Well-deserved uncorkings
I'm incapable of mentioning all the wines that were opened throughout that endless, yet fleeting, night. I would err in citing the names of the winemakers, the vineyards, or the vintages, and I prefer not to reveal my ignorance, especially to those who carefully selected the labels.
What made that night special wasn't the bill—quite hefty, it must be said—but the feeling that the liquids flowing down my throat were among the most precious and revered that the vine produces on the entire planet. Wine, once again, sealed a small, secret brotherhood, united not by ostentation, but by pure devotion.
The group, not too large, consisted of tavern owners, wine merchants, and connoisseurs of food and drink. No Russian oligarchs, no rock stars, no heirs immune to the bill for generations. Just workers who, as they swiped their cards, were perhaps thinking about how many croquettes they'd have to fry or how many boxes they'd have to sell to cover that generous extravagance. And yet, no one hesitated. The desire to share and prolong the evening was stronger.
I'm beginning to see a pattern in that gesture. Evenings punctuated by some of the most lavish toasts imaginable, almost always featuring people from the industry or its surrounding circles. There's a certain poetic justice in it that it's precisely the restaurateurs who enjoy these gems, and it also follows an undeniable logic: those who work daily serving food and drink know the true value of treating themselves now and then.
The sommelier on duty—whether in a Michelin-starred restaurant or a traditional tavern—usually gets a twinkle in their eye at the prospect of the upcoming parade. I'd venture to say they're filled with a profound, almost intimate pleasure, far more gratifying than the expectation of making a profit, as they unearth treasures for their colleagues. Perhaps because they know that some of those bottles aren't just about being able to afford them, they're about deserving them.
