Amie Brûlée

Amie Brûlée

A performance of original songs and beat poetry/spoken word exploring wine’s rightful (and wrongful place) in Australia and the world. Entertaining, thought provoking, beautiful and a little tongue in cheek.

Performed by Amie Brûlée, singer, songwriter & storyteller (aka Dr. Amie Sexton, wine researcher & anthropologist).

Presented to SAG 22 November 2018



Your place or mine,

Who’ll choose the wine?

From the new world or the old world

Do you care, do you mind?

We all know the sort

Who responds with a snort

If you dare suggest the wines from here

Can compete with the cork

When you put them side by side

You find that each has its charms

Different and delightful in its way

Imagine if we made them all

To taste the same

How boring and how beige

Our world would be

Your place or mine

I’ll choose the wine

From the old world or the new world

Just the best I can find


Unscrew the cap

Pull out the cork

Pour it in a glass

And then it’s ready to talk

Of the things that it knows

As it tickles your nose

Tantalising tastebuds

On the way to your toes 

When in Rome it’s best to do as Romans do

But you can have your cake

And you can eat it too.

Different wines, from climes

Different tastes from different places

That’s the joy of exploration

And 21st century globalisation

Your place or mine

I’ll choose the wine

From the new world or the old world

Just the best I can find



If the terror of terroir

Sends a chill right down your spine

And the shaking in your boots

Makes you spill delicious wine

There is only one solution

As your doctor I prescribe

As those have done before me

For their patients far and wide


A daily dose in liquid form

So simple to acquire

From anywhere around the world

According to desire

White or red, flat or fizzed

This you shall imbibe

Salvation in the humble glass

Of grape juice vinified


So if you take the sacred triangle

Of human, earth and sky

Stir them all together

In the vineyard, grapes and finished wine

The specificities of place

Just like a passport show

The who and what and where and when

And how it came to grow



Can you taste the flint of Mosel

In the Riesling, meine dame?

Or the chalk beneath the limestone

In that verre de bon Champagne?

There’s a hint of eucalyptus

In my Aussie Cabernet

And the sunny days of Napa

Shine in yankee Chardonnay


I swear, señor, my Malbec

Danced a tango on my tongue

And the Tempranillo chaser

Joined in with a fancy strum

But here we reach the limits

Of the meaning of the word

And cross the threshold into

Territory quite absurd



Let me tell you a story

Of a man named Rory

A waiter well versed in fine wine

Or perhaps it was Tom,

Profession: Somm

For the full word tends to sound smelly

I came across him one night

Dining, of course, by candlelight

In a temple of gastronomical worship

My palate was set

To be dazzled, and met

With a bounty of heavenly flavours

I perused the menu

In that magnificent venue

And my eye was caught by the list

Of slippery fare

from the sea, de la mer

And thus I selected a fish

Apologies ma’am

From the head chef, Sam,

Said the waiter, taking my order

We’ve snapper and trout,

Perch flapping about

But I’m afraid we’re out … of plaice

But take my advice

The sole is as nice

Swimming in saucy delight

Now I’m a sucker for sauce

So replied, yes, of course

And with it I must have a wine

Somm’s expert opinion

From his vino dominion

Was a delicately oaked

With malolactic fermentation

Grapes picked at midnight

For the perfect flavour sensation


Hmmmmmm ……….

I said, red takes my fancy

He said, not a chancy

There are rules in fine dining, you pleb

You cannot, you won’t

You mustn’t, you don’t

Ever drink red with a fish.

Now I tend to get narky

When faced with hierarchy

That threatens to ruin my dinner

If I want red with my seafood

And white with my steak

Just like an apple offered by a snake

It’s entirely my decision

To challenge traditions

Especially when maxing my card

The somm and his leering,

Twas change he was fearing

His intellect blurring his vision

I said, listen here mate

It’s getting late

And your bullshit’s delaying my pleasure

I’ll have a Grenache

That’s not such a splash

And you may return to your cellar

I’ll sit here and savour

My match of flavour

Enraptured by earthly delights

And I’ll continue to ponder

The path I shall wander

Seeking sensual fancies and flights

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