The age of consent
ONE of the many joys of wine is its constant capacity to surprise. Only last week, I drained with utter delight two bottles that conventional wine wisdom dictates that I should have spurned on the spot.
The first, enjoyed with my old chum Peter Grogan – who knows a thing or two about fine vino – was a bottle of 1955 Morgon. Hang on, I hear you cry, a 66-year-old Cru Beaujolais? Are you crazy? It will be shot to pieces. Beaujolais should be drunk young, young, young.
Well, a week
