white hart revisited By Peter Grogan

It’s damn hard to get a glass of crap wine down the pub these days, isn’t it? Remember Hirondelle? Don Cortez? And, Lord help us, Laski Riesling? Aye, those weren’t the days. (Hirondelle is French for swallow, by the way – as in the bird – ‘ironic, really, as it’s the last thing you’d want to do with it’, my old dad used to say.)

Given that it’s hard to go badly wrong on a Stokey pub wine list, and that Spring is upon us, by Jimminy, it’s time to blow the cobwebs off our prejudices and preconceptions and get a blast of fresh air into our wine-drinking habits. (At this point you may wish to consider humming something suitable from a Julie Andrews vehicle to get you in the right frame of mind – just a suggestion...) So how about a grapefruity glass of Garganega? Or sharing a bottle of vibrant Viura?

Now the last time I was in the White Hart it was still under the benign, if rather solemn, patronage of Mr Murphy and the wines – Jacob’s Creek, Blossom Hill, Yadda Yadda (an Australian Shiraz) – were (although a quantum leap from Hirondelle) nothing to set the pulse racing. (But the car – you remember the car, that slightly edgeworn but supremely dignified XJ6 that was always parked outside – that car was half of the most perfect marriage of man and motor imaginable.) Well, that’s all changed and today’s wine list would be as unrecognisable to Mr Murphy as the pub itself, and has been propelled into the twenty-first century courtesy of Harrison Vintners who supply everything vinous on offer.

You may not have heard of Garganega but you’ve certainly heard of Soave and probably not always in a good way. Sure, there’s a lot of insipid stuff churned out under that appellation but, believe me, the good `uns are good. The Classicos, made by the better producers such as, in this case, Cesari, are big, long, silky things, this one with grapefruity acidity and some pistachio nuttiness which we’ll call torrone. It’s called Nibai 2001 and it’s £15 a bottle.

White Rioja has changed a lot since the days of the overoaked and almost sherry-like dinosaurs of 20 years ago (which I liked so much). Valserrano Barrica 2000 (£5 a glass or £18 the bottle) is cutting-edge stuff – there’s oak, for sure, but just to provide a toasty vanilla framework for the fresh, almost sappy fruit and the slightly nutty finish which we’ll call, um, turron. There’s no nougat at all in Ringenbach-Moser Alsace Riesling 2001 (£16.50) but I’m not complaining. I can sympathise if you don’t like the sound of melons marinated in petrol but in the end it’s only a metaphor and if the thought of the crisply aromatic, slightly floral nose makes it sound more appealing, then try to remember that bit. The extra year or two of bottle-age makes it the perfect introduction to this super-dry style of Riesling and you’ll soon know if it’s something you want to look into further.

It’s a brave or a foolhardy man (or, in this case, a man with a good supplier) who puts a no-frills Bourgogne Pinot Noir on his list with hope in his heart, and Marchand 2000 (£17) doesn’t let the side down. It’s light, it’s pinky – it would be – and there’s a perfect little raspberry in there squeaking ‘Eat me! Eat me!’. It’s a glugger, certainly, but with structure and length and, if you don’t do Pinot Noir, it’s a good first taste of what’s in store once you become addicted.

Chateau Tour de Capet Saint-Emilion 1999 (£22.00) is a bit of a mouthful in more ways than one. It’s proper Claret for grown-ups with solid tannins and dry, slightly earthy flavours of plums and damsons and has good length to it. It’s refreshing to see so much ‘Old World’ wine on a pub list but the New World isn’t entirely neglected and they don’t come much more New Worldly than Malakita Merlot 2001 from Chile (£4.00 glass/£14 bottle). Our estimable photographer Mike hit the nail squarely on the head: ‘Blackcurrant fruit pastilles’, he said at first sniff, correcting my erroneous initial impression of ... raspberry fruit pastilles. Whatever, it’s a great big, glycerol-laden blast of fruit with more front than Brighton and I liked its sweetly-minty flavours – or should that be mintilly sweet?

Whatever would Mr Murphy have made of it all?

The White Hart
69 High Street, 
020 7254 6626