Booze.
Or, more specifically, red wine. Or, even more specifically, Shiraz.
My mate, Markham, reckons I love a snifter of Shiraz because my taste buds are shot due to my many years of smoking. (You’ll be pleased to know I’ve quit now.) I think he may have a point. Subtlety has never been one of my strong points, whether in my choice of food, drink or personality traits.
Shiraz is usually a pretty full-bodied red and I prefer mine from South Africa or Australia. Although, it did come to prominence in South East France. But they call it Syrah. (As do quite a few other countries.)
There’s debate as to where the name comes from. The obvious candidate is Shiraz in Persia. (Now, Iran.) Others say Syracuse in Sicily. To be honest, I don’t care. I don’t want a history lesson, I just want to drink it.
Shiraz, Iran.
Shiraz, Stockport.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be down the offy.
Cheers!
Sliánte!