Moscato gets a skinny makeover

Kanye West has helped Moscato sales soar in the US

Moscato madness continues to grip this US. This week, Wine and the City learnt that Skinnygirl, the low-calorie wine and pre-mix cocktail brand founded by Twiglet-thin reality TV star Bethenny Frankel of The Real Housewives of New York City, has added a Moscato to its line-up.

The brand, bought by spirits giant Beam for $8m in March 2011, has added the low alcohol, lightly sparkling sweet wine to its range in a bid to capitalise on the growing thirst for the variety in the US. Skinnygirl Moscato is said to boast notes of “pear, peach and mango,” along with aromas of “tropical fruit and honey.”

Skinnygirl Moscato 2012

The wines in the Skinnygirl range have only 100 calories per 5oz glass compared to an average of 123 calories found in non-diet wines. Skinnygirl wastes no time in making mention of its low-calorie status, with the Moscato 2012 flagging it up the front label. Along with the Moscato, three new cocktails have been added to Skinnygirl premix range: a mojito, grapefruit margarita and a white cherry vodka, priced at $14.99/bottle for the mojito and margarita and $21.99 for the vodka.

Skinnygirl is one of the fastest-growing drinks brands on the market. Sales at the company were up 19% last year as the trend for low-calorie wines gathered momentum in the US. Last March, the brand expanded from pre-mix cocktails into wine, adding three low-calorie California wines – a Syrah blend, a Chardonnay/Pinot Grigio blend and a Grenache/Syrah rosé blend to its portfolio.

Last year, Moscato sales in the US hit a record high, up 33% in volume on 2011 with the variety now accounting for 6% of wines bought in US retailers, where it is now more popular than Sauvignon Blanc and only slightly behind Pinot Grigio. Moscato’s profile has been boosted by name checks from RnB and hip-hop stars such as Kanye West, Ne-Yo, Lil’ Kim, Ab-Soul and Drake.

Cortina at Cantina

The clocks have gone back and the nights are drawing in. With winter upon us, it may feel tempting to hibernate under your duvet until spring, but the thoughtful people at Cantina del Ponte are determined to keep us partying through the chilly season by bringing the glamour and fun of Italy's chicest ski resort – Cortina d'Ampezzo, to London.

Nicknamed the celebrities living room, the Queen of the Dolomites has long been popular with the Italian glitterati, and became something of a celeb hangout in the '60s, with Hollywood starlets Audrey Hepburn, Ingrid Bergman and Brigitte Bardot all taking to the slopes. Riverside restaurant Cantina del Ponte has built its own wooden ski shack (minus the chalet girls) – Cortina at Cantina, serving up hot chocolate, warm Mojitos and hazelnut Martinis. For those fond of fondu, try the Bagna Cauda, a traditional Piedmontese dish of seasonal vegetables dipped into a deliciously moreish hot anchovy and garlic sauce.

If the biting breeze becomes unbearable, you can always nip inside for a nibble in the main restaurant, which serves up authentic Italian fare. Highlights include beef carpaccio, wild boar ragu and an Italian cheese plate with a side of heavenly white truffle honey. You may not be able to hit the slopes, but for that après ski feeling without having to leave the city, Cortina is a must.

Cortina at Cantina is open until 17 November. Moon boots optional.

Taste of London

On Friday evening, armed with an umbrella and a steely resolve, I made the muddy pilgrimage to Taste of London. On arrival at Regent's Park, I was surprised to find an army of umbrella-wielding foodies blocking the entrance. The fact that so many people had ventured out in the torrential rain is a testament to the British resolve. Were we all brave or just bonkers?

This was to be my first taste of Taste. Two years ago I'd luxuriated in the Scottish sunshine at Taste of Edinburgh, where I ate enough pork belly to have me oinking all the way home. Taste is an experience that lends itself to sunshine. Eating in the rain is odd and unpleasant. But with the near biblical torrent showing no sign of stopping, I was determined to squeeze some enjoyment out of the experience, if only fleeting. Soggy map in hand, I hoofed it to the Bocca di Lupo stand, where I paid six crowns (Taste currency) for their shaved radish and celeariac salad with pomegranate, pecorino and truffle oil (below), which, mercifully, was sensational, and worth braving the rain for alone.

