Tim Adams. Aussie winemaker. Tesco’s lover

Tim Adams has the kind of face that looks like it should be located due south of a hat with corks dangling from it. It’s an Australian face, to be frank. It’s a face that speaks of working outside in the fresh air and doing an honest day’s toil for an honest day’s pay. And his ears stick out a bit, as if the tops are normally compressed by comedy headgear. Tim is a winemaker from the Clare Valley. His wines win medals and hearts. At the end of our lunch tasting a range of his products I’m ready to invest my small savings in a cellar full of his wines, they are that delicious.

Che Sera, Syrah…

Because of his website’s dim catchphrase, ‘It’s just booze – drink it!’ I anticipate Washington State winemaker Charles Smith might seem loutish. Rather than produce and promote anaesthetics, I believe his resolute coolness is actually his way of disarming drinkers paralysed by European jargon and pretensions…

Trinity, Clapham

Trinity is the second Clapham restaurant of chef patron Adam Byatt, with the first being the now defunct Thyme, and it works very hard to amalgamate fine dining with its friendly neighbourhood restaurant ethos. Soft lighting gently framed the windows with only a small discreet plaque revealing the restaurant within, Trinity.

Melito, Oxford Circus

Why are some cash machines located lower than others? In any row one will always be a couple of feet nearer the pavement than the rest. Is it like the special urinal in the gents, the one that allows small boys to relieve themselves without having to jump up and down, a procedure that tends to get a bit messy?

Little Beauty, a new face from the new world

How’s this for something beautiful. The Little Beauty range of wines from New Zealand have a special offer for Foodepedia readers – an initial discount of 15% on their first order. First though we went to Claridges to have a tasting of these new wines from the the new world

‘Spirit in the sky’

I’m 40 meters above an asphalt parking lot on the South Bank of the Thames, literally eye-to-Eye with London’s famous Ferris wheel, strapped into a padded leather swivel chair that must be the tallest barstool in the world. There’s nothing but air beneath my feet—or, arguably, between my ears, given my current predicament. Ah, the lengths—and heights—I’ll go to for whisky.