The Drinks Business

So we're a week into the new year, and I'm four days into a new job. The sense of a new beginning brought about by the new year has been heightened in 2011 by a change of employer. I left Decanter magazine before Christmas and started as staff writer at The Drinks Business this week, which recently celebrated its 100th issue.

It's an exciting move for me – the company is young, dynamic and forward thinking, and my new role will give me the freedom and time to do more of what I love – writing. It's a fascinating time for the wine industry. The landscape is changing – who is buying wine, what they're buying, where they're buying it, and how we're communicating about it is in a constant state of flux. We are finally seeing the democratisation of wine, both in terms of who's buying it, and who's writing about it.

Wine is no longer the reserve of middle-aged, middle class, white men. The doors have been flung open and everybody wants a slice of the action. Wine may be enjoying its moment in the sun, and with the revival of the wine bar in London, championed by the likes of Terroirs, 28-50, Vinoteca, Kensington Wine Rooms and more recently Bar Battu and Brawn, this trend is showing no signs of slowing.

So with these exciting times, we need publications that are at the forefront of these changes. We need wine writing to reflect what's going on in the industry – to hold a mirror up to the truth. This week The Drinks Business surpassed 1,000 followers on Twitter. A mini milestone, but a significant one. For any business to flourish in 2011, it can't afford to be out of the loop, and the loop is very much entwined with social media right now. As a society, we are growing ever more impatient. We have come to expect a constant stream of information to be communicated to us the minute it happens. A magazine simply can't do this, so tools like Twitter, Facebook and Youtube are becoming an ever-important way to bridge the communication gap.

So that's where our focus will lie at db as we move further into 2011. I'm intrigued to see what the year has in store for the wine world, and am excited about being able to play an interactive part in these changes – to communicate them as they happen, and contribute to the debate. The new year is a time of hope and reflection. A chance to wipe the slate clean and turn things around. With my new year has come change, which is essential for a fulfilling existence. 'There is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun' – Christopher McCandless.

California tasting at Selfridges and Tom's Terrace launch

Things are pretty hectic at Decanter HQ at the moment. We're putting together our Bordeaux guide and July issue – two issues in the time we usually produce one, so heads are down and stress levels are up.

My evening events therefore, are proving a welcome respite from the madness. As soon as I walk down our metal catwalk of a corridor and push the lift button to the ground floor, I feel the tension ooze out of me. And so it was on Thursday night, when I hotfooted it from the office to the towering pleasure dome of Selfridges for a Californian wine tasting, the apogee of a week dedicated to wines from the Golden State.

Rather ironically, in a bid to escape the madness of the office, I'd inadvertently stepped into an equally mad situation. Arriving a fashionable ten minutes late, on making it past the red rope, a glass was thrust in my hand and I was ushered to Table 2, where a besuited man was ebulliently espousing the merits of Californian Viognier. I had to play catch up, swirling, sniffing and swigging my Hawk Crest Chardonnay as fast as humanly possible.

As soon as I'd caught up with the Alban Viognier, we were onto the Meiomi, Bel Glos, Russian River Valley Pinot Noir. We were given less than a minute on each wine – it felt like a speed tasting, which for me, took all the pleasure out of the experience. Wine is something to be savoured, not swallowed in a second. I barely had time to consider what was in my glass before we were on to the next thing. I understand we had a lot of wines to get through, but it's difficult to enjoy them when tasting at such speed.

I refused to let go of my Pinot, and instead let it linger in my glass while I revelled in its sumptuous, fruit-forward aromas of rich ripe cherries and juicy raspberries. On the palate it was as round as an O, and had massive weight and flavour for a Pinot – easily my wine of the night. The £51 Stags Leap Artemis however, was disappointing, in the way that so many of the California big guns are. I appreciated its classicism and elegance, but it didn't blow me away the way I hoped it might.

We were allowed to devour a selection of cheeses in between sips, from the gooey Reblochon to the robust Manchecho. And it was then that I fell in love... with Comte. I can't believe I've let this sensational cheese go under my radar for so long, and that its creamy, nutty, deliciousness has been missing from my life all these years. I was so taken with the Comte that the next day I went on a pilgrimage to Borough Market with the soul purpose of buying a hunk of the stuff.

Anyway, back to the wines... the final wine of Table 2, a Cline ancient vines Mouvedre, had lovely herbal aromas and attractive wild notes. No sooner had I pinpointed the aromas, than we were ushered to Table 1, the Shafer table, where we tried their 2007 Chardonnay and a rather delicious 2005 Merlot. On Table 4 we tried a sparkling brut rosé by J Schram at £57 a pop, and Peter Michael Le Moulin Rouge Pinot Noir from Santa Lucia for an eye-watering £105 a bottle. Admittedly, very little is shipped over to the UK, but for me the £32.99 Meiomi was the Oscar winner to Le Moulin Rouge's supporting act.

