NZ rogue trader jailed for wine fraud

Hot on the heels of Rudy Kurniawan, New Zealand rogue trader Simon Mickleson has been jailed after scamming clients out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. As reported on db.com, Mickleson was sentenced last Thursday in Auckland to two years and four months in prison after earlier pleading guilty to 16 counts of fraud. Judge Grant Fraser described the Mickleson as "sophisticated'' and said there was still over NZ$540,000 owed to his victims, a sum never to be paid back as Mickleson was declared bankrupt last week.

Among Mickleson’s vicitms were a top New Zealand auction house and senior figures in the legal industry, including the lawyer to the Todd Property Group, owned by New Zealand's richest family. "Over 20 years of experience and expertise is effectively down the drain,” the disgraced merchant’s lawyer, Grant Illingworth QC, told Auckland District Court. Crown prosecutor Robin McCoubrey said Mickleson deserved a term of imprisonment. 

Mickleson, 43, worked as a wine consultant at Auckland auction house Webb's while running his own business, Fine Wines International. In actions remeniscent of Indonesian wine collector Rudy Kurniawan, who is currently on trial in New York for four counts of fraud, the court heard that Mickleson faked vintages by doctoring wine labels. He also stole credit cards, took money for wine he didn't have, and sold cases of old and rare wines he didn't own for thousands of dollars.

"Some were clients of the auction house, some clients of yours and some were your friends. It doesn't get more serious in terms of a breach of trust than that,'' Judge Fraser said. Webb's managing director Neil Campbell described Mickleson to the New Zealand Herald as "the worst kind of try-hard. Simon had this idea that being perceived as rich and wealthy made you a better person. He was always seeking acknowledgement of prestige and wealth,” Campbell said. 

Mickleson's deceit began in 2007 after he promised Auckland surgeon Jim Shaw NZ$400,000 worth of high-end wines. The wines never arrived and over the next two years he compensated Shaw by taking money from other clients. In October 2007, Hong Kong-based Joong Sheng Giauw paid Mickleson NZ$66,313.08 for 36 bottles of Château Lafite Rothschild 2000 (pictured), which also never turned up. 

In 2008 he asked school friend Julius Fox to help finance a NZ$99,000 order of French wines for Dr Darren Reed, who he claimed owned the private Ascot Hospital. Fox contributed NZ$29,000 but the deal never went through. Investigations revealed there was no such person as Dr Reed. On another occasion, Mickleson changed labels from a case of 2001 Château Lafite to pass the bottles off as the 1982 vintage. He tried to sell 24 fakes for NZ$98,000, but the buyers pulled out after spotting the doctored labels. 

Bob Bob Ricard

A good restaurant is one that transports you from the humdrum of everyday life into another world – a temporary cocoon of comfort. Diner deluxe Bob Bob Ricard is such a place. From the moment the black cloaked doorman ushers you in, the journey begins. Designed by David Collins, who previously prettified The Wolseley, Bob Bob Ricard’s lavish interiors evoke an Edwardian Orient Express carriage, from the plush midnight blue booths complete with pleated lampshades and velvet curtains, which allow for intimacy amidst the buzz, to the smoked mirrors and brass railings running from booth to ceiling.

Table tops are marble, equipped with an electric socket for the silver toasters brought out at breakfast and during afternoon tea, and a golden “Press for Champagne” button. Cubist chandeliers hang from a high Venetian-mirrored ceiling, while walls, covered in paper fashioned from Japanese book bindings, are festooned with ancestral portraits, the subjects of which gaze haughtily into the middle distance. Throwing gender stereotypes out the train window, waiters wear pale pink jackets and ties while waitresses sport turquoise waistcoats.

Russian owner, Leonid Shutov, is keen to please. Every last detail is considered, from the pink and white placemats, menus and plates etched with the BBR emblem, to the pink and gold coasters – even the water bottles have a pink and white label. Attention to detail is fastidious, each intricacy adding to the pleasure of the experience. Unable to resist the lure of the Champagne buzzer, I press it excitedly, feeling momentarily transported from train to plane. Seconds later, our waitress appears and tempts us into two glasses of rich yet refreshing Pol Roger NV – Churchill, I’m sure, would have loved buzzing for his favourite fizz.

