The Independent

September 23, 1989

 

 

Take any partnerfor Mr Baker's big taste-in

 

Emily Green on a wineexpert in love with eating, who supplies many of the finest restaurants

 

BILL BAKER enjoyslikening himself to a second-hand car dealer, or a vulture. He is, in fact, aconsummate salesman of fine and rare wines, with idiosyncratic methods andexceptionally devoted customers in the restaurant trade. His client list readslike a roll call of Britain's best restaurateurs: in London, Nico Ladenis ofChez Nico, and Simon Hopkinson of Bibendum; Ann and Franco Taruschio of theWalnut Tree near Abergavenny in Wales; in Devon, Shaun Hill of Gidleigh Park atChagford and Joyce Molyneux of the Carved Angel in Dartmouth; in Scotland, theBrowns of La Potiniere at Gullane in Lothian, and so on.

 

'Bill's not in thewine trade for the money,' says Mr Ladenis, whose list constitutes at least atenth of Mr Baker's trade. 'He's in it for love. And he loves food very much.'This is true. Consequently, Mr Baker is portly.

 

Mr Baker cultivatedthe loyalty and custom of his restaurateurs with a robust approach to their food.'There's a lot of crap talked about partnering food and wine. Basically you candrink what the hell you like. OK, if you're eating sole, which is a delicateflavour, then there are very few delicate red wines. But if you're eatingsalmon, it's a great big chunky flavour. You can drink a great Pomerol withsalmon very easily.'

 

His rule: 'I like toeat food that tastes of a lot. And I like to sell wines that taste of a lot.'

 

He began partneringfood and wine while biding time between passing his A levels and going touniversity. He happened on the collected works of Elizabeth David, read them,and arranged for his mother to cook selected dishes, while he matched them withwine. At university, he went on to join the wine society, becoming 'more andmore interested in wine, and less and less interested in history and history ofart', which is what he was meant to be studying.

 

On graduating 'with agood third', he was taken on by a respected Bristol wine merchant 'for nomoney', where he catalogued the vast cellar and drove a delivery van. There hedeveloped a special disdain for the mean- ness of wine merchants andrestaurateurs who do not conduct tastings for their staff: 'the only way youlearn about wine is by drinking it'.

 

On one particularlygalling occasion, a half-empty bottle of '47 Cheval Blanc, a legendary St-Emilion, was left to oxidise on the directors' drinks trolley rather than beingshared among the avid young staff. He now runs wine- tasting courses for thewaiting staff of his customers.

 

The Cheval Blancepisode and a breakdown of the delivery van, stranding him overnight 'in apublic lavatory in some village in Dorset', inspired him to tear away from hisfirst employer, along with a colleague, Charles Reid. While plotting theirescape one night on the terrace of George Perry-Smith's Riverside Restaurant inHelford, their first wine list was written, 'quickly followed by resignations'.Their new company, Reid Wines, was born in 1980, a year of flat-out work spentbuying and selling fine and rare wines. Then, as demand increased for lessexpensive wines, they poached a third partner, Simon Wood, from their formeremployer, enabling Mr Baker to take to the road, where he now spends much ofhis time.

 

'You have to go to therestaurants in person,' he insists, ensconced for our interview in the benchseat by the kitchen door of the Walnut Tree,the Taruschios' homelypub-restaurant in Gwent, famous for its earthy and accomplished food. Mr Bakersupplies all the Walnut Tree's wine, save the house red and white, which MrTaruschio imports himself from Italy. 'I used to sell wine to Franco completelyhaphazardly. We had this tele-sales situation. Finally I came here, looked atthe list, and said, 'Look, this list is an absolute disaster. Do you want me todo something about it?' He now has half as much stock as he used to hold, andif he runs out of something, I replace it, not necessarily with the samething.' The Taruschio's wine list, commended with the sort of gong in The GoodFood Guide normally reserved for grander dining rooms typical of the Relais etChateaux country house hotels, now begins with an acknowledgement to BillBaker.

 

'One of my things whenI was going around initially was persuading people that they didn't need tohave continuity. In the old days, restaurateurs used to say 'I'm not havingchanges on my wine list because I'm going to print it'. The continuity trade isthe trouble with agency businesses in this country. They buy Sancerre orMeursault from the same guy every year, instead of buying wine if they likeit.'

 

Sancerre, which MrBaker reckons to be one of, if not the, most popular restaurant wines in thiscountry, occupies a special place in his vocabulary, translating as 'punter'swine'. 'Restaurants make their money on Sancerre. It's a flowery wine, nice anddry, and people know it. So they buy it. That's not to say it's all good -there's a lot of bad Sancerre about.'

 

It illustrates hisapproach to mark-ups. 'We buy Sancerre direct from the vineyard, and mark up 40per cent and sell it - let's say for pounds 5.75. Most restaurateurs would thencharge about pounds 13 for it. When I'm advising people how to mark up, I tellthem, for wines up to a cost price of pounds 9.50, to double the cost price,then add 15 per cent. From a cost price of pounds 9.50 to pounds 18.50, Irecommend that they put on 75 per cent and then VAT.'

 

Fads punctuate theSancerre tyranny. 'It's Australia tending towards New Zealand now, about tobecome Chile and Argentina. And before all those it was California.' Mr Baker'sunexpected success in introducing a 1987 Italian Chardonnay 'Il Marzocco',produced by the Avignonesi estate, to his list may even augur the 'third nexthype' - a massive rush for the 'modern Italians'.

 

'This wine has lots ofoak, but still bags of grape. It all goes well together, and has got goodacidity.' To prove his point, he orders some. 'I first tasted it in Richmond,Virginia, at an Italian restaurant called the Obelisk. I got back, found theEnglish agent for it, and also got the Nobile and Cabernet from Avignonesi.' Hetook it on cautiously, thinking few restaurant customers would venture to apounds 24 Italian Chardonnay. Yet it has moved briskly. The only cloud on thehorizon for the third next hype is 'that there is an awful lot of Italian stuffthat is not modern, and it is very dreadful'.

 

His choice to buy theAvignonesi wines through an English agent rather than import it himself is agood introduction to his 'used car dealer' style of buying. 'I buy what I can,where I can, when I can, and I buy it from anybody. You can go to a grower. Ifa grower has extra wine, he'll sell it to you. However, if the agent handlingit is your friend, you don't do that. You ring your friend instead and tell himyou will go to the grower unless he gives you a better price.'

 

Buying trips arereserved mainly for his regular suppliers. 'Let's say the wine is in casks: youcan say, 'I don't think you should wait much longer before bottling this', tothe grower, and actually guide people to produce the sorts of styles that yourcustomers are going to like.'

 

At this point, ourinterview gives way to consumption of our meal. We had begun well: Mr Baker,who has tried almost every dish on the menu, ordered a rich and spicy Thai porkappetiser (a style inspired when the Taruschios adopted a Thai daughter); theirsweet home-cured bresaola and a pungent seafood fettuccine. As our main coursesarrive, he orders a bottle of Morey St-Denis, by way of illustrating that a redBurgundy will go just as well with his lobster with lemongrass as with myrabbit with coriander.

 

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