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The bottle is unlabelled, the others from this stash were Warre 1970, and I think I can make out 'Warre' and 'bottled 1972' on the cork. The cork came out whole and the port is clean and bright. It may be a turning brown at the rim but this is not pronounced, the colour at the centre of the glass being a solid red. And the nose rushes out sweetly, faultless at the outset and remaining so now, five hours later. The tentative sips quickly give way to longer pulls on the glass, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to fault. It is rich, it is balanced, it is sweet, but the tannins ruffle this sweetness, the fruit (mulberries if anyone is interested in anything so mundane) is crisp and complete. So integrated and so long. I would be amazed at the unmarked, almost youthful qualities if I had not had a similar bottle a while back.

An unreserved triumph for the 'vintage of the century' and I would guess a mark of around 94.

And yet...


I woke in my Leeds bedsit with a start, turning over on the sofa where I had fallen asleep, dislodging empty port bottles which fell with a clatter. Trying to open my eyes I realised that what had woken me was Monty. Good old Monty, who had been my constant companion through this time. But one look into his grave and patient eyes and I knew, he was really leaving. The noise I heard had been Derek heaving the suitcase down the stairs. "I love you, but I just can't be with you anymore" he whispered and turning, looked slowly around the dingy room. Then ran down the stairs, pushing Derek over on the way.

This is the most romantic thing that has happened on on Valentine's weekend.

And yet...

Is it just me or do a lot of the 1970s taste a bit anodyne, made by a focus group?

It is true that I do not regularly swill either the Graham or the Fonseca which have captured the hearts of so many but still, even they are a bit samey. It may be a bit ungrateful to cavil at such complete ports but I don't think they quite reach the high notes of individual ports in other vintages. Fonseca is more brutal and brooding in 66, more elegant and open in 77 and more smoking hot in 85. Even with Cockburn I sort of lean towards the 67, and the Cockburn 70 is a very fine bottle.

I think it might be my natural contrariness which makes me wary of the rush to crown the 70 as the mightiest vintage but I did wonder for a brief moment if this port had a touch of the bland affliction which mars every ruby I ever tasted.

OK, it's just me.

You're right, it's you.

Monty and I are keeping the 1970s.

Leeds, 1970

djewesbury wrote:Leeds, 1970
Image

With the WHO in their pomp

I know which one's Monty; but which one do you suppose to be Derek?

djewesbury wrote:I know which one's Monty; but which one do you suppose to be Derek?

The one on the right, directly opposite Owen.

DRT wrote:

djewesbury wrote:I know which one's Monty; but which one do you suppose to be Derek?

The one on the right, directly opposite Owen.

Have you never seen WIthnail and I?

No.

Ah. Uncle Monty is Richard Griffiths, on the left. He is the uncle of the dissolute Withnail, Richard E Grant, in the centre. Withnail and 'I' (the McGann boy) are at Monty's remote, freezing Yorkshire cottage when Monty turns up unexpectedly. Monty tells 'I' that he means to have him, even if it must be burglary.
Carry on.

He looks nothing like Monty.

DRT wrote:He looks nothing like Monty.

I believe you. Millions wouldn't.

If anyone is interested this port tastes even better tonight, less on the nose, bigger on the palate.

1970; "The finest wines available to humanity".*

*this is a quote from the film

Glad someone else here has actually seen it.

djewesbury wrote:Glad someone else here has actually seen it.

I hope I embody it.

I think you rather do.