AS WE enter November, it seems like the first thing on many people’s minds (judging by my email inbox) is Beaujolais.

I’ve had several requests to write about the supposedly magical liquid that arrives in the middle of November every year, so here we go.

Don’t buy Beaujolais as it’s mostly awful.

If you want to try it without spending the money, dip a beetroot into some water for ten minutes and drink at any temperature. I say any temperature because, just like the aforementioned wine from Burgundy, it will taste awfully thin and insipid and may even make you question your sanity. Is that enough or do you want to know more about it?

Actually why would you want to know more about the most awful incarnation of wine that ever materialised? Here’s all you need to know.

It’s made from a grape called Gamay that makes a rosé-style red wine that smells like a dog has been ill in the bottle, with a little bit of raspberry thrown in. And before any of you assume I don’t like the stuff, let me tell you you’re wrong – I hate the stuff. It looks like a wine and is dressed like a wine but it will never ever be a fine wine. Life is too short.

So what do we talk about now then, having done Beaujolais? What about my old favourite, White Burgundy? Having trashed one of the main commercial products to come out of the region it only seems fair to big up another.

When you get down to brass tacks, Burgundy is simple: the reds are made from Pinot Noir, the whites from Chardonnay, and don’t drink the other stuff.

They say a good red Burgundy should smell like a farmyard cowpat, which probably explains why I prefer the whites (which the same experts say should be like richly buttered toast).

Burgundy has a huge number of appellations d’origine contrôlée or defined wine regions, probably more than any other classic wine area. There are some really classic AOCs here and some that perhaps shouldn’t really exist on their own because they offer such little regional difference to their neighbours – but that’s for the French to sort out.

Rather than list masses of names of small villages and wine names, I’m going to be rather selfish and focus on the ones I like. Remember, it is my column after all!

I’m going to start with my summertime favourite, Chablis. Yes of course, they are good all year round but I find there are few more refreshing drinks than an ice-cold steely Chablis (just the basic wine for the summer of course – I always keep the premier and grand crus for Christmas).

Chablis is based on a flint and chalk sub strata that rises to the surface in two places in Europe: the Chablis region of France and under the chalk downs of England which explains the similar dry-as-flint wines from the two regions. I prefer Chablis to the English wines, though, because the French wisely use Chardonnay, which is just such a fascinating and flexible chameleon of a grape, while we tend to play with some of the worst secondary varieties ever invented such as Bachus and Muller-Thurgau.

My next choice on the ladder of white Burgundy would have to be Meursault. Upwards from and including this region all you get on paper in terms of differences are variations on the nuttiness, butteryness and richness but paper never does this region justice. A good Meursault should be ripe and floral on the nose with a soft blend of honeyed nuts and vanilla on the palate. They are perfect with creamy dishes based on chicken or fish.

Going up again (my rankings, not actual rankings) I edge towards the Puligny Montrachets , the best of which are made from old vines creating deep, rich flavours in the grapes.

It’s traditional to age Puligny wines on the lees which means they are aged on a sediment left over from fermentation which in turn adds more depth and body to the final product. A good Puligny is also nutty but usually more defined and I usually get hazelnuts on the palate with lashings of buttery vanilla. There’s a refreshing crispness to the finish on a decent Puligny that makes this wine so good with fish dishes. The flavours complement fish, especially shellfish such as lobster, while the acidity cleans your palate afterwards. Who needs mouthwash when you can use this at £30 to £50 a pop?

I’ve only dabbled above Puligny on rare occasions but it’s only the price that has reined in my consumption of Batard Montrachet , perhaps the greatest of all white wines. If I won the lottery I’d have it with breakfast, lunch and supper, leaving dinner aside for Chateau Lafite Rothschild. The vines are grown on the best parts of the hillside in the region and benefit from extended sunshine which in turn translates as more fruit than your average French wine.

After fermentation, Batards are aged for quite a long period – usually 18 months or more – in oak barrels, which explains the richness of the butter-and-toast flavours which are truly like no other wine you can imagine.

Most people steer clear of White Burgundy because of the complicated names and the high prices but they really can stop your breath if you open the right one; and with one of the top classics – let’s say a Batard from Louis Jadot – they really can help you create your own moment in time.