Now I enjoy the odd drink every now and then. Yestereve I enjoyed a lovely glass of port with a friend. The day before an ordinary Scotch whisky with the merest hint of water. Followed not much later by some cider and ultimately some champers. In my defense, I was out at the time and in any other situation I would not mix, least of all so haphazardly. I am also partial to sherry, both dry and sweet. But the one thing I will absolutely never turn down, perhaps to my detriment, is a nice glass of bubbles. Prosecco, sekt, cava, sparkling wine and of course the Holy Grail, I'm not usually too bothered (assuming it tastes all right).
I adore that first sip... The bubbles effervescently tickling the tongue, allowing the delicate notes of the wine to appreciate, the golden aroma so teasing; demanding more. And more. I mean I'm no wine buff. The local tabloid is currently poking a great deal of fun at the pretenses of professional wine tasters. Not that I am much bothered by their outdated and pathetically partial reporting. Think the Daily Mail lite. With more adverts. In fact I am bothered by it, but not bothered about it - it being 'that which they report'. But I digress. So I really enjoy a good bubbly, and not simply for the drink itself, but its connotations. The sense of grandeur and elevation it conjures, the decadence. Holding a champagne coupe and I am transported to Prohibition America, the 1960's and Mad Men or even the 17th century English aristocrats who first used the glass. Even the unlikely legend that the original was modeled on the breast of Marie-Antoinette thrills me. And with Wimbledon providing me with lasting evening entertainment, I wish so very much I were there too, enjoying a champagne in the sunshine on Henman Hill. Just glorious.Another enjoyable aspect is of course, the sociability of the drink. In a strange way champagne is one of the indirect reasons for this blog's existence. At last year's Proms in the Park, my mother and I sat down to a very makeshift bin liner/scarf picnic rug with a few nibbles and a bottle of the Widow. Our neighbour's curiosity was aroused by this juxtaposition. That and our age difference. Striking up conversation, it was simply one of those moments one can only attribute to fate and I am eternally grateful. The rest, as they say, is history. More recently at a friend's 21st, a vast amount of the stuff was quaffed, and possibly the majority by myself. It certainly felt like it the next day, but all the merry chatter was such fun. And there you are: one might have a whisky, a glass of wine, even a beer; alone. However champagne is a drink that I could never envisage truly enjoying alone. Once my income level increases, I shall of course substitute water with champagne, naturally. But until such time, non. To fete, to celebrate, to share in joy and to commiserate, there is nothing quite like champagne. And that is precisely why I like the stuff.
