Why corner shop wines are not to be sniffed at

There was a time in my life when Campo Viejo Tempranillo was as essential as milk or bread; my flatmates and I designated it our “house wine”. The year was 2011, we wore a lot of elasticated statement belts and lived opposite a corner shop by Brixton prison. Like us, the wine was young, fruity and there for a good time.

Campo Viejo remains one of the more obvious choices for a last-minute bottle of red, and even better is Muriel Tempranillo Rioja at the Co-op, with dark red fruit and vanilla you might expect from young rioja. I’d freshen up either with a blast in the fridge, or mix with lemonade for that emblematic Spanish summer cocktail, tinto de verano.

“Corner shops” can be variously defined: for me the term includes mini supermarkets, or anywhere that might have a blown-up picture of a glass of deep red wine on the shopfront and whose wine selection is as commercial as it is limited.

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