The little I know about wine, I learned the summer of 1976 through the fall of 1978 as a waiter in a private restaurant – a beach club, restricted to members only – that had a phenomenal wine cellar.
The wine cellar was an actual cellar – a beautiful part of the basement – filled with dusty old bottles of mostly European wines. Many were 50 years old or more. Wines bottled at the turn of the 19th century.
In my early 20’s, working my way through college, I was guaranteed 20% of the price of ever bottle I served.
By the end of my first month I’d learned to encourage our guests to try one our full bodied Chateau Lafite Rothschild Bordeaux’s – with vintages back to 1919 – kept perfect in our cellars, for a special night like this… It sold for about $120- a bottle.
My take for sharing in the show; running down into the cellar to get a well kept old dusty bottle, carefully wiping it off and presenting the label over my left forearm – now covered with a linen or finely starched white cotton wine napkin – to the host or hostess, the crucial cutting of the seal, careful removal and presentation of the cork and upon approval – pouring a small amount for the host or hostess to swirl about, sniff at and finally sample before serving their guests, was about $25- a bottle. Plus I was tipped on the total meal tab – we were insured a minimum of 20% on every dinner tab. Usually more.
In those years I grew a deep appreciation for a fine bottle of wine – not because I was drinking it – but because 4 bottles in one evening could more than cover my half of a month’s rent with my roommate.
I learned wine not because of the rich, full body of a wonderful Bordeaux, the fickle temperament of a Pinot Noir or the light, yet sweet addition of a fine German Riesling – I had the language and no clue what the reality was. Expensive wine was little more than easy rent money to me.
The fine study of seasonal changes, crop varieties, grape mixtures, local fires and financial failure or success that chefs, clients, fellow waiters and club ownership tried to teach me to embrace and understand as an important part of the aging process that was poured out with each glass simply meant rent, tuition, textbooks, surfboards and little more to me. At 23 the value and wealth that comes with aging was thoroughly lost on me… unless it paid the bills.
These old memories came back today. Wine has taken off in popularity that we never imagined when that little club boasted a wine cellar holding more than a million dollar collection for the member’s access. The French wines – especially the Chateau Lafite Rothschild of any vintage – were my favorite to serve. Opening them, sometimes it smelled like France, like the fall wind blowing warm in from Morocco to further deepen a dark, rich moment before dinner.
Saying something like that was rarely necessary. People who knew what they were doing spoke their way through it. I merely listened and learned. It was a world so different from the one I’d grown up in. I’d pour a glass of wine and think “$15- bucks for that one glass of wine – if they get eight from the bottle – $15-!”
This evening I decided to check some of the prices of the years and wines I remembered. So much money. Some thousands of dollars for a single bottle. Some more… smiling… I thought that somewhere there’s a kid who’s gingerly cutting the seal, carefully removing the cork – praying it isn’t split or cracked – preparing to just dampen the bottom of a snifter for his guest – smiling – all the while serious… understanding this is a ceremony to the host… it’s grown to be a sacred moment… and in the back of the kid’s head he’s thinking: rent! tuition! books! surfboards!
I was that kid for years of my life. Sometimes it doesn’t seem that long ago at all… and I can so clearly remember sneaking moments to myself in the coolness of the cellar – pulling out bottles – curious, reading labels, learning… in those moments I discovered that there’s something of genuine worth and wealth – a rich history – in almost anything, if you’ll take the time to give yourself to understanding that which is foreign to you.
December 5, 1933, the day the 21st amendment to the United States Constitution repealed the 18th amendment – the end of prohibition, making the sale of alcohol legal in the states again. I once sold bottles of wine that had been carefully placed in cellars, before it was illegal, had survived prohibition, only to age into a richer, deeper and much more expensive piece of history – bit of luxury at the dinner table – and one more way for a college kid to pay rent. They became all the better for merely surviving in a dark protected place as someone carefully watched over them.
Wine hasn’t been a part of my life for decades but the lessons learned have stayed with me as I’ve aged and hopefully become of more value to the world around me as I serve. The first time a cork cracked while opening a nearly 60 year old bottle of wine – I retreated to the kitchen – the chef and manager were summoned to remove the cork as I stood by nervously, waiting to get the boot. Cautiously removing the entire cork, pouring a bit into a large cognac snifter, he gingerly pulled away floating remnants as he swished and sniffed – pronouncing it bad – tasting it still, making a face, he handed the bottle to the chef; little more now than expensive vinegar and told me I had nothing to do with it. Go grab another one. Somewhere along the line the bottle, the seal, the storage was mishandled – causing what should have been precious vintage to little more than something for a creative chef to put to work and an old bottle to collect. Nothing, not even the most bitter end, was wasted.
Everyone faces challenges. Some of us leave the vineyard only to age beautifully and become a gift to all who know us. Too many times life – the moment’s we’re mishandled – the severity of it all can make us bitter, full body gone. It’s impossible to tell the good from the bad without taking one simple step – whether it’s wine or people – things need to be opened up. Until then, one doesn’t know if the cellar holds the joy of rent and tuition or merely a bitter end – either way – nothing need be wasted. We each have a part to play.
Others can’t see if we’re bitter or a blessing until they spend time with us and we open up. Just as it’s impossible to hide the fragrance of a fine wine, it’s equally difficult to mask the bitter nature that we’ve kept bottled up. Fortunately for us, we’re not wine, we can choose to change, improve, grow and learn. We can exchange our bitterness and learn to build on our blessings. My prayer for this week is that we’re able to open up in love – build on the challenges and successes we’ve not just survived but often thrived through – and live our lives in celebration together. It’s what we were created for. You’re Invited!