Would you admit to liking demi-sec Champagne?

Have you ever tried demi-sec Champagne? If so, would you ever admit to liking the semi-sweet style? Champagne Jacquart’s chief winemaker Floriane Eznack doesn’t think so. Speaking to the drinks business at a tasting lunch at Chrysan in London last week, she told the magazine demi-sec has become the elephant in the room in Champagne.

“Our demi-sec sales are growing, but it’s the wine we don’t talk about. There’s still a prejudice surrounding the style. In the past people would add sugar to their Champagne to hide faults so it has a negative connotation. No one likes to talk about demi-sec in the region, but a lot of people like to drink it. The style isn’t going out of fashion, if anything it’s getting more popular,” she said.

Us Brits are notorious for having a sweet tooth and happily sing the praises of sweeter Sherry styles such as Oloroso, so why the hang up about demi-sec? There’s an implication that sweetness levels correspond to intellect, and the drier you like your wine the higher your intellect and more rapier-like your wit. Nonsense! Demi-sec has its place in both the Champagne arena and on the dinner table. It makes for a sensational food match with desserts like tarte tartan.

My taste tends to veer towards the drier end of the Champagne spectrum, but I’m staunchly against the idea of snobbery towards demi-sec for snobbery’s sake – it suffers the same prejudice as still rosé. Having spent a few glorious days in Provence this summer and witnessed first hand the time, care and attention top-end producers like Château d’Esclans and Domaines Ott put into their rosés, I find the narrow-mindedness of those who fail to take it seriously as a style hard to swallow.

All wine styles should be given a chance to prove themselves on their individual merits. As an aside, the aforementioned Eznack also revealed to db that sales of Jacquart rosé are booming in Japan due to the positive associations with the colour pink in the county. “Pink is a very important colour in Japan – it signals the coming of spring and cherry blossom, so our rosé sales have always been high there. I also think it pairs really well with Japanese cuisine, particularly sushi.”

Nuno Mendes, Viajante

The other week at Taste of London, I caught up with the affable, Portuguese-born, chef-patron of Viajante at the Town Hall Hotel in Bethnal Green –  Nuno Mendes – who told me about bringing his Corner Room to Taste, his love of ceviche, and the trend for ramen restaurants about to hit the capital. 

Sadoya wine dinner at Saki Farringdon

Japanese wine is having something of a moment. Last week a series of events were held in London to showcase Japan's winemaking prowess to the city's wine elite, including a lunch attended by a who's who of the wine world: Michael Broadbent, Jancis Robinson and Hugh Johnson to name but three.

The focus was on Japan's flagship white grape, Koshu. Helping to build a buzz around Japan's great white hope, Jancis Robinson MW was enlisted to host a Koshu seminar at the Koshu of Japan trade tasting, in which she described the grape, which is being marketed as an alternative to saké for matching with Japanese food, as 'quietly gallant'. Made in the Yamanashi Prefecture, the Japanese government has put its support behind a campaign to promote Koshu in the UK and other European export markets, targeting Japanese restaurants.

My encounter with Koshu came at Saki restaurant in Farringdon, at a dinner hosted by Hirohisa Imai, owner of Sadoya, one of Japan's leading producers. Light bodied and almost transparent, the tank sample of 2010 Sadoya Zenkouji Kitahara Koshu had delicate, yuzu citrus flavours, along with hints of lychee and lime blossom. Jancis accurately describes its purity as 'zen-like'.

Sat beside Imai at the dinner was long-term friend and former owner of Château Cos d'Estournel Bruno Prats. I wondered whether Prats harboured dreams of a Japanese wine project, to add to his Portuguese, Chilean, South African and Spanish ventures, but he assured me he has no plans to invest in Japan, and that his final wine project, an old vine Monastrell from Alicante called 'Alfinal', or 'the end' in Spanish, will launch at Vinexpo in Bordeaux this June.

