Givry Le Bois Chevaux Grand Cru vs. La Casita: Emperor's new clothes

he two bottles on the picture could not have come to me via more different routes. The left, Givry Le Bois Chevaux Grand Cru - from a bloomingly swell party in the City. No surprise, its estimated market value is around 50 quid.

The right one, the humble Spanish La Casita in a plastic bottle - from bmi's Cairo flight, economy class.

I was planning on quaffing the former for dinner and use the latter to deglaze a steak. In reality, it was the reverse that came to pass. The Givry turned out to taste like a very tannic Beaujolais Nouveau would have (cringe!), while La Casita proved very quaffable, if unpretentious, indeed.

What a case to demonstrate that most of human consumption is symbolic!

Kopparberg: Swedish pear cider

love picnics. There's hardly a better drink for dining on the grass than cider and perry. Festively fizzy, naturally aromatic and with just enough alcohol content to get your delightfully buzzed but not inebriated. Up until recently, I had to wait to go to France to buy cider and perry there. The English varieties fall into the category of working-class booze and seem but a cheap flavourless alternative to beer.

However, Tesco's on High Street Kensington, a far cry from the Brixton branch, which mostly competes with Iceland in providing the essential components of the "White trash diet", presented me with a lovely discovery. Kopparberg cider comes made from pears or apples and can also be alcohol-free. It could be down to Sweden being ruled by a bunch of Frenchies, their royal family, but Kopparberg tastes and smells as if it hails from Normandy. At 2.19 a small bottle it is not a bargain compared to the excellent champagne-sized 78-cent cider at Auchan but it sure can tide me over until my next grocery trip to Lille.

Hochar Pére et Fils, Lebanese wine

he Lebanese stand out among their neighbours like a sore thumb. Or rather like a rich dowager's manicured and bejewelled thumb. When the ancient Hebrews were still camelbacking the arid expanses of the biblical desert, the Phoenicians from whom the modern Lebanese directly descend were already conducting a busy trade as far afield as Britain and India.

Four thousand years ago they were already good peddling wine to the less mobile Mediterraneans. You can fathom the reasons of such wide-reaching popularity, if you taste any wine from the Hochar vineyards in Lebanon's Bekaa valley. Rich, lush, delicately balanced and decidedly French in style they are nothing that you would expect from such a war-torn land. During the civil war, the Hochars would keep on picking grapes and making wine in the midst of Israeli shelling and bombardments. Phoenicians have outlived pharaonic Egyptians, Alexander the Great, Romans, Byzantines, Arab conquests, Mongols, Turks, and the French. Centuries from now, they will also most likely be the first to start interstellar wine trade.

Gewurztraminer: the peach nectar of Alsace

h Alsace, the land of blue-eyed blondes and bacon-and-crème-fraîche pizza, the flammeküche, thy biggest glory are your wines!

Right across the border, in Germany, the same grape varieties yield saccharine-sweet wines, yet in Alsace they Gallic touch works miracles and here you get veritable perfumes - full of berry and fruit flavours yet dry and light. After my all-time favourite Alsatian Riesling, Gewürztraminer takes the second spot. The nectary water made from liquidized peaches, gently sweet and full-bodied, it can be sipped in its own right, no accompanying food needed.

Important: Alsatian wines only taste right when drunk from Alsatian wine glasses with a long green stem and a wide clear bowl.

Bulmers: English perry

unny that I had to have the "taste of the English summer" on its last day. At least, this is how Bulmers' pear cider has been promoted for last few months. Even the absence of a TVset in my place did not save from the ubiquitous advertising.

It is not that I caved in, it's more down to abysmal choice of summer drinks in my local Sainsbury's where I have paid my first ever visit. I gave the highly cringeworthy 3-litre PET bottle of cider a wide berth and was left with the only option. Luckily, it turned out rather delightful: sweeter and milder than French poiré, Bulmers pear cider is, truth be told, easier to join in its own right.

I remember reading somewhere that the word perry is not used commercially any more because its perceived fuddy-duddiness may turn off the highly coveted youth market.

Pedro Jimenez: a Chilean pearl

he price of wine does not always reflect its quality. Hyped château produce can make you shrug in bewilderment, while a marked down bottle of supermarket wine can turn out supremely quaffable.

This one I unearthed a couple of years ago in, get ready for this, Lidl. Since then, year in year out, I have been relying on this rather obscure cultivar from Chile's Coquimbo region for white wine to accompany my spicy Asian dishes. It stands up amazingly good to the herbal exuberance of Thai cuisine.

For the best taste, allow it to oxidise in your glass a bit and don't drink it too chilled. It is what they call in French perlant (ever so slightly effervescent), not full-bodied (I don't fancy that in my whites anyway) with a pronounced minimalist passion fruit bouquet and minerally notes.

Interestingly enough, the grape it is made from, Pedro Jimenez, is one of those original European cultivars that were wiped out by the phylloxera epidemic of the 1860s. The distance spared Chilean vines then and now they are the only few remnants of Europe's original viticultural glory.

Poiré: French pear cider

hoa, this smells like pears!" Floyd's first gulp of what he thought was cider ends up in a surprise. Not an unpleasant one at that.

Poiré is cider's less known cousin. Also known as perry or pear cider, predictably, it is made from pears. In France it is only 2 percent alcohol as opposed to cider's 5, although British perries can be as strong as 8. I discovered it by accident shopping for regular apple cider in Brittany, although Mantilly in Norman department of Orne is the unofficial capital of poiré in France.

A distinction needs to be made between real perry and commercial perries. The former is produced to strict standards and uses natural ingredients and brewing techniques allowing no additives. On the other hand, commercial varieties are full of enhancers that do nothing but messing with the original taste to make more marketable to the masses.

Real perry is made from tart sorts of pears rich in tannin (the substance responsible for the astringent taste of red wine), which are not meant for eating. It has a somewhat sharp, dry taste. Because of its low alcohol content I use poiré as a picnic booze to accompany salads.

Bulmers pear cider is heavily advertised all around London these days. I am very curious to try it and share my impressions.