The Godfather: Peter Corris on wine
I have a clear memory of my first taste of wine, not only because it became a lifelong association, but because it coincided with news of the death of Marilyn Monroe.
I was an honours history student at the University of Melbourne and in August 1962 a group of us, with a few staff members, participated in a conference in a guest house at either Healesville or Warburton (I forget which) in the Dandenongs outside Melbourne. Papers were given, discussions were held. Staff and students got to know each other in a social setting.
The late John Ritchie, who went on to become a distinguished professor of Australian history, was a film fan and a great admirer of Marilyn. Distressed, he announced the news to a group of us and, perhaps to comfort him, someone produced a bottle of red wine and a chunk of Edam cheese, which he cubed.
We proceeded to enjoy the wine and cheese and discuss the star’s life and career. It seemed that everyone present had seen Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and The Seven Year Itch.
Raised on a bland suburban diet, I found the combination of the flavours of the wine and cheese exhilarating. The mountains in August were chilly; the sheets on the beds were icy and it was hard to get warm. The wine helped and, shy by nature, I found it gave me confidence to have my say.
In the years that followed I continued to use wine to comfort and reward myself and to instil self-confidence. Short of money as an undergraduate and postgraduate student, I mostly drank flagon wine, usually claret when that name was still permitted. Compared to ‘cleanskins’ wine today it was probably rough, but it was cheap and the flagons could be returned for the deposits. Enough empties could buy a full one.
The only time I remember encountering an undrinkable wine was when a fellow student brought a huge flagon of red back from Rutherglen. When asked what he most feared, French writer Stendhal replied ‘Bad wine’. That stuff from Rutherglen was the very embodiment of it and it went down the sink. I imagine it was a bad batch and that Rutherglen reds are well regarded today.
When I got to England in 1970, still on a tight budget, I found wine very expensive. The cheapest was a white from Cyprus, which was sweetish. I doctored it with lemon juice.
I remember being impressed by a fellow tutor at Monash who had a set of golf clubs and a wine rack – the height of sophistication. I later acquired the clubs but never had a wine collection, although I tried once.
Some time in the 1970s, a friend and I agreed to collect empty wine bottles and flagons for a period and then buy some red wine in bulk. Was it called a hogshead and was it from Mudgee? I forget. With helpers, we tapped the barrel, used a funnel and filled the vessels. No stranger to the process, my friend had a corking device and when we’d finished labelling the bottles with a description of the wine and the date, we each had a sizeable stash despite having consumed a good deal in the process.
I thought I might keep some of the bottles for a number of years to see if the wine matured and improved. Unfortunately, within a very short time it was all gone.
