Splashing around at St Andrews Beach in brain-boiling 40C degree temperatures, during the Australia Day holiday week, I came over all strange.

Despite the liberal application of aged, slightly rancid coconut oil, with an SPF rating of minus 25, my skin turned the colour of a two year old Beaujolais – a sort of sickly brown-edged red - and I felt faint.

After a relatively short wait (less than a day) in the local medical centre, the doc asked me what was the trouble. I described my symptoms. ‘Were you drinking?’ she asked. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘Plenty of water.’

‘If water was any good,’ she said, ‘we’d have it running through our veins instead of blood. I’m sorry to say you are severely debeerated.’ ‘What does that mean?’ I asked naively.

‘Debeeration,’ she explained, ‘Is a condition that occurs when a person has not consumed sufficient brewed liquid. Deprived of essential complex alcohols and other associated vitamins and minerals, the victim’s system will then start to fail, their muscles will melt down and eventually they may die.’

‘But along with water I’ve also been drinking a lot of light and mid-strength beers.’ I countered in mitigation.

‘Aha! There’s your problem.’ she said. ‘They’re not actually beer. If I may speak scientifically, they are a sort of no-frills substitute for the real thing. In laypersons’ terms, they are the tragic equivalent of drinking instant coffee.’

Horrified and chastened at her insight into my condition, I replied plaintively, ‘Please Doc, what am I to do? I place myself entirely in your hands.’

‘Well, first we’ll have to urgently rebeerate you. I don’t think you’re that far gone that we need to put you on a beer drip but I recommend the immediate consumption of half a dozen stubbies (375ml half bottles) of ice-cold, full-strength, amber fluid. After that I want you to drink at least two litres of genuine beer daily, avoid imitation beer and strenuous activity and come back and see me in a month.’

With this she wrote out a prescription listing a number of local and imported ales, advising me, ‘Unfortunately these are not subsidised but they should be available on discount at your local drugstore*.’

‘But Doc. What about driving? You know it’s illegal for me to drink and drive.’

‘Do you want to live or do you want to drive? she snapped. ‘You clearly have a problem identifying life priorities! Next.’

*liquor store.

Syrah - Return of the cultural cringe
Australian winemakers have a long history of cultural cringing – that is, using European, mainly French names for their wines. Most finally stopped this pathetic practice after being dragged into the late twentieth century by litigation and international trade treaties.

But a few winemakers have short memories – a stroll through retail liquor aisles will reveal the increasing usage on Australian labels of the Frenchified term syrah (Ooh bloody la la) instead of the good ol’ Aussie shiraz. Consumers beware, Australian wines labelled syrah will undoubtedly carry a premium price. Wine marketing tosseurs (tossers in Australian) have a lot to answer for.

Must be the season of wood
Doncha just love Americanese? When we were in the Napa Valley in November we noticed that back label writers over there avoid the use of down market terms such as ‘aged in new and one year old barriques.’ They prefer the more refined ‘aged in new and seasoned oak barriques.’ Bit like advertising for pre-loved cars really.

Wine and cheese
Saw this article Wine is all the same after cheese in New Scientist online. Seems UC Davis researchers have found that when cheese is served with wine the cheese actually masks both the good and bad elements that may occur in any wine.

French winemakers have of course known this for centuries, hence the saying, ‘Sell with cheese. Buy with apples.’

© Martin Field