Leaving Prats and Imai to get back to their Koshu, I took my place at a black cubed table with a white, gravel-filled centre sprouting four phallic candles, like erotic stalagmites – the most curious centrepiece I've ever encountered in a restaurant. Not only the only blonde, but the only Brit, I felt like I'd stepped inside a scene from Sophia Coppola's Lost in Translation.

The seven course dinner paired a different Sadoya wine with each dish. Founded in 1917, Sadoya was appointed purveyor to the Japanese Imperial Household in 1940 – a title it retains to this day. The feast commenced with a trio of nibbles inspired by Japanese New Year celebrations: tiny fish representing fertility, a golden egg yolk set atop an egg white in a coconut ice-like cube for prosperity, and a white radish and red(ish) carrot – Japan's lucky colours.

The accompanying Sadoya Cabernet Sauvignon sparkling rosé was an attractive onion skin pink, and had persistent petillance and a feminine nose of summer fruits. A simple sashimi selection followed, which matched incredibly well with the crisp, citrusy Koshu. We then moved on to scallop, king prawn and Lotus root kakiage (tempura) that looked like a tumor but tasted divine. Crunchy and moorish, it's the Japanese equivalent of beer battered cod. The matching 2004 dry Semillon was decidedly dull, and almost ghostly in its lack of character.

Sat to my left was a Japanese lady who had emigrated to England 30 years prior and now worked at the Japanese Embassy in London. After kindly inviting me to a forthcoming saké tasting, she told me of her predilection for English comedy and costume drama, name checking Only Fools and Horses and Downton Abbey as her particular favourites. Curiouser and curiouser. A fascinating dish followed: braised pork belly in a potato sauce, served in a yellow flower-shaped bowl and garnished with two bright green beans. Soft, comforting and tremendously tender, it was the best pork I've ever tasted.

We were then presented with a duo of exciting wines: Sadoya Château Brillant Cabernet Sauvignon 1992 and Château Brillant Cabernet/Merlot 1962. The '92 was remarkably youthful for its 19 years, and still incredibly fruit forward, with a nose of black cherries, and red currants. The palate was smooth and rounded, showing traces of aged Bordeaux. The '62 also seemed young for its years, and reassuringly full of life. Savoury and serious, it had aromas of pencil shavings, cedar wood, cigar box and tobacco smoke, with a spicy, sour cherry finish.

The '62 was matched with black cod with truffle miso - a sublime dish that had me reaching for superlatives, so rapturous was its divine, hedonistic flavour. Intense, intoxicating, indulgent, I almost genuflected in front of the plate in reverence to it. The final wine of the night was a curio: Sadoya Zenkouji Kitahara Sweet Semillon 2008, paired with green tea tiramisu, that sang of apricot and orange peel. In the UK's highly competitive wine retail arena, the 'quietly gallant' Koshu is not going to be an easy sell, but it's exciting to see the white grape has entered the world wine arena. And with Sadoya producing some stunning reds, Japan's wine future looks to be in the pink.

Sake tasting at Sumosan

Wine and the City caught up with saké expert Jean-Louis Naveilhan, head sommelier of Sumosan restaurant in Mayfair, to find out how saké is made, from polishing the rice to the importance of the spring water. Like grapes, there are dozens of different varieties of rice, and only the best are used for making saké.

Seven sakés were on show at Sumosan, from the Grand Cru of sakés, Betsukakoi 2009 Junamai Daiginjo, made from rice polished down to 50% of its original size, to the crowd pleasing Pink Nigori Saké Jyunmai that tasted like strawberry milkshake due to the white peach yeast. As with wine, there are entry, mid-priced and premium sakés, and if Naveilhan's sales are anything to go by, the popularity of the transparent drink is soaring in the UK.

L'Etranger restaurant review

As AA Gill mentioned in his recent review of Comerç 24 in Barcelona, our approach to food is changing. In keeping with our impatient times, we want our food to be big, bright and breathtaking, attacking our tastebuds with flavour, and menus across the world have been pimped with exotic ingredients to keep up with the trend.

