Newbury’s Vineyard fights back with opulent tented restaurant, food and wine to match

Forty four years ago, in a blind wine tasting that would become known as “the judgment of Paris”, French judges selected Napa Valley winners for both their red and white contests. The unexpected result rocked the wine world, proved a catalyst for moving California’s top wines into the quality category they occupy today, and provided the plot for an excellent film called Bottle Shock. It also inspired a marvellous restaurant near Newbury, England, called The Vineyard.

Opened in 1998 by Sir Peter Michael, a British businessman who’d established a working vineyard in Northern California the decade before, his English Vineyard is a five-star hotel with luxuriously sophisticated rooms in a modern building that has a faint whiff of French Château about it. All the rooms are named after California wineries, and the place is tastefully decorated with the Michael family art collection and a fabulous array of wine bottles and paraphernalia. There’s a spa, and a small conference facility, but the beating heart of the place is its extraordinary wine cellar and the restaurant that accompanies it. You can’t miss it; 20 steps across the lobby from the front door and you’re in a glass-framed hallway-cum-wine-cellar with bottles on either side and below your feet. Beyond is a life-sized mural of the judgment of Paris, with Sir Peter ... who was not at the real event ... painted in, benignly looking on like one of those art patrons included in medieval nativity scenes. 

As a restaurant, The Vineyard reached its apogee in the early 2010s under head chef Daniel Galmiche, who won them a Michelin star and Decanter’s Restaurant of the Year award while gaining publicity as a frequent guest chef on the BBC’s Saturday Kitchen. Galmiche and the star have gone, though the restaurant still holds a Michelin plate (one step below) and remains noted for a wide-ranging wine list with an unusual number of wines-by-the-glass and what I’d guess is England’s best range of Californian wines. This includes bottles from Sir Peter’s eponymous label and Schramsberg and Honig, vineyards we visited (and I wrote about) on our Napa tour. I’ve had the good fortune to at The Vineyard three times for work events, but my wine-loving husband had never gotten to join in the fun. It seemed a perfect venue to celebrate his birthday. 

We are only three weeks past the government allowing hotels and restaurants to open in England, and the rules for indoor spaces both dampen the atmosphere of restaurants and make profit margins a challenge. Outdoor dining is the only way to approach the conviviality and turnover of pre-pandemic days, but that’s always a gamble in the English summer. The Vineyard has risen to the challenge by filling their garden with a magnificent tent, its spiked dome, sinuous roof line, lanterns and painted canvas wall panels like something out of an upscale, fine-dining version of The Arabian Nights. It would have been a treat whatever the circumstances and, to be honest, is much more fun that their tastefully understated but unremarkable regular dining room. The only drawback was a slightly wobbly plank floor that sent a tremor through our table whenever anyone passed, but given the circumstances driving the alfresco pop-up, it’s a small irritation easily forgiven. 

We had started indoors, sinking into the deep upholstery of the country-house-style lounge to peruse the wine list before settling on a bottle of sparkling golden Schramsberg to take us from there right through our starters. Once inside the fairy tale pasha’s palace, made all the more surreal by all of the masked servers, I started with a beautifully presented and very tasty pork terrine while the half-Danish husband opted for cured salmon. “Someone in that kitchen understands the Nordics,” opined the arch critic. “ This has been home cured to a proper recipe.” So much of restaurant salmon would be hard to differentiate from packs you can buy at Waitrose. This was in a different league, with the curing reducing the original fillet to perhaps half its starting thickness, concentrating the salmon flavours and imbuing it with aromatic herbs and spices.

We reverse-engineered the main courses around the next wine.

A 2011 Chateau Musar occupies a price point I normally wouldn’t consider sane, even for a special

occasion, but four months without restaurant dining has left a budget surplus that could handle the momentary insanity. Lebanon is one of the world’s oldest wine producing regions and Musar its most famous house. The result is pretty much what you’d hope for from 4,000 years of accumulated experience. Tannins melted away to an intense berry richness but with subtle hints of mushroom and earth that reveal its core of Cabernet Sauvignon. Mr. B was an English purist with a ribeye and triple-cooked chips, while I strayed closer to the Mediterranean with a beef shin ragout with freshly-made tagliatelle. With each mouthful-following sip, I thought “If I could only have one wine for the rest of my life, this would be it!” You need the right food, however, to bring the Musar to its full glory. We both had a few sips left after we finished our meal, at which point spices that had meshed seamlessly with the beef became so noticeable as to be almost overpowering. Validating our menu choices and the kitchen’s talent.

We split a custard tart with pink rhubarb sorbet. The former was pleasant but paled in comparison to the sorbet, served on a trail of golden crumble to deliver a hit of both sharp/sweet fruit and satisfying crunch.