From the crunchy radish and tangy pecornio to the juicy pomegrante pips that glinted, ruby-like on the plate and the final flourish of truffle oil that I could taste in my mouth the next morning, the salad was a symphony of flavour and texture. I was off to a good start. While waiting for the dish, I got talking to the guy on the neighbouring Gelupo stand - Bocca di Lupo's sister ice cream parlour. Unsurprisingly, sales were slow, but the Hendrick's granitas were proving popular due to generous gin pours. Desperate times call for disparate measures.

Still hungry, I moved swiftly on to Opera Tavern across the park. Having circled the icon dish in my programme earlier that day, by the time I arrived at the stand I was dribbling in anticipation, having read Marina O'Loughlin's paean to the pork burger a month before in the Metro. It sounded sublime, and I was about to get a slice of the action.

I eagerly handed over my 14 crowns (£7) and waited, whetting my appetite further by watching the bad boys being made in the open plan kitchen, their tops white from a dusting of Manchego. Finally it arrived. I ate it in three bites. It was every inch as good as the review – mixed in with the pork, the foie gras gave it exquisite richness, juiciness and depth of flavour, while the Manchego made it unmistakably Spanish.

On a food high, my next stop was due to be at Gauthier Soho to try their Top Dog Deluxe – a smoked Strasbourg sausage served in a pain au lait filled with honey bacon and mustard mayo, but my mind kept wondering back to the Bocca di Lupo balls. The trio looked so tasty, I got plate envy from those around me enjoying the spherical treats.

Unstoppable in my quest, I squelched through the mud – Taste by this point had become something of a gastro Glastonbury, back to the Bocca stand, where 12 crowns got me three deep fried delights: olive stuffed with veal and pork, tomato risotto and mozzarella; by far the best of the three. Biting into it, the warm white goo quickly cascaded down my throat, serving as central heating on this shiver-inducing night.

Having enjoyed so many savoury snacks, I was craving something sweet to end the evening on a sugar high. The Asia de Cuba Mexican doughnuts had earlier caught my eye. I thought they would be long, Churros-like tubes filled with butterscotch sauce, so was slightly disappointed to find them perfectly round. And while they were fluffy and light, the centre wasn't nearly sticky enough. The accompanying Motijo sorbet however was on the money. Sharp, smooth and with an alcoholic kick, it proved the ideal palate cleanser, though my lack of crowns forced an early exit.

Trudging out of the park, the rain still pouring, my thoughts turned to the Top Dog Deluxe. Should I buy some more crowns and have one last taste? I decided against it. Sometimes the idea of a dish is just as sweet, if not sweeter than the reality...

No. 3 London Dry Gin launch at Berry Bros

I bought a gramophone last week. I'm terribly proud of it. I found it at an antiques fair in Ardingly and it works perfectly. The day after buying it, desperate to get it home, I schlepped it up to London on the train.

That night I had to lug it across town to Berry Bros in St James's as I was keen to attend the launch of No. 3 London Dry Gin. Having been at Decanter three years, I've heard a lot about the Berry Bros HQ - tales of magnificent tastings in their impressive cellars and stories of bottles from the 19th century being dusted off and enjoyed. I was curious to see the cellars for myself.

Rocking up late and limp limbed, I checked in the gramophone. The ticket guy gave me a funny look, which I relished. I love eccentric gestures in deeply traditional haunts – swaggering in and checking in my machine as if it were perfectly normal to bring a gramophone to a cocktail party. I could have handed over a stuffed kitten or a kalashnikov for the look he gave me.

I was ushered down a narrow staircase, past Dead Poets style black and white photos of football teams and ancient Berry Bros alumni. The whole place breathes with the lungs of nostalgia. You can feel the history humming off the walls. A staircase later and I was down in the basement, standing under an arched, bomb-shelter like ceiling.

