
Putting two good things together doesn’t always make something better. Like Frank Lampard and Steven Gerarrd in central midfield, there are some combinations that just don’t work. I remember the time I mixed my two favourite drinks as a twelve year old – milk and apple juice. I poured it down the sink. But, sometimes, two things that seem like they would be disastrously dangerous together can make something great – a combination so left-field it brings a smile just thinking about it.
Last weekend, Marc and I joined nearly 8,000 other runners in the peculiarly eccentric, very French and truly brilliant Marathon de Medoc, where the route encompasses nearly 20 stops for wine, cheese, fruit, oysters, steak and ice-cream. Running this race has long been a dream of mine, and it has it’s own particular mythology amongst those who have done it.
After months of ‘training’, weeks of worrying about whether we’d done enough training, and, erm, days of abstinence from wine, we reached Pauillac on Saturday morning, about half an hour before the start.

The closer we got to the start, the louder the noise, the crazier the outfits, the more enthusiastic the spectators. There were Japanese dressed as samurai, Scots in kilts, a lot of caveman, and one guy with a tiny flesh-coloured thong. Not sure what he was going as. Marc and I, as serious runners, were kitted out in the latest gear which, in retrospect, made our woeful performance even more embarrassing. No-one wants to be the kid with all the gear but none of the skill. For an idea of the atmosphere, check out this video.
The first hour-and-a-half saw us run south through the two Pichons, heading down to St-Julien with Anthony and Lillian Barton waving the runners on from a bench outside Langoa Barton, all the way down to the stunning Beychevelle where we turned and made our way north. It was beautiful and we were feeling fresh. I remember we passed a farmer and his 5 year old daughter who were picking tomatoes. Not part of the organisation in any way, this quiet old man and his daughter offered the passing runners some of their harvest, I was surprised Marc didn’t grab a few for later.
As we headed back up north through Pauillac again, we passed Lafite, Mouton and Grand-Puy-Ducasse, nibbling and sipping as we went.
The heat was certainly taking its toll. I’d drunk about four litres of water by this point and Marc, well, Marc was eating quite a lot. Like a bottle of English Dornfelder laid down in the cellar, we were really starting to flag by the twenty mile mark. Marc and I separated and the only thing on the mind was finishing. We were looking ragged. Really ragged. As we limped, hobbled and jogged at a pace slower than a brisk walk, we were overtaken by emus, mice and other such creatures.

Still, it had to end. And it did. Eventually. Five hours later we passed the line, in a time that neither of us would be proud of.
Running a marathon slower than Al-Gore did gives one a certain sense of humility (as well as a new appreciation for Mr Gore) and doesn’t dampen in any way the memory of an amazing day in the Medoc.
And, you know, it was a timely reminder that Bordeaux isn’t just about historic properties, Chinese Yuan, First Growths, consultants and investment wines. It is also about humour, charity, drinking, camaraderie and fun. And, like I said, odd things that sometimes do go together.










Bring Your Own Etiquette
Over many years spent working as a sommelier I definitely saw a rise in requests to bring your own wine to restaurants. It is not only a response to harder times – if you have a good bottle nothing you cook at home will do it justice (at least not if you cook like I do).
Many restaurants welcome B.Y.O. and will charge you a corkage fee. Fair enough – this goes towards the glasses you drink the wine from, the sommelier decanting (if necessary) and serving the wine and all the other frills associated with dining out.
So in my personal experience of B.Y.O. as a customer and of accommodating it on the other side of the fence, here are a couple of tips on the do’s and don’ts (and yes, the don’ts, have all actually happened).
DON’T:
DO:
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