Published on The Independent on 1st September 2021

“Touch the label,” says Andrea Romanese, as he offers the bottle of blush rosé around the table. He cradles its neck in one hand, the body resting against his arm, as if he’s not quite ready to part with it. I lean forward and do as I’m told, tracing the faint bumps with my fingers. It’s a simple design: a Picasso-esque sketch of a face in bold, black lines, set against a plain white background. Beneath it, the name Gabriella, printed in a demure font, refuses to betray the secret of the bottle.

We’ve been at Cantina Romanese – a small winery in the Italian province of Trentino – for the best part of an hour. Most people come to the Cantina to try Lagorai, a sparkling wine named after a nearby mountain chain that’s aged under the cool waters of Lake Levico. But as Andrea, who runs the winery with his brother Giorgio, regales us with Romanese lore, it’s soon clear that their most interesting wines have stronger ties to the family.

Several varieties are named after family members. Among them are Narciso, a bold, red representing their grandfather; Laetitia, an elegant white wine named after their grandmother; and Fides, a robust chardonnay that takes after their great grandmother. But every time we got to Gabriella, he would furtively brush questions aside.

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Published on The Independent on 22nd July 2021

“What happens during fermentation?”

James Marsden, the outspoken owner of Gregg’s Pit Cider & Perry in Ledbury, has thrown me yet another question – one that I suspect he didn’t really want an answer to.

I had just driven in from Goodrich, a little Herefordshire village about 20 minutes away. After repeatedly crawling along the same stretch of country lane, I finally managed to spot the un-signposted opening squeezed between two homes. Past this, and along a single-lane dirt track, was the elusive smallholding responsible for supplying fine ciders to Michelin-starred restaurants in London and beyond for upwards of £10 a bottle. But instead of a warm welcome, James has been bombarding me with questions – questions to which I just can’t seem to come up with the right answers.

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Published on The Independent on 8th July 2021

When the first drops of warm massage oil made contact with my back, it should have been a cue for my body to instantly relax. But after months hunched over my laptop in the confines of a studio flat, the dark circles under my eyes echoing its soulless blue light, those muscles had apparently forgotten how.

Exasperated, I sank my cheeks further into the cushioned face-cradle, hoping it would accelerate the process. Any minute now, I thought, relaxation will wash over me. But it never did.

That’s not to say the massage at Laurea Spa, the wellness centre inside the newish Savoy Palace Hotel in Madeira, wasn’t any good. Quite the opposite, in fact; I’m convinced that I would have melted into a puddle had I experienced another hour of it. But I was only in for a 30-minute taster as part of a wellness weekend on the Portuguese island and, well, there were only so many knots my poor masseuse could untangle in that time.

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