Wine coup

Several weeks ago, I got to taste a 23-year-old bottle of nebbiolo. It was the '89 Boca Le Piane, and it was delicious. All the fierce tannin of young nebbiolo had faded away, leaving just the fruit, and it was amazing.

When we got some in to the restaurant, I sold the crap out of it. But the wine manager refused to let me buy any at cost from him, since we only had a few bottles. There were wailings and lamentations at that.

Oh, but then! Last night, he discovered the very last bottle had a scuffed label--unsuitable for customers, so he told me I could finally have one.

I am now the excited and proud owner of a 23-year-old wine, and I'm going to drink the shit out of it.

Let's all pause for a moment and remember what we were doing in 1989.

I was starting high school--the worst three years of my life. (I say three, because as we all know, I skipped that last year entirely to start college early). You couldn't pay me enough to live through even one more day of high school.

Today I'm visiting some very old and dear friends from college. I may drink this wine with them (I haven't decided). I may save it for when my best friend visits next week. Either way, this wine is older than all of those friendships.

But not by much.