Psarou – my favourite spot in Mykonos
I never seem to learn my lesson.
Every time I go to Greece I descend into the same predictable cycle: I fall in love with Greek wine, I buy a few bottles to bring home, I open one in rainy London and I wonder why it never tastes as good as I remembered.
Much of the enjoyment we derive from wine comes from the surroundings. My garden – as pleasant as it is – simply cannot compete with white sandy Myconian beaches and the sparkling blue Aegean sea. So, after three holidays to Mykonos and countless bottles transported home only to sit unopened in my fridge for months on end, I made an executive decision: no more Hellenic wine for me outside Greece.
I was doing a pretty good job of avoiding it – until last Sunday.
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