Flash in the can
Once a byword for naffness, canned and boxed wine has come of age, says Jonathan Ray, and is just perfect for that summer picnic
CANNED wines are all the rage and – this time – look as if they’re here to stay. It must be 40 years ago that I saw my first can de vin and heard my father hoot with delight as he flipped one open and knocked it back.
Born in 1908, Pa came from another age and was most particular about what he ate and drank. Tinned, packet and frozen food, for example, were regarded as complete abominations but, being the contradictory old sod that he was, Pa made exceptions. Tinned sardines, in particular, were venerated and for a while he imported his own and kept them in the cellar, ageing them as he did his grand cru classé claret. And, bizarrely, for one who insisted on the freshest of fresh food, he also had something of an obsession with Smash instant mash potato, which he prepared with vast spoonfuls of butter, convinced that nobody would be able to tell the difference from the real thing. Well, we could and we did.
Given his pickiness, Pa would seem a strange early adopter of wine in cans but for him it was as if the wheel or sliced bread had just been invented and he couldn’t get enough of them. He relished the instant access the cans afforded and the seemingly endless supply of vino that the bags-in-boxes offered.
After a while, my father’s enthusiasm waned as he finally and reluctantly had to
admit that, fun though the idea was, the wine was pretty fair rubbish.
But times have changed and cans and bags-in-boxes are back in vogue. I’m delighted to report that, thanks to the latest whizz-bang technology and better know-how, this time the wine ain’t half bad and in some cases is downright tasty.
It’s just as when screwcaps first came in. The initial wines were pretty ropey and never took off. It was only when seriously fine wine began to be bottled under screwcap (Kumeu River, one of the top producers of New Zealand and a firm favourite of mine was one of the driving forces) that they caught the eye of consumers and off they went. Traditionalists might still abhor them but screwcap wines are here to stay – and I love them.
And so it is with cans. Yes, there is still some vinous grot on offer but I doubt discerning readers of The Field are exactly the target market for these jauntily-coloured cans of bubblegum pop. At the top end, however, there are some real treats to be had.
My eureka moment came with a can of Le Petit Rosé from Château Léoube in the Côtes de Provence. A typical Grenache/ Cinsault blend, it is pale, pale pink with creamy, red berry and peach fruit and is ridiculously tasty. I can’t imagine anyone not lapping it up and grinning with pleasure as they did so.
I was then introduced to the wines of the Canned Wine Co and haven’t looked back. The firm’s 2019 Grüner Veltliner from Austria is a complete delight. No, it’s not brow-furrowingly complex but nor is it meant to be. It’s light, fresh, appley, spicy and peachy, which it is meant to be.
With no light and no oxygen, cans offer the perfect environment for fresh, vibrant and fruity wines. The Canned Wine Co’s lusciously juicy 2016 Old Vine Garnacha is also a wine of great joy that I would happily drink again and again. I can’t wait to try the oak-aged Viognier and the Pinot Noir that it’s about to launch.
Nearly all wine cans are 25cl, which is a large single serve equivalent to a third of a regular bottle and offers one a great chance to sample lovely wines without forking out too much hardearned do-re-mi. Sulphur levels are far lower than in bottles and cans have a far lower carbon footprint than glass and are much more readily recyclable. They are great for taking to glass-free festivals, beaches and picnics, perfect for secreting in fridge, pocket or handbag, and are ready to drink the second you open them. For heaven’s sake, you don’t even need a glass.
The purists might shudder but do, please, give them a go now that lockdown is easing, the weather is improving and we’re finally being allowed out to play with our friends again.
Shop around, however, for one thing I have learned is that a lot of frogs still have to be kissed. Decent wine in cans is still decent, but crap wine in cans is still crap.
With no light and no oxygen, cans offer the perfect environment for fresh, vibrant wines
WE can call the BMW X5 a lot of things but shy and retiring would not be on that list. In gleaming white – which somehow made the Botoxed black front grille stick out even more dramatically – it dominated the farmyard. It’s a big old beast.
Size has its advantages, of course. Getting in is a doddle and the seating position is nice and high. The view out is good, with only the ‘B’ pillars taking some seeing round at acute junctions. The seats themselves are superb, worthy of being unbolted and added to the household furniture, although they do seem to consume a lot of interior space; the back is surprisingly tight.
So far, so good, and what we’d expect from the big BMW. Closer inspection of the dials and multitude of buttons (once you’ve found your reading glasses) tells you more about what’s going on under the X5’s huge shell. It’s another ‘hybrid’ machine, with a petrol engine and a battery system working in conjunction to keep tax bills down – sorry, to ‘save the planet’.
It’s a now-familiar concept: a large battery tucked away where the spare wheel should be does the low-speed, short-range driving, the petrol engine taking over the rest of the time. During braking, the battery gets charged up (a bit) and parking up next to a power source completes the job.
What amazed me was how quickly the petrol engine was needed. It’s no bad thing if you like fantastic performance and engine noise, and a two-ton-plus machine that handles like a dream. The way it neutered the potholes was nothing short of miraculous, with only distant thumps making their way into the cabin.
But this is the age of the hybrid, and so I made it my duty to use it properly. I parked up for a few hours next to a 13A farm socket – one that hasn’t seen action since we paid our electricity bills in groats. Four hours later I had one very hot plug and a battery charge of around 16%. It wasn’t many miles into my journey before I was totally dependent on petrol again. A grown-up, high-current charging point would definitely be in order.
Mind you, that was nothing compared to my motorway test. Emerging from Fleet services after a comfort break, I thought I’d see how ‘battery only’ handled rejoining the motorway. The answer, judging by the HGV grille that appeared horribly close to my rear window, was ‘not very well’. Luckily, the BMW switched to petrol and we could escape the fruity sign-language and flashing lights. I flicked the indicators as a ‘thank-you/sorry’ as we drew away, rather sheepishly. And there’s a word I never thought I’d use about any BMW.
It ticks all the eco-boxes, has a long and silly name and achieves extraordinary theoretical consumption figures, but this X5 hybrid, as majestic as it is, wasn’t actually eco-practical. It left me a bit confused. Mind you, not as confused as the farm electricity meter, wondering what’s just hit it.
Getting in is a doddle and the seating position is nice and high, the view out good