Wednesday, October 2, 2019


... or A Case of Unimpeachable Decadence

A man goes to the famous Lucas Carton restaurant in Paris with his girlfriend and orders the Mouton Rothschild 1928.

The waiter returns cradling a bottle of the precious wine and pours a small amount in the glass for tasting.

The customer picks up the glass, sniffs the wine, then puts it down on the table with a disdainful sneer: "This is NOT the 1928 Mouton."

The waiter animatedly assures him it is - and soon there are another twenty people surrounding the table - including the maître'd, the chef, and the manager - trying to convince the man that the wine is indeed the 1928 Mouton.

Finally, in exasperation, the manager asks him how he can be so certain that it is not the 1928 Mouton.

"My name is Philippe de Rothschild, and I make that wine."

Hearing this, the waiter hangs his head forlornly in defeat and confesses that he had poured the Clerc Milon 1928.

"I could not bear to part with our last bottle of 1928 Mouton. You know Clerc Milon: the vineyard is in the same village as Mouton; you pick the grapes at the same time, the same cépage. You crush in the same way, you put them into similar barrels, you bottle at the same time; you even use eggs from the same chickens to fine them. The wines are the same, except for a minute and negligible difference in geographical location."

Rothschild beckons the waiter to come closer, and whispers in his ear: "When you return home tonight, ask your girlfriend to remove her underwear. Put one finger in one opening, another finger in the other, then smell both fingers. You will understand the difference a minute variation in geographic location makes."

[Forwarded by Shanghai Fish. First posted 29 January 2010]