Gourmet Detective Read Free Page A

sparkling wines take more of the champagne market?” and “Are there sparkling wines as good as champagne?” and “Can sparkling wines be made as good as champagne?”
    Champagne producers are adamant in affirming that sparkling wines don’t taste like champagne and never will but the issue gets complicated after that. Most of the champagne houses have huge financial investments in areas producing sparkling wines. Could they therefore not make sparkling wines close to champagne quality if they wished? Or do they want to suppress the quality level of sparkling wines and thus protect their primary market of champagne?
    It would be a great meeting with all kinds of accusations and criticisms being hurled around. Invective and insult would fill the air, personal feelings and professional reputations would be bruised and a wonderful time would be had by all. The atmosphere of bonhomie, camaraderie and knives in the back would be greatly aided by a liberal flow of wine supplied by the more generous (or cunning) vineyards. Would it be champagne or sparkling wine on this occasion? Certainly not both—neither party would want to allow direct comparisons to be made. What a terrific evening!
    The next letter was from a metallurgist who said he was writing a book on cobalt. He knew all about its use as an alloying element and in cutting tools but he wanted his book to be complete. Did cobalt have any effect on the human body? What foods was it in? Should we avoid it or eat more of it?
    Much is known about many metals and their significance in food. Aluminium, magnesium, selenium, lead, copper, zinc, manganese, sodium, potassium and the notorious mercury have been documented in recent years and research continues. Cobalt was a new one to me and one I should have to investigate. In my line of work, it is just as necessary to know which food ingredients are dangerous or even harmful and I made a note to start checking on cobalt.
    Would I endorse a new health food diet? asked the next one. That was easy—no, I wouldn’t. Another was a plaintive request from a hotel in the Lake District. A guest was suing them for inefficient service during a stay. Did they have any defence? Probably not, was my immediate answer but it was a matter for a lawyer, not a private eye. I made a note.
    I plodded on, wading my way through the reasonable and the ridiculous. At 10.45, I took a folder up to the next floor of the building where the Shearer Secretarial Agency is located. They type all my letters and I brought them some to be working on. The truth is that I have a refrigerator and a cupboard—but they are both in Mrs Shearer’s premises—my theory being that if they were in mine, I might be tempted too often. So I keep them up there and make a schedule of taking up a folder of work twice a day, mid-morning and mid-afternoon. At the same time, I permit myself a refresher or a pick-me-up or whatever euphemism seems appropriate at the time.
    Mrs Shearer, short, beaming, bustling—runs her place like a cross between a convent and a sweat-shop. She looks after her girls but she makes them work. I looked at them now, about thirty of them, fingers flashing over keyboards, the only sounds the rustle of paper and the whirr of electronic equipment. Mrs Shearer told me that Theresa, who usually does my typing, was out with the flu but a new girl, Mary Chen would do it. Mrs Shearer pointed across the big room to an attractive Oriental girl with lustrous black hair.
    I said I would have another batch of work this afternoon and then got myself a half bottle of Asti Spumante from the fridge. I drank it looking down on the hordes of traffic battling for position to go around Hammersmith Broadway so that they could gain a few seconds before entering the next traffic jam. It was a bit like a Roman chariot race but at greatly reduced speed and no prizes except survival.
    The remainder of the morning was notable only for a