One of the great joys of the “restaurant with rooms” concept is that you don’t have to kill your buzz, either literally or metaphorically, getting home. Push back your chair, enjoy a short, post-prandial walk and slip between some high thread-count sheets that someone else has had the chore of ironing. Bliss. The suites at The Vineyard have all those subtle, small touches that add up to the label (and the price tag) “luxury hotel”. The crisp bed linens and deep feather pillows. The classical music playing over a good sound system when you enter. Decor that’s streamlined and modern but not at all corporate. Tasteful lighting in multiple places to change mood and focus. (There was even a subtle nightlight glowing over the step between sleeping and sitting areas to prevent late-night mishaps.) A palatial marble and wood bathroom with a tub so big I could barely touch the end. Nice shower in a separate alcove, too, though people as tall as my husband will have to duck beneath the shower head.

I don’t think I’ve ever brought my dogs to a five-star hotel, but The Vineyard excelled there, too. Waiting in the room was a dog bed, food and water bowls, their own bottled water and pedal bin for used poo-bags and a fresh tennis ball. Needless to say, the canines enjoyed the outing as much as the humans.

The traditional British hotel breakfast buffet is another infringement of COVID-safety standards; many establishments seem to be switching to a policy of everyone taking breakfast in their rooms. At The Vineyard this means a wooden wine case left on a luggage rack outside your door. Flipping its brass latches revealed croissant, sourdough, jams, butter, milk and orange juice. A Nespresso machine in the room added DIY caffeine. If you order a cooked breakfast (a supplemental charge to your room rate) it arrives at a scheduled time and is well worth the extra cost. Mr. B’s breakfast featured “bacon” that was essentially a thick, cured slice of grilled pork belly that had his eyes glazing over with delight and scrambled eggs he reported as perfectly “baveuse“. (Too runny for me, but I know he ... and any other European serious about food ... considers American scrambled eggs horrifically overcooked.) I had gone for a different style of American: Californian Eggs were poached sitting atop pillow-like home-made English muffins slathered with crushed avocado and a spicy tomato salsa.

Our last pleasant surprise came with the bill. Which, of course, is delivered by email and charged to your pre-registered card upon agreement, to eliminate the need for human contact. Thanks to current government stimuli, there was no VAT (sales tax) on the room or food, only on the alcohol. When you’re pushing out into the luxury end of the market, this can be an enormous saving. So if you’ve been thinking about splashing out on a fine-dining-with-rooms experience, now many be the time to do it. While the pandemic makes the experience more unusual, the novelty can also be quite special, and up to 20% off the final bill adds to the delight.

California Wines, Part 1: We're not in Burgundy any more, Toto!

I apologise to any American reader who thinks I'm a snob.

My objective in this blog is to evaluate great food, travel and culture against the value it delivers for money. That is inevitably going to be coloured by my perspectives and experience, which are European.

"But you're American!" You cry. True, born and raised. But I started taking on European assignments at 30, and had moved to London full time a few years later. American Ellen, with her junior exec salary, her auto loan and her big new mortgage, lived in Dallas, drank beer and thought Macaroni Grill was a special night out. These days, Ellen drinks wine. I live an hour's train journey from one of the world's great capitals, a quick flight from all of Europe's best wine regions and tend to get to three or four Michelin-starred restaurants a year in the normal flow of life. I came to my cultural and culinary maturity in Europe. This is the only experience I have to compare American wine regions and fine dining with. So please, believe me, I'm not starting with any prejudice against America. I'm simply relating my experience from a European perspective.

That experience found the California wine country to be equal in quality to its European rivals, but far worse value for money and far more conservative in its outlook. That's not meant as an insult to any American reader, just an honest observation based on my experience. If I were living in St. Louis, and Burgundy was a once-in-a-lifetime trip rather than a jaunt for a long weekend, my perspective would no doubt be different. But I can only write from what I know. So there's my warning. Americans may be a bit offended by the next three entries. Europeans will find them more useful. Mea Culpa.

That caveat delivered, let's talk Californian wine. This entry offers some general observations, the next covers the specific wineries we explored.

While the quality of the wine, the belief in the concept of terroir and the producers' passionate dedication to their craft is the same as in Europe, there are some radical differences. Here's a mind-blowing statistic: more than 90% of California wine is drunk within 24 hours of purchase. When you're tasting quality wines at European vineyards, one of your first questions is: "when should I drink this?" The expectation is that you're tasting something still in development. The game is to imagine how it will mature. The finer the wine, the truer that is. In California, though it can age, even the really good stuff is meant to be drunk now. Hotter growing conditions yield higher sugar content, leading to higher alcohol levels and earlier maturity.

In America, you pay for tastings, which are usually conducted by marketing staff rather than the winemakers. In Europe, with rare exceptions, you're tasting for free with the unspoken understanding that, unless you really hate what's on offer, someone in your party will probably buy at least one bottle just to be polite. In all but the really big vineyards, your tasting is likely to be conducted by either the actual winemaker, or someone fundamentally involved with the production. The level of detail you can get into ... if you can speak the language of the country in which your tasting ... is vast.

