I WAS thinking about a few things that I miss about living in Liverpool. I miss Bold Street, well, I miss bumping into the few people that I actually like on 'Meet Street'.
I don't miss having to pretend to be engrossed in a world threatening text message when that person from that thing approaches at light speed with a beckoning smile that can only mean I'd been drinking whisky and had possibly agreed to embark on an outrageous adventure involving elephants, canoes and Warrington.
As much as I miss the family, friends and follies that make my Liverpool life so rich and dangerous, what I really need in my Caribbean life is a decent glass of wine, served anywhere lower than boiling point in a half decent glass by a person in long trousers and shoes.
I remember watching an awful film about a couple of idiots bombing around Napa on a wine and cliché tour, but there was a worthy line about wine – a good wine doesn't need an occasion, the wine is the occasion.
Many venues offer a wine list as an afterthought, some may even suggest a wine choice in an apologetic fashion, others celebrate their wine offering with fanfares and bold statements of wild intent – claiming revelation and delivering liquid absolution.
A little while ago I was approached by some wise madmen – they had decided to build a temple, a temple to all things boozy. They had a fierce and righteous desire to furnish the city's life lovers with a stunning list, an excellent menu and the finest cocktails known to all of creation.
The following statement is firm and true – the Noble House has the best wine offering in the city.
One can assume that the list of around seventy wines is just about perfect, I helped put it together therefore you can be assured that whether you're spending twenty or a hundred pounds you'll be getting a solid deal, but it is the introduction of Martian technology that elevates the venue's winecraft into the echelons of the super-suave.
They have installed a barmpot, vino-jukebox that can serve the finest wines, at perfect temperature, by the glass.
Last time I looked they were selling Corton Charlemagne, St Emilion, Oregon Pinot and the almost legendary Chateau Musar... by the glass!
The lords of heaven only know how this machine works and I was always too scared to ask, but you must try it out, it's the future.
My reliable and almost sober sources inform me that the guys at Noble are planning more and more adventures in wine, it is you duty as a follower of Bacchus to investigate and support, forgive me, such a noble cause.
You can find this rather boss gaff on Brunswick Street, off Castle Street, feel free to engage your magic typewriter and look them up at www.thenoblehouse.co.uk.
I shall leave you with some life changing advice. Find somebody who sells Cape Mentelle Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot and marry into the family.
This swag is incredible. I was introduced to the stuff by my wine mentors – Ian Clarke and Vincent Charnley – a good few years back. I've yet to find a wine that blew my tiny mind into smithereens in the same way. Imagine those little guys from the Ribena advert juiced up on mad steroids, riding Harley choppers, half drunk on Kryptonite and glue chasing a voluptuous elf-maiden down your throat whilst the music of Mozart drifts up like a groovy nebula up into the plushest corners of your soon to be redundant mind.
It really is that good. Get some.