To my right an enthusiastic jazz band played frantically on their sax, double pass and trombone, giving the place a prohibition era feel. Everything from the underground setting to the abundance of decadent and delicious cocktails screamed of forbidden pleasures and clandestine reverie. With three bars to choose from and two cocktails being shaken at each bar, I didn't know where to begin. After a sensible No. 3 gin and tonic, I got a little more adventurous and opted for the No. 3 Mojito with Chambord (raspberry liqueur) and mint mixed by a guy from Hix. It was divine. I went back to his bar three times.

The jazz continued to be belted out, silenced only for a brief interlude when a Berry Bros rep spoke, apologizing for managing director Simon Berry's absence due to a detached retina, 'not caused by No. 3 London Dry Gin', he quickly added, raising polite laughter from the monocled, moustacheod crowd. Moving on to something slightly stronger, my fellow imbibers and I headed to Alessandro Palazzi of Dukes Hotel's bar. His Martinis are both the best in town, and the most lethal. Rumour has it he only gets six cocktails out of a bottle of gin - they're pretty much pure alcohol furnished with a few drops of angostura bitters.

Like a magician, Alessandro made a few flamboyant hand movements in the direction of the glasses, then poured the gin with military precision, ending his trick by dusting each glass with Amalfi lemon peel. He then proudly presented me the glasses, which I distributed among my group. Taking a sip I soon realised there was no chance I could actually finish the Martini. So as not to look impolite, I resorted to taking bird-like sips every now and then. I'd be on the floor if I drank the whole thing, and I had a gramophone to think about.

My journey home was interesting. The gramophone was so heavy and cumbersome I had to decline a goodie bag, which was deeply disappointing, but I couldn't physically carry it. Limping up the incredibly smart St James's street, passing besuited gents and perfumed ladies, I could no longer support the weight of the gramophone along with the sheer size of the horn and resorted to wearing the horn on my head like a witches hat.

I assure you, dear reader, that this was in no way in a bid to attract attention - which it certainly did, but rather a desperate space saving measure. I looked absurd walking up this most rarefied of streets with a hunk of shell shaped metal on my head, but it got the machine home in one piece. On arriving back at my flat I set up the gramophone, fixed on a fresh needle, wound it up and put on a foxtrot. It crackled as the 78 spun round on the turntable. Soon a mellifluous voice sang out from the horn and for two blissful minutes, time stood still.

Appleton Estate Bartender's Challenge at Floridita

It always feels decadent going out on a Monday night. There's something mischievous about it, as if it's scandalously early in the week to be getting the party started, but I couldn't resist an invite to sample Jamaican rum-infused cocktails at Floridita, shaken by the best barmen in the business.

I went with Sebastian Harguindey, who runs the über trendy Argentinian steak house Constancia in Tower Bridge. As Monday is his only evening off work, it proved the perfect excuse for a celebration. There's something special about Floridita – it transports you out of London and into the hotheaded hedonism of Cuba. Pink Martini played on my last visit.

The Cuban pleasure den had a distinct Caribbean twist, from the jerk chicken canapés and plantain puddings to the Jamaican Mule cocktails expertly shaken by the three finalist bartenders, in their respective rival bars dotted about the room.

Each bartender had to compete for our vote, by speedily shaking, crushing, stirring, swirling and eventually pouring perfect cocktail after perfect cocktail to the parched throng in front of them. We started at the Viajante bar – London's most talked about restaurant. There's a big buzz about Viajante at the moment; everyone seems to be going, talking about going, or knows someone that's gone. Head chef Nuno Mendes trained at El Bulli, so all sorts of exciting and experimental dishes are scuttling out of his kitchen.

Moving on to Milk and Honey things got a little wilder. Every few seconds bartender Josh Ivanovic would smash a glass in his ambitious, ebullient, almost theatrical performance. The more excited he got, the further away from the bar people edged, but by the end the crowd was five deep with awe-struck converts marveling in his magic. His Mai Tais were to die for. Ivanovic was deservedly crowned the winner, and will represent the UK in the final of the competition in Jamaica.