The average price for a tasting in Napa and Sonoma seemed to be about $35, rising to as much as $65 if you threw in a vineyard tour or chose the makers' premium line.

With the ability to rack up serious costs for tasting, you need to be careful.  There are more than 600 Dean Gross, who will help you find the better experiences, do your driving and generally take the stress out of your day.

To make the most of your time,
use an experienced guide like
Dean Gross

wineries with tasting rooms in Napa and Sonoma, and though they all charge (unless you're with "wine club" members who can get you a free tasting), what you get for your money varies greatly. It's a salutary warning that the only winery we approached on a whim, without research or a local's recommendation, was the least satisfying. A cheerful marketing rep was skilled at making small talk, but couldn't tell us much beyond the tasting notes she offered on beautifully printed cards. If you're serious about your wine, I highly recommend working with a local guide like

Once you've made your choice, what will you be tasting? Pinot Noir is the acknowledged star of the region, a dominance solidified by its celebration in the 2004 film Sideways. (Witness the power of popular culture. According to Dean, in the mid '00s many acres of merlot ... much maligned in the film ... were ripped out and re-planted with pinot to match the shift in taste the screenplay triggered.) And there's no arguing that California pinot is lovely. When you're used to the challenging, young pinots of Burgundian tasting rooms, it's a real delight to try something that already has its full fruit in evidence, and is ready to drink. Two- and three-year old Californian pinots taste like Burgundians twice their age. The majority of our tastings featured six wines, and three or four of them were typically pinot noir.

I found the zinfandels more interesting, however. They're more uniquely Californian. The grape is cultivated by southern Italians under the name primitivo, but it's in California where this jammy, strong red gains complexity and sophistication. Cabernet Sauvignons also make frequent appearances; bold yet comforting, often with dangerously high levels of alcohol. Almost everyone starts with Sauvignon Blancs, though after that the white varietals go off piste. We saw vermentino, picpoul, gruner veltliner ... whites seem to be an area with less accepted norms, where winemakers feel more freedom to experiment.

Small or large, Napa and Sonoma vineyards tend to have a far more sophisticated marketing operation than your average European house. Maybe when you're charging for tastings, you're more aware of needing to deliver value to your customer. It could be the fierce competition, or the fact that American culture is just naturally more aggressive with sales and marketing. Wineries here are more likely to be destinations for a lingering social outing. Expect beautiful tasting rooms and tastefully landscaped gardens. Some allow you to bring your own picnics as long as you're drinking their wine, others offer food, from simple deli options to full-service restaurants. Many have shops. Going well beyond wine sales, you may encounter wine-related gifts, local gourmet food items, clothing, jewellery or art galleries.

The most fascinating difference in marketing, however, is the wine club. Given the high tourist footfall in the region, it was a brilliant move to cut out the middleman and sell direct to visitors. Don't worry about finding a distributor in your region, we'll ship direct to you. Club members typically sign up for multiple shipments of wine every year, get free tastings and other benefits when visiting the winery, and extra communications. Most taste pourers have their pitch ... some less subtle than others ... and it's clear that converting visitors to subscribed, mail-order buyers is a critical part of the wineries' sales plans. It's a masterstroke. Wine lovers from Kirkwood, Missouri or South Bend, Indiana can combat a bitter winter's night by uncorking memories of sultry summer days on golden hillsides, and differentiate themselves from the guy buying wine at the local grocery store because they have a direct line to their special winery. I wish European wineries would embrace this approach. The only thing I've seen that comes close is the shareholder scheme at England's Chapel Down.

The most shocking difference for Europeans, however, will come with the price tags. At a typical tasting, entry-level white wines might start at $25 a bottle, mid-range reds would quickly jump to the $60s, and it wasn't unusual for the best wines to be in the low $100s. Going direct to the source in Burgundy or Tuscany, you'll only find those kinds of prices at venerable names with serious reputations. In California, they seemed standard. Why so shockingly expensive? Our waiter at Volta offered three reasons:

One: American farmers get no help from government. (Back in Europe, a full 50% of European Union funds go in agricultural subsidies.)

Two: Californian vineyards tend to have much higher levels of debt. Compared to Europe, the industry is a very new one. Owners still have mortgages on vineyards, and have fresh costs of new vines and equipment. The owner might be a Silicon Valley billionaire, but he still needs to pay off that debt.

Three: Because they can. Favoured weekend destination for Bay Area money. Beloved holiday spot for America's prosperous cultured class. No real competition without a long haul flight. If you want to do fine wine in America, you pretty much have to do it here. Prices reflect that captive market.

Next entry, I'll talk about the specific wineries we visited.