Alright, I'm a sucker. Yesterday I met Yuka at Astor Wines for a little taste of Krug champagne. Ah, Krug, my new love, champ of "shamps," as my roommate so charmingly refers to bubbly. How can I describe the flavor of Krug Grande Cuvee without sounding like one of those pretentious oenophiles?
It's crisp, Meyer lemony, not too sweet, with a lovely tingly aftertaste of yummy sunshine. The salesman, doing his job, said, "It's on sale during the tasting, for $110." And after looking at $200 bottles of Cristal and $350 bottles of vintage Bollinger, it seemed like a good deal. So I decided, what the hell, I never drink, really, so I'm going to treat myself to something special on New Year's. New Yorkers my age probably spend, on average, $50/wk on drinks (alcoholics!), so really, spread out over the course of the entire year, that's only $2/wk.
But now that I've got it, I have this sudden covetous impulse to not share it. I want to be a snorting little Golem with my Precious, and hide in my closet with my cold, sweaty green bottle and a Cartier flute swiped from my roommate.
But I won't.