perfected over the past 20 years until it's always absolutely spot-on, but this year she's developed a recipe for crispy lamb. She takes a shoulder of lamb, rolls it out and marinates it overnight with the same spices that she uses on the duck. It then goes into the oven until it's well and truly roasted - almost black - before being smashed up, again in the style of crispy duck. They like it Mongolian-style, rolled up in pancakes with cucumber, spring onion and hoy sin sauce (like the duck, again) but I prefer it Mediterranean style, with coarse salad inside a toasted pitta bread. In either case it disappeared very rapidly. We drank a bottle of Bruñal 2004, a gift from the importer (Besos wines of Chichester - 01-243-511-151), which was just as well, as it retails at about £85 a bottle. Bruñal is an obscure grape which only grows in one small plot in Pereña de la Ribera, in Arribes. The winemaker at Bodegas Ribera de Pelazas, Julio Gallo (no relation - he's actually Uruguayan) discovered the abandoned vines and decided to resurrect the vineyard, with a first vintage - of only 1,500 bottles - in 2003. I first tasted it at the London Wine Fair in 2006, and was astonished at the quality. The 2004 performed no less well with the crispy lamb: big, powerful fruit with balanced tannins and more than enough 'oomph' to cope with the food.
I'm a bit of a backslider when it comes to puddings, but Jill had got some crème brulée, which everyone loves. Indeed, James had bought her one of the blowlamp things which you use to caramelise the sugars (but guess what - it came out of the box 'fuel not included', and all the shops were shut). The family still enjoyed it, however, and James managed to find a really old, forgotten, dusty bottle at the bottom of the wine rack: 1969 Château Guiraud, Sauternes. Indeed, the dust was so thick that I had to scrape it off to read the label. I bought it during my first stint in the wine trade (1972-5) and I might have paid £1.80 for it, or thereabouts. It was actually a present for Jill, who has resolutely refused to open it until now, and I wondered whether it would have survived 40 years (and five house moves), especially since 1969 was not considered a very good year (which is probably why I could afford it).
In the event, the cork was encouragingly sound, and the wine decanted with surprisingly little sediment. In the glass it was perfumed, with no hint of oxidation, and on the palate it was undeniably faded but still retained some of the classic Sauternes magic - gentle, elegant sweetness and a lovely old-fashioned style. Another one to drink up, but what an experience 40 years on and from a pretty duff year... Although, of course, Guiraud is a Premier Cru.
The débris (well, some of it): Riberal '96, Bruñal '04 and Guiraud '69
As with Christmas, James and Claire wanted Evie to spend her first ever new year at home and, with more snow forecast they decided to head back on the Wednesday, and had a quiet journey - I think most people had stayed at home - punctuated by the regulation stop at the bikers' café at Box Hill (their bacon and egg baps are astonishing, but the coffee is so hot that you can't drink it until it's too late).
01-Jan-10 - Our own new year weekend was as quiet as Christmas - indeed we didn't set foot outside the house until the 9th January to replenish urgently-needed stocks (whisky, Bourbon, brandy, milk, er, oh, and there wasn't a loaf to be had in the supermarket) and guess what. After scraping an inch of snow off the windscreen and getting the car going, the wipers went 'phut' and have not moved since. That'll be another 300 quid then... B****y Proton! [See 15-Jan-10 above]
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