Aperivino’s owner Richard Lagani

THE Belsize Village square had a crepuscular glow about it, people were ushering themselves into the lustre of dimly-lit restaurant faces, all of which brandished the same pastel sans-serif signs. All but one – Aperivino, nestled politely beneath its own awning, seduces with subtlety. Its modest exterior had a confidence of something that knew it was right.

From inside Wes Montgomery-style guitar spilled out onto the façade, like a well-pulled Montecassino (the draft beer on offer). The red lamps, red work shirts, and red exterior cajoled me into self-assurance and a bubbly disposition. As I sat below the awning, eagerly awaiting the Thursday Champagne Tasting to commence, my apprehension was swiftly quelled by a red shirt. We were brought downstairs to a room that could easily be a wine cellar, owned by a man called Claude.

Victoria Sharples, our host, arrived – a woman who writes about, blends and judges wine and has the air of someone who keeps people on their toes, mostly because she knows she can.

We began, as all good evenings should, with the teaching that Champagne was once a light-red wine. Victoria wielded a map of Champagne and pointed out its seven legal grapes with a cartographer’s flair. The story goes that the French believed the bubbles to be a fault, and that the English, with our superior glassware, were the first to make the bottles strong enough to contain the sparkle. Dom Pérignon, it seems, was not the father of champagne at all, but its mistakenly oppressive stepfather, trying to eradicate the fizz.

A decidedly French interjection from a man in the corner threatened to derail Victoria’s opening sermon, but the room was decanted with a glance that restored order.

Wine expert Victoria Sharples at Aperivino

We began tasting.
Bollinger first – sharp bubbles, a yolky aftertaste and citrus rind. “Twist the bottle, never the cork,” Victoria instructed with the solemnity of someone guiding communion.

She next gracefully opened a Lucien Collard, accompanied by appreciative murmuring as though this alone had improved our temperaments.

This Champagne was apparently Pinot Noir-dominant Grand Cru. I caught a hint of blackberry, or perhaps its apparition that had wafted by the citrus.

Champagne, I learnt, is a far more exact science than I’d ever imagined – a precise combination of soil, sugar, climate and timing. My voice notes from this point contain the phrase “southern soil is southern,” suggesting that the Lucien Collard had taken the front seat and my mind was fixed on the ongoing seminar.

Then – a loud smash. A Bollinger magnum had leapt from Victoria’s arms to greet the floor. Victoria salvaged the moment skilfully, turning misfortune into theatre. “The floor is now open,” she said, erupting the room into conversation and laughter. A man took this as his cue to discuss sabres.

What followed was a “cellar temperature” Bollinger Ay Cuvée Brut NV, Pinot Noir-led. Larger bottles age differently, due to the increased air in the bottle. I got a taste of polenta cake with an electrified pistachio; this may have been the Champagne or might have been me.

The guests were beginning to loosen, and the word “muddy” was brought into question as if philosophical.

Next was the Roland. It greeted my nose with the faint smell of camembert at first, but on the tongue it was crystalline. Victoria called it “long” which in the language of wine, translated to elegant, lingering and perhaps out of my depth. It had the refined opulence of white gold and bubbles that danced on your tongue like popping candy.

To finish, the Pierre Moncuit, Les Mesnil: 100 per cent Chardonnay grape, chalky soil, southern sun – all the ingredients of French superiority. It tasted clean, balanced and at this point rhapsodic.

As the evening drew to a close, relaxed conversation filled the room. The guests, once reserved, were now buoyant with bonhomie. Smells from the kitchen now permeated the cellar as we sat there savouring the final glass.

It is a rare pleasure to stumble across something quaint and refreshingly un-London in the heart of Belsize Village. I spoke with Victoria at the end, full of questions from the night’s performance. Finally, she left me with the words: “When it all goes to shit, at least you have something sparkling to sip whilst it does.”

If you already enjoy tastings or possibly feel they may be exclusive, then think again. Whether popping in for a quick glass, plate or a scheduled tasting, you’ll be welcomed like a patron and will undoubtedly become one!

APERIVINO
12 Belsize Terrace, Belsize Park, NW3 4AX
07780 443846

@aperivinobelsize
@victoriawinesecrets

by RUFUS MacRAE