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Keep your wines at the correct temperature at home.

For many years now English sparkling wine has been casting around for a catchy name to call itself. Obviously we can't use Champagne. Firstly because the French tidied that one up in The Treaty of Versailles at the end of the First World War. Secondly, we wouldn't want to confuse our wine with an inferior product! Not having the luxury of a unifying area, like Champagne, we've resorted to, at times slightly embarrassing, marketing speak names. Britagne deserves an honourable mention in this category. Merrett was suggested and used by some. Christopher Merrett was the Englishman who presented a paper to The Royal Institution in 1662 on how to make wine sparkling through the addition of sugar to start a...

We've recently passed an audition to sell our stunning own label Brut Reserve on QVC, the shopping channel. For those curious enough to want to know how we got on here's a link to the video: QVC Audition

Hawkins Bros Brut Reserve 2013   Launched on September 21st we are proud to announce our very own English Sparkling Wine. Hawkins Bros. Brut Reserve 2013 is a classic cuvée blend of 46% Chardonnay, 36% Pinot Noir and 18% Pinot Meunier made exclusively for us by the award-winning Greyfriars Vineyard on the south-facing chalk of the Hogs Back in Surrey. Master Sommelier Xavier Rousset said: “Having tasted it after only 3 weeks after being disgorged, this is an impressive first vintage, well balanced acidity and great mouthfeel”. We're absolutely delighted to report that the IEWA have awarded Hawkins Bros Brut Reserve 2013 a Silver Medal at their inaugural awards. Available exclusively from our shop, please drop by and have a taste!...

The Mother of All Sundays Posted on March 1, 2016 by hawkinsbros Mothering Sunday conjures up memories of Infant School; daffodils made from scrunched up  yellow and orange tissue paper inexpertly, but lovingly, stuck to hand folded pieces of card that were only slightly softer than school loo paper. Waking the Aged P at some ungodly hour with a cup of luke-warm, milky, almost-tea in one hand, the card in the other and the phrase “I didn’t buy it” on my lips. Years later it would be a  bunch of garage forecourt flowers and an inappropriately rude card, or some whizzbang kitchen aid, like a vegetable twirler, that probably still lurks at the back of the cutlery drawer, unused. The days...