I never made it to Table 3, as I had to dash off to attend the launch of Tom's Terrace pop up restaurant at Somerset House. Making my way there through the back entrance via Temple tube, I walked through the fountains to meet my friend on the other side. The sound of the music, smell of the sizzling food and feel of the cold water on my skin was an intoxicating combination.

The party was in full swing and Lanson in full flow when we arrived – the man himself, fox-featured Tom Aikens was working the room (well, canopied enclosure) under the watchful eye of his gorgeous wife Amber Nuttall, while cranky critic Giles Coren gesticulated wildly to his flamed-haired wife Esther Walker. Perhaps she'd removed an indefinite article from one of his sentences, making it end on an unstressed syllable. I hope not for her sake...

Cheval Blanc and chips

As the snow continues to fall, the fine wine continues to flow at Decanter. This week we hosted a St Emilion Grand Crus Classés 2000 and 20001 tasting. When all our tasters have gone home, I get an apprentice-like call from the tasting room that goes something like: 'Lucy, the wines are ready to see you now', at which point I ping an email round the office, letting everyone know they are ready to be tasted.

To get the best stuff you've got to be quick. This time round I was lucky enough to take home 1/3 of a bottle of Cheval Blanc 2000. I was excited, having only tasted CB on two previous occasions, both of which were memorable. The first was something of a Sideways scenario. I'd been working at one of our Fine Wine Encounters and had got to take home nearly a full bottle of 2004. Walking home with a couple of friends, we passed a McDonald's.

Unable to resist the chance of a Miles moment, we strode in and ordered the obligatory burger and fries, asking for three empty cups on top of the three milkshakes we ordered. I was tasked with pouring, so began surrepticiously sliding the empty cups under the table one-by-one, which miraculously came up full. Admittedly, a plastic cup is not the ideal receptacle in which to judge one of the best wines in the world, and I think I was more in love with the idea of the wine than the wine itself, but it was a wonderfully irreverent experience.

My second brush with the white horse came at the Chateau itself. Last July I spent a week on a canal boat along the Canal du Garonnne as part of a Bordeaux travel feature. Before my travel buddy and I set sail, we took a detour to Saint Emilion. I'd managed to line up visits at Canon, Ausone and Cheval Blanc. We were due at the white horse at 2pm. Running late from our tasting at Ausone, we careered up the gravel drive lined with perfectly pruned topiary, narrowly missing the tiny white wooden sign wedged in the grass.

We parked and made our way into the chateau, and were surprised to be greeted with a library rather than a reception. Decked out in tasteful regency furniture, small dogs stood proud inside big frames. Conscious of the fact that we'd taken a wrong turn into a private part of the of the chateau, we made our way into the hall and eventually found our group.

At Canon and Angelus we had been lucky enough to have the place to ourselves, but had to tag onto a group of six affluent Americans at Cheval Blanc. In the tasting room, one of them nudged the other, exclaming in not-so-hushed tones that it was about time to see how his '82s were getting along. They both erupted with laughter. I was impatient to see which vintage would be brought out for us to taste – 2007, or '06 perhaps. Our guide came back clutching a bottle of '04. My heart flopped. Of all the vintages in recent history, it had to be the one I'd already tried.

Deflated, I lifted the glass to my nose and sniffed. Where was the wine? Had all the character ran back into the empty bottle? It was in that awkward stage in a wine's life, a few years after bottling, when it goes back into itself and quite literally clams up. All the fruit had gone, and I struggled to get anything in the way of aroma and taste. I wanted to like it, but couldn't help but be disappointed.

Fortunately, the 2000 didn't disappoint. Enjoyed in the most prosaic of surroundings (my front room), the wine had really opened up. The nose showed a fantastic array of flavours, the first thing hitting you being the lovely dried fruit aromas of prunes and figs; it almost had a Port-like character. And yet there was lots of young fruit: plums, damsons, currants, black cherries, all wrapped around smooth velvety tannins. The palate had a sweet coconutty smoothness, which I found really attractive. Some might call it over-ripe, but I was wooed. It was a little short, but delicious nonetheless, and by far my most satisfying Cheval Blanc experience.

I guess that's the joy of wine; you get to see it grow. You follow it through its infancy and support it through its awkward adolescence. With patience, you witness its metamorphosis into a confident and complex adult, layered with nuance. That's when wine becomes really exciting; when you get to see how the same wine is progressing, like reconnecting with an old friend. I've kept the bottle as a trophy. The taste still lingers like a friendly ghost.