It’s unseasonably warm here in England at the moment, and as a country used to cool rain through the summer we’re not coping well with hot days and hot nights. I ventured out to the pub this evening to meet up with friends in an air-conditioned room, but really fancied wine rather than anything else.
To the horror of my beer drinking buddies I had a glass of white wine with plenty of ice. It was perfect, easy to sip, delightfully cool, yet crisply acidic. It wasn’t a wine I’d normally drink, in fact, it’s just plain horrid but ‘on the rocks’ it really hit the spot.
This isn’t something I’d recommend with a good bottle of wine, but, as the ice makes a “s’plonk” noise as you throw it in, it got me thinking of the joys of plonk. The word itself, I’m unreliably informed, comes from Australian soldiers stationed in the South of France after the Great War who were given cheap and nasty vin blanc which became ‘plonk’ and was applied to all cheap wine.
Great wine is great, but on a hot summer evening nothing beats a cold glass of plonk and good company.