The Big Fortified Tasting

This tasting, dedicated to all types of fortified wine, was first established over a decade ago and is now headed by Alex and Elizabeth Bridgeman.

Wines from Andalusia, the Douro Valley,

Madeira and several other regions will be on show..

There will be two masterclasses on the day.

Contact admin@thebft.co.uk.

Thursday, April 20

Church House Conference Centre

27 Great Smith Street

London SW1P 3AZ

Swig Portfolio Tasting

The importer will be showcasing over 150 wines from its portfolio.

South Africa, Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, Germany, Austria and Bulgaria will all be represented.

Contact robin@swig.co.uk for all registration enquiries.

Monday, April 24

China Exchange

32a Gerrard Street

London W1D 6JA

The literal Cheesecake Master and Doesn’t Really Give a Fuck Kyle – also collector of humorously defaced Subway (Clockwork Orange not footlong) “Break Glass for Emergency Access” signs (current favourite: “Freak Ass for Emergency A—ss”) brought us in a bag of butteries, sneaked out of the Hippy kitchen in exchange for our excellent wine shop banter and Kankyo Ongaku.

Are you familiar with the buttery? You may also know it as the rowie, but no one calls it that except Scottish Jay Rayners. The buttery is a dirty squashed croissant, a filthy Scottish fisherman’s croissant, although impeccable French Matt says they are proud enough not to glance at a croissant for legitimation. They’re buttery, lardy rolls, which no, doesn’t sound like they should be made in a Hippy kitchen but then, we’ve met Doesn’t Really Give a Fuck Kyle, haven’t we?

Usually, I would not be able to indulge my deeply felt adoration for the buttery, given that they are carbcentral+ plus lard. However I am in the early stages of breaking free from the carb-limiting and into another, intermittently hedonistic and poorly researched dieting fad: intermittent fasting. This month I’m not eating lunch.

Late last Wednesday night, in a mood of weird misery scrolling on Instagram (I’m fine though!) I chanced upon a tiny infogram(?) about intermittent fasting. I didn’t click on it (too wise) but I got the take-home message: women 35-45 try the 18:6 balance of eating/not eating. Lunch is now at 4pm, beginning with a little light crisping or Tunnock’s teacake, then whatever I fucking want (another bonus of poor research) until the clock strikes at 10 and I turn into a pumpkin. The opposite of a pumpkin. A carrot?

In addition to the almost certain imminent weight loss there are several