A NEW year and all of my resolutions are still intact. That said, the only one that you, my fellow wine aficionados, need to be concerned about is that, this year, I shall be embarking on a journey to seek out new wines, to discover new civilised libations, to bawdily go where no one has been for at least a week or two.

Welcome aboard my trek to find stars of the world of wine that have been forgotten, disregarded or hidden in dark cellars by evil grape crushing madmen for aeons.

I have, in columns past, joined with many booze spectators and speculators in the long-standing debate over wine with Chinese food and, admittedly, like an unimaginative buffoon, I deftly jumped onto the Gerwurztraminer/Riesling wagon and tethered my withering reputation to its tattered old frame with much enthusiasm.

I am not suggesting that a decent swig of Alsace or German Riesling doesn't sit well with some well- prepared Oriental fodder but it's a tired, old partnership in need of a rethink – think Fern and Phil, Keith and Orville, Sir Alex and the Football Association.

It was a cold, December evening when I decided on a visit to one of the city's finest restaurants with the city's finest guitar bending folk artist, John Smith, and a burning desire for a night of great food, brilliant wine and sweary banter.

The Yuet Ben always delivers the necessary ingredients for a storming dinner and, on this occasion, Terry Lim and his cohorts played an absolute blinder. Terry has always offered a stunning wine list to complement his menu, but this time he introduced me to a forgotten world, a whole new realm of giggling juice for me to explore.

Campania, in southern Italy, is regarded as one of the oldest wine- producing regions in the world. The Greeks, taking a break from wearing smart helmets and acting hard, planted vines in the area around 3,000 years ago, around about the same time as Ken Barlow ordered his first cheeky half in the Rover's.

You will hear of some strange-sounding grapes in the region – Falanghina, Fiano, Greco, Piedirosso and dozens of others. It was the daddy of them all, Aglianico, that we were lucky to have a gargle of, paired up with the almost pornographic deep fried breast of lamb. Aglianico is believed to be the ancient ancestor of the Rhone Syrah and also the ubiquitous Cabernet Sauvignon.

The wine we tried was far more complex and fragrant than any of the wines made from its distant grandchildren that I have tasted. Earthy, dark, brooding, almost malevolent – if Darth Vader was a bottle of wine, he'd be Aglianico – like a woman from the wrong side of the tracks, you know you want to but feel naughty as soon as you pick it up.

With a mouthful of the best cooked lamb I've eaten in decades and a hearty swig of this southern Italian masterpiece, I could almost forget the meandering nonsense being spouted by my dinner guest – as if Iron Maiden are better than Zeppelin, some people should stick to cherryade.

I'm hoping Terry will add some of these ancient wines to his already superb list. Until that lucky day, ask him if he has any cheeky bottles under the counter for you to enjoy with dinner.