The death of Bill Baker, pictured above by wine writer Anthony Rose in Barbaresco last year (note the empty glass and bread basket), will leave an enormous lacuna – bigger even than his 22 stone frame – in the lives of not just his family but also of everyone involved in the British restaurant industry.
At a very personal level it will deprive me of one of my most invaluable, and reliable, sources of news on which chefs were cooking particularly well around the UK. But I also fear that we will never again see such a knowledgeable salesman of fine wine on the roads of Britain selling in such a distinctive and confident manner. As a result, British wine lists may never be the same again.
To understand how and why Bill was so distinctive one has to go back to where and when he began in the wine trade with Avery’s of Bristol in the mid-1970’s.
Two facts were critical. The first was that this was the last time ever that great, old wine was relatively inexpensive and in those particular cellars there was plenty of it around. Bill therefore got to taste a great deal of wonderful old wine that has today simply become out of reach of all except the super-rich.
The second was this was also the era that saw the final transition from bottling in the UK to château bottling and Bill was in an ideal position to see wines from both sources. This training was to stand Bill, and his customers, in great stead and to spur him on personally to out-do his former employers, an ambition that may not have been loudly voiced but was certainly a strong undercurrent.
To this must be added one very personal trait. Despite his appearance, dress and politics, Bill was very much a Renaissance man and he was prepared to consider every glass of wine and every plate of food on its merits and without prejudice. It is fair to say that his overall preferences for food did not extend beyond France, Italy and the UK (and his comments after his one and only meal at El Bulli last year – not to mention his views on hake (“merluzza”) after one trip to Spain – were very funny indeed) but his love and knowledge of wine extended far beyond the classic regions as all the work he did for the wine lists of Conran restaurants makes obvious.
As to his knowledge of spirits, digestifs and cigars, I can only speak with envy and awe and add that from a personal perspective I have never ever come across anyone who made a better Bloody Mary or a stronger, drier Martini. And that is to pass lightly over Bill’s prowess as a cook, where his talents were only equalled by those of Katie, his wife, as the consummate hostess.
But what Bill will be most be missed for will be his understanding of just how this knowledge, and his appetite, could be best be used to sell to restaurants so that everyone benefited.
This involved a vast amount of travel, in a succession of battered Land Rovers, souped-up vans and Jeeps carrying samples and often deliveries to country house hotels and restaurants anywhere and everywhere in the UK. And always, of course, with minimal regard for seat belts.
Behind this approach were two factors that have been vital to Reid Wines’ business. The first was that Bill knew only too well that any customer would be far more kindly disposed to a wine merchant who had taken the trouble to visit him, usually around lunch or dinner time, to spend his own money on eating or staying there before going into sales mode. The sight of Bill at any table, whether alone or in company, had to be the best seal of approval for any restaurant or chef. (See this thread in the forum for confirmation of that.)
The second was that Bill knew only too well that most restaurateurs, particularly those outside London, do not have enough time to run their own businesses and then get to the numerous wine tastings that there are today. What they wanted was ultra-reliable information not just on what to buy but also on what to avoid – and Bill could be equally forthright on good and poor wines – combined with the confidence that they knew they were buying from someone who even those who make their careers out of wine writing would happily turn to for expert advice on what was their field of expertise.
And I am happy to say that I fall into that category, too. Although I have been in the restaurant business for 28 years there was no-one to whose opinion I would defer more readily than Bill’s, not just on what constituted a good dish but also on which chefs were worth watching, following and ultimately writing about.
Often late at night, when Bill was staying at our house, before leaving very early to head back home or to yet another ‘bloody meeting’ we would sit, smoke a cigar, drink a glass or more of the Miclo Coeur de Chauffe Poire William I used to buy from him and swap restaurant gossip.
The chair he used to sit in will not miss him. But I and every other wine-loving restaurant goer in the UK certainly will.