Читать книгу Memoirs of a Fruitcake - Chris Evans - Страница 14

10 HP Sauce

9 Worcestershire sauce

8 Dandelion and burdock

7 Extra virgin olive oil

6 Vinegar

5 An ice cold beer

4 A pint of fresh, full fat milk

3 Heinz tomato ketchup

2 White wine

1 Red wine

THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY AFTERNOON, the sun was high in the sky, the sensible people were having a siesta whilst the sun worshippers were beachside busy baking themselves. As Suzi was happy to sizzle with the best of them and I was neither tired nor mad enough to expose my milk-white body and already sunburnt face to yet more heat, I decided to mosey on down to the town to enjoy a quiet read and a cold drink in the local patisserie.

After doing exactly that and whilst ambling back up the gentle hill towards the hotel, I noticed in the distance an equally pink-faced gentleman walking towards me. I smiled to myself, more out of a sense of camaraderie than anything else, but as he drew closer I couldn’t help feeling he looked familiar.

‘Blow me,’ I thought to myself as we continued to converge, ‘he looks for all the world like David Frost.’

Several more steps towards each other and…

‘Blow me again, it is David Frost.’ And sure enough it was.

At almost exactly the same time I recognised him, he recognised me. We’d never met before, yet here we were now, red face to red face in an almost deserted French village. Les deux rostbifs rouges, très extraordinaire!

‘My dear boy,’ he announced, ‘you’re always much taller.’

What the heck did that mean? And before ‘Hello’, or ‘How are you?’ Hilarious.

‘David, what a perfectly pink pleasure this is for both of us,’ I replied.

‘Indeed, indeed – hey, I’m staying at Andrew’s, you must come round for a drink one night.’

I had no idea what on earth he was talking about.

‘Oh, yes, er, right, of course, we must. I’m with my girlfriend you see.’

‘Excellent, then you must bring her along as well. I’ll get one of the girls on to it. Where are you?’

‘We’re at the Voile d’Or’.

‘Righty-ho, we’ll get you there, then.’ And with that he was off.

I still had no idea what he was talking about. Who was this Andrew to whom David was referring, and who were these girls?

I half expected to hear no more about it, but I have since learnt to take members of the old school at their word. Later that evening there was a call to our room.

‘Hello,’ Suzi said.

‘Ah, hello, this is Maddie Lloyd Webber here.’ Ah, it was that Andrew and those girls to whom David had been referring.

‘Frosty says you and young Mr Evans might like to come for dinner one evening. Would that be agreeable?’

Two evenings later, the ‘boys’, i.e. David and Andrew, were dispatched by the ‘girls’, i.e. Maddie and Carina (Frost), to fetch Suzi and me from our now familiar spot on the hotel terrace. Needless to say, after our second famous pick-up of the week, the waiters could not have been nicer to us for the remainder of our stay.

We sauntered down the road to Andrew’s house, which was no more than a few minutes in the direction of the Cap itself. Andrew, the great composer and impresario, walked ahead with Suzi while I trailed a few metres behind with David. Andrew and Suzi talked wine whilst David and I talked telly.

Now, there’s success and then there’s Lloyd Webber success, as we were about to discover.

When we arrived at our dinner venue, Andrew and Maddie’s house was nothing short of amazing. I won’t go into detail – that wouldn’t be fair – but let’s just say it was off the scale.

There is a wee tale, however, that I do feel at liberty to share with you.

‘Suzi and I had a delightful conversation walking up the hill,’ proffered Andrew as we sat down to commence dinner. ‘Suzi asked me what, in my opinion, was the greatest wine in the world, which, I believe, to be a 1947 Cheval Blanc.’ At this point David and several other guests nodded their approval.

‘So, if everyone is in agreement, I propose that after the Rothschild ‘55’ (of which there were two magnums opened on the table to have with the starter), ‘we move on to a couple of bottles of the best of the best for the main.’

Was I hearing this correctly? Had Mr Lloyd Webber just announced that we were to have not one but two bottles of the greatest wine the world had to offer? It certainly appeared so. Not only that, but how about the two babies currently taking pride of place in front of us; easily the best wine I’d ever had in my life thus far, but already about to be relegated to second place.

The night turned out to be fascinating on many counts; I have an idea most Lloyd Webber dinner parties do. The conversation was like a script from a film, with talk of presidents, prime ministers, gangsters and movie stars, all vying to be invited to this or get a part in that. There were also a few surprise visitors as the night went on, but those names are also for Lord Lloyd Webber’s book. If he ever writes one, what a book that will be.

When the moment came for the ‘47 Cheval Blanc to be served I’ll never forget Suzi’s face when Andrew asked her to taste it, on behalf of all the guests. She was as nervous as I’d ever seen her. This was going to be the sip of her life.

Suzi raised her glass, closed her eyes and pursed her lips in her usual expectant manner, but this time as she tilted the glass towards her the deep-red ruby liquid inside seemed to light up with an extra special promise of the magic to come. We all waited, almost scared to breathe, for her verdict.

‘Yum, that’s lovely!’ she declared, a brief response admittedly but an entirely acceptable one at that. Besides, what else is a girl supposed to say in front of a man who was not only our host and provider of the wine but also known to be one of the world’s most prominent wine connoisseurs?

Moreover, Suzi was absolutely right. The Cheval Blanc 1947 was indeed lovely.

I only wish I could taste it again today now that I know just a little bit more about what a good wine should taste like.

Upon our return to England, Suzi and I couldn’t resist following up our great wine adventure by paying a visit to our local vintners. The sommelier there was our very own grape guru and we couldn’t wait to ask him which wine, as far as he was concerned, was the best wine in the world.

Without missing a beat he replied, ‘Alors, mais bien sur, zere is no question, Monsieur, Madame, zat is zee famos 1947 Cheval Blanc – sans doute!’ His eyes misted over as he pronounced the name and vintage of the famous château. ‘Why you ask?’

‘Because we had some last week,’ I said, trying not to sound too pleased with our revelation.

‘Non Monsieur, ce n’est pas possible. Zee only person known to ‘ave zat wine ees your music man, Andrew Webber Lloyd. You cannot get it anywhere else!’

‘I know,’ I said, this time having to try really hard to avoid the smug zone. ‘We were at his house last week and he gave us some.’

Upon hearing this, our friendly wine merchant took a beat to see if we were joking, then for a brief moment looked as if he might cry, or faint, or both. Thankfully this was only a temporary glitch as he was soon back with us, insisting we tell him all about our experience, whilst offering us a glass each of something ‘he just happened to have open’ as a small bribe.

For the record, thank you Sir David for getting us the invite to the Lloyd Webbers in the first place. Thank you

Maddie Lloyd Webber for following up with the phone call. Thank you Suzi for striking up a wine conversation with Andrew whilst walking down the road with him. Thank you Andrew for being so generous as to share with us your liquid treasure. Thank you Monsieur Sommelier for providing a wonderful and enthusiastic epilogue to the piece. And finally, thank you God for inventing grapes in the first place.