RAW artisan wine fair comes to London

An artisan wine fair for fine, organic and biodynamic wines dubbed “RAW”, will launch in London this May. As reported on thedrinksbusiness.com, the event will take place at the Old Truman Brewery in East London on 20-21 May, and will feature over 150 growers. Classic regions such as Burgundy, Bordeaux and Piedmont will be represented, as well as newcomers like Georgia and Serbia.

Organised by Isabelle Legeron MW (above), co-founder of last year’s Natural Wine Fair at Borough Market in London Bridge, RAW aims to build on the success of the Natural Wine Fair by acting as an independent event open to all producers, importers and official bodies. International grower associations La Renaissance des Appellations and VinNatur will be taking part, bringing with them growers from across the globe.

“My aim is to promote transparency in the wine world in order to support the art of authentic wine production. I want to help people think about what they drink’,” said Legeron. RAW is enforcing a charter of quality that all exhibitors must adhere to – in order for a wine to be on show at the fair, all grapes must have been farmed organically or biodynamically, only indigenous yeasts used and the sulphur levels must be clearly labelled on the bottle.

The fair will include talks from a number of wine expects, including biodynamic ambassador Nicolas Joly of La Coulée de Serrant in Savennières, and José Vouillamoz, co-author of Jancis Robinson MW's forthcoming book The Grape. There will also be a pop-up wine shop.

English fizz & oysters at Wright Brothers

Wine and the City and American wine writer Panos Kakaviatos taste English sparkler Gusbourne Estate Blanc de Blancs 2006, made in Kent, with a platter of Duchy of Cornwall oysters at Wright Brothers in Borough Market on a buzzing Saturday morning before Christmas.

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...

Brindisa ham carving school

I'm an unashamed hispanophile and relish every opportunity I get to indulge my passion for Spain. Last year I went to a tasting of the 2006 and 2007 vintages of Joselito ham, paired with Dom Perignon 2000. It was heaven.

This year the lovely people at Brindisa invited me to one of their ham carving workshops at the Brindisa shop in Borough Market. Held every first Thursday of the month, the classes are proving incredibly popular and sell out well in advance, despite the rather hefty £85 price tag.

An email beforehand advises me to wrap up warm, and arriving at the open-air shop under the arches of London Bridge, I can see why. I'm seated round a long table with fellow jamón lovers, and given a blanket and water bottle to cuddle. Before the class starts, we have to sign an 'exclusion of responsibility' disclaimer that ends: 'Brindisa will not be help responsible for any accidents or injuries that may result from the tutored ham carving activities'. Gulp.

Assistant manager Alberto then takes us on a tour through the history of jamón, which dates back to Roman times, when they used to put Serrano ham legs on coins. A massive 50 million legs are produced each year in Spain for us greedy ham guzzlers. We're each given a plate with four different hams to try, to compare the different styles. They're all surprisingly different, from the chewy Jamón de Monroyo Reserva, to the smokey bacon like Jabu Recebo.

The last two hams are the highest quality, made from the prized Ibérico pigs that roam the acorn-filled plains of Extremadura in north west Spain. Pictures of black pigs frolicking in fields are dutifully passed round. The third ham we try, Jamón de la Dehesa de Extremadura Bellota, is darker than the first two, with a strong, rich, almost sweet flavour. The delicious strips dissolve on the tongue. Last up is the Joselito Gran Reserva Bellota. Joselito prides itself on being the top Ibérico ham producer. The Joselito estate is so expansive, their pigs have 3.5 hectares of land each to run wild in. The resulting flavour is more elegant and subtle.

After our comparative tasting, master carver Zac Innes steps up to teach us some knife skills. He compares the shape of the Serrano ham to a guitar and the Ibérico, with its slim foot and black trotter, or pata negra, to a violin. He then whips out a 'jamonero', a long, thin, carving knife, but recommends removing the fat with a bread knife. Each ham has to be checked for defects before carving, like a sommelier would a wine before pouring. To do this, Zac uses a 'cala', a tiny stick made from beef bone. He plunges it in the Ibérico leg and has a whiff. It's perfect.

After a few expert slices are shorn, it's our turn to carve. I don a navy apron and a gladiatorial looking sliver chain mail glove to protect my right hand while I carve with my left. I'm nervous; knife skills are not my forte. We get to take home whatever we carve, which adds a sense of urgency to the proceedings.

I pick up my jamónero and start pulling it through the meat, conscious of the fact that I'm against the clock. Zac turns to help the carver to my left, and I'm left to my own devices. I start making dramatic sweeping movements with my knife, like an orchestra conductor, through the marbly flesh. Zac turns around, looks at the ham and gasps. 'What are you doing? You've massacred it!'

He seems horrified. I drop the jamónero and look down the length of the leg. What was once a smooth plain of flesh is now a jagged mess. I apologise to Zac for my over-zealous approach and he assures me he's seen worse. I'm given a second chance and try my best to keep the knife straight, cutting in a short, quick, sawing motion.

I find my rhythm and cut a couple of perfect strips before being asked to step away from the ham. Alberto bags it up for me, and I'm given a goodie bag with jamón tacos (great for stocks), a tub of ham fat for cooking with, and a generous portion of the Jabu Recebo. Making my way home through the flower-filled market, I pass the Brindisa restaurant on the corner. It's so full, diners are spilling out onto the streets. London, it seems, is also in love with Spain.