Our feast begins with a taster platter of Zakuski (Russian canapés) taken with a shot of Kauffman 2008 Selected Vintage Vodka served at a brain-freezing -18ºC in a charming cut crystal glass. Among the Zakuski is a communion host of creamy foie gras topped with shaved black truffle, quail egg mayonnaise nestled in a lettuce leaf with a razor-thin slither of salty anchovy, and a tiny white dish filled with jellied ox tongue that recalls the meaty interior of a pork pie.

A duo of exquisitely executed cold starters arrives shortly after: a flamboyant take on the ever-popular beetroot and goat’s cheese salad, and a textured venison tartare. The paper-thin beetroot shavings resemble rose petals, with fluffy goat’s cheese sandwiched in between like cream. The meaty medallion of venison meanwhile, is smooth, subtle, pure and lovely. It whispers deer rather than shouting its origins from the plate. Resting on top is a raw quail egg, its yellow innards invitingly on display, begging to be drizzled on the meat. While the egg adds lubrication, drops from an accompanying bottle of Tabasco give a vivifying kick of heat.

Nicolás, our French waiter, urges us to try the three cheese soufflé, made with Parmesan, Wigmore and Shropshire blue, served with a peanut-flecked apple and endive salad. Bob Bob Ricard is fond of apple – it weaves its refreshing way into a large number of dishes as the garnish of choice. Also present in the soufflé is a ghostly trace of truffle. If dishes don’t visibly contain truffle, they are redolent with the ghosts of truffles past. Spewing forth from its ramekin like a Mount Etna eruption, the light and fluffy soufflé’s meringue-like form reminds me fondly of a cheesy baked Alaska.

Alongside the soufflé, we’re served a duo of scallops resting on discs of apple served with grainy black pudding and a truffle dressing. The scallops are pleasingly meaty, but for £13.25, more than two would have been preferable. To wash them down, Nicolás recommends a bottle of 2007 Kumeu River Hunting Hill Chardonnay from Auckland – a creamy white with hints of lime and limestone. Tightly woven and beautifully balanced on the palate, notes of honeysuckle, orange water and Brazil nut are given weight by the judiciously judged oak.

The wine list is incredibly fairly priced, with a maximum mark-up of £50 per bottle added to the trade price, meaning many bottles are cheaper than high-end retailers. BBR is also the only place in the UK offering Château d’Yquem by the glass – the 1998 vintage is currently on sale for £26.75. I digress. Our main event is a slab of crispy suckling pork belly in a (gasp) truffle gravy dotted with glistening globes of apple sauce. The belly meat is achingly tender, while the crunchy cracking adds texture, proving a great match for the Kiwi Chardonnay.

Desserts are worth leaving room for, though this shouldn’t be hard, as portion sizes are fit only to fill up diners of Borrowers proportions. My companion’s Eton mess arrives neatly packed into what looks like an ice pink bath bomb drenched in strawberry sauce. I opt for the trio of homemade ice cream, the waitress kindly accommodating my request that all three of the trio be salted caramel.

Bob Bob Ricard is a one off. Interpreting classic British dishes like prawn cocktail and chicken kiev with a Russian twist, hat tips to the owner’s homeland can be found in frequent caviar cameos on the menu. While portions are small and prices high, there are few restaurants in London that offer such escapism. Clasped in its welcoming bosom, the restaurant takes you on a journey back to an age of elegance – a flight of fancy that requires a vivid imagination to get lost in, but a voyage worth taking. When we reach our final destination and disembark, having stepped out of the fantasy, I feel a pang of sadness, as I make my way home down the sodden Soho street.

Bob Bob Ricard, 1 Upper James St, London W1F 9DF; Tel: +44 (0)20 3145 1000; a meal for two with wine costs around £150.