One way to win on the flavour front is to marry food from two different cultures, bringing the best of both worlds to the table. Sushinho on King's Road is doing interesting things with its Brazilian and Japanese menu, but way before the restaurant opened its doors, L'Etranger was in on the act.

The South Kensington stalwart has been serving up French and Japanese, or 'Frapanese' cuisine since 2002. Head chef Jerome Tauvron, whose CV includes stints with Pierre Gagnaire in France, Alain Ducasse in Monaco and Marco Pierre White in London, isn't keen on the term 'fusion' cooking, as while working together, the ingredients remain separate and distinct platefellows.

The minimal lilac and grey interiors seem to echo Albert Camus' economical writing style in the existentialist novel L'Etranger, from which the restaurant gets its name. Boasting over 1,000 bins, L'Etranger has one of the finest wine lists in London and an on-site wine shop. Perhaps in a nod to the novel's protagonist, Meursault, an impressive 40 Meursault's by the bottle are on offer.

I dined at L'Etranger with a chef friend on a Tuesday evening, and the urbane 50-seater was throbbing with life. Arriving early, our table was soon flanked on both sides by enthusiastic Americans. Manager Dorian explained that they rely on their regular customers and that numbers dipped dramatically during the ash cloud crisis, when a chunk of their affluent clientele were left stranded in different pockets of the world.

L (the chef) and I both opted for tasting menus, with L sampling the £59 'Degustation' menu, while I opted for the slightly more decadent £89 'Opulence' menu, both of which were diligently matched with different wines by Timothy, our eager-to-please French sommelier who looked like he was fresh out of wine school.

My scallops tartar with summer black truffles served in its shell was matched with top Rhône producer E. Guigal's Crozes-Hermitage Blanc (£9.50/glass). The pairing worked well, the ceviche-style citrus in the dish mirroring the remarkable freshness of the rich, complex white Rhône. Light yet flavoursome, it was hard to fault, and the perfect beginning to this epicurean adventure. L's tuna tartare was well executed, but the accompanying serving of sevruga caviar was tiny.

As L's menu was a dish smaller than mine, we both shared the rock shrimp and exotic flower tempura with sweet ponzu; a sauce made from soy and lemon. Served in a Japanese bamboo steamer, the green, orange and purple exotic flowers exploded with colour, and when paired with the sauce, flavour. Rock shrimp tempura is my favourite thing on the menu at Nobu, and I didn't think anything could ever come close to matching its magnificence, but this did, the zesty sauce wonderfully counterbalancing the fatty tempura. Our wine match, 2008 Gatekeeper Chardonnay from the Barossa Valley in Australia (£8.50/glass) was the most disappointing of the night. The wine was rich and buttery, while I was hoping for something fresh and zippy to cut through the fat.

Both the fish dishes impressed. I was envious of L's caramelised black cod and sweet miso sauce, L'Etranger's signature dish, but in the end it was my roast Chilean seabass that shone. While the cod was slightly dry, my seabass was expertly cooked and fell off the fork. Tender and slightly sweet, the flavours were elegant and delicate rather than punchy. It was matched with an exciting, grassy wine from Nantes producer Eric Chevalier made from the region's native grape Fie Gris (£40/bottle), whose searing acidity cut through the oily fish, giving it freshness and lift.

On to the main event, which for me was pampered and preened Grade 9 Wagyu beef fillet with black truffle and sauteed wild mushrooms paired with Austrian producer Anita Und Hans Nittnaus Kurzberg Pinot Noir 2005 (£9.50/glass). I asked for it medium rare, and it came deliciously pink. Soft and tender, the meat was almost silky, and packed with juicy flavour, which harmonized with the savoury, leathery Pinot Noir, that took a back seat to the beef, enhancing rather than overpowering its flavour. When combined with the rich foie gras and heady truffle it made for a soft, opulent mouthful of flavour-rich food. I closed my eyes in pure delight to catch every flavour in my mouth. But at £55 a la carte, it should be damn good.

Pudding was an equally exciting affair. After a tofu ice cream palate cleanser and a glass a ice-cold saké, L's caramel tart with macadamia nuts matched with Ramos Pinto 10-year-old Tawny Port stole the limelight from my more modest pear tartin and sesame ice cream, which matched well with a waxy, unctuous Château Septy Monbazillac 2005 (£9/glass).

L'Etranger clearly knows what it's doing. The food is accomplished and stylishly presented, and the service from the predominantly French staff is attentive without being overbearing. The a la carte will give your credit card a workout, but the 3 course set lunch is amazingly good value at £19.50. Marrying French and Japanese food may sound like a strange exercise, and you have to taste it to believe it, but Tauvron's dishes respect the classic tradition, bringing with them an exciting modern twist.

Blowfish fin Sake, and other curiosities

Have you ever eaten a blowfish? They're highly poisonous and if cooked incorrectly can cause all number of exciting symptoms: intoxication, light-headedness, numbness of the lips, dizziness and deadening of the tongue to name but a few.

Extreme eaters seek out blowfish in the hope of experiencing some of these strange sensations. In severe cases, eating a dodgy blowfish can result in death, as the poison can paralyze your diaphragm muscles, leading to suffocation. It can also cause comas that last several days where you remain semi-conscious.

I'm all for new experiences and pushing the envelope, but have to admit to being more than a little nervous about sipping on the blowfish fin Sake I was offered last Thursday at a delightfully curious Sake tasting in the basement of Chisou, a sushi restaurant in Oxford Circus.

The cup was being passed round and it would have been rude to refuse, so I took a deep breath and hoped for the best. The Sake was served warm and had a potent nose of mushroom, truffle, forest floor, cigar smoke, earth, peat and charcoal. It tasted, unsurprisingly, of fish, but after a few seconds the fishiness subsided, clearing the way for the forest floor aromas to reappear. Potent, pungent and intense, a couple of sips told me all I needed to know. After a minute I hadn't keeled over, which I took as a good sign. Not a numb lip in sight.

The event aimed to showcase a series of Sakes from Okayama, a city in the Chugoku region of Japan. Three producers had flown in, and were showing four Sakes each. I'm a Sake novice, but enjoyed getting stuck into the tasting, applying my wine knowledge wherever I could.

We were asked to analyse the aroma, flavour and balance, much like you would a wine. One of the producers tells me (via his translator) that in order to make a quality Sake you need three things: good rice, good water and a good brewing technique.

Before it's fermented, the rice is polished to remove the protein and oils, leaving the starch behind. The quality of the Sake depends on how polished the rice is. A grain can be polished up to 30% of its original size, and the more polished the grains, the more refined the Sake.

After trying a few, I realise it's impossible to apply wine speak to Sake. The vocabulary is much narrower. Sake styles are described simply as being fruity, dry, or sweet rather than through a ream of descriptors.

The latest trend in Japan is for fruit-flavoured Sake liquors made with peach, pear and plum. They were all pleasant enough, but the low alcohol and pulpy texture made them more like an Innocent Smoothy than a Sake. My favourite was the Gyutto Tesgibori Yuzu Shu, made from hand-squeezed yuzu juice, a small citrus fruit like a sour mandarin. Mouth-puckering, zingy and fresh, the lemony flavour danced around my mouth and brought it to life. I wanted to put the bottle up my jumper and run out the door it was so delicious.

I was excited to see a pink Sake in the line-up that would make Hello Kitty proud. At 13.5% abv, it had more of a kick than the peach, pear and plum, but it looked like milkshake and tasted like alcoholic strawberry Yop. A drink for naughty schoolgirls. There were plenty of serious Sakes on show, but they took our tasting sheets away at the end for feedback, so it's hard to remember what they tasted like. The Bizenmaboroshi was a highlight. It won a trophy at the IWSC last year, and had a delicate, sweet nose and full, rounded palate.

Our entertainment for the evening came in the form of Yoko Hallelujah, a diminutive Japanese Beatles fanatic armed with a jewel-encrusted acoustic guitar. She belted out fab four classics with brio, as we slurped our way round the remainder of the Sakes.