Tinh-Alfredo V. Khuong

I was brought up keenly aware of the evils of drug use (ethanol, in particular). I was always told to avoid partaking in its consumption and that I would get addicted if I started. For the most part, I adhered to that mantra until I turned 21. I was working in a research group with a new french post-doctoral scholar named Christophe Coperet. After a rocky start, we became fast friends and he began telling me about the unique qualities of wine. He compared wine to an art form using language that appealed to my romantic sense. Tasting a wine seemed like a spiritual experience to him.

Needless to say, I remained unconvinced. Nevertheless, I decided to appease him by trying a wine. I believe it was Domaine de Chevalier 1984 and it was awful. It was bitter, and astringent. The acid made my mouth pucker, a punch in the mouth. I was done with wine forever.

It wasn't long before he told me that I had to try one more wine. This one was Chateau Suduiraut 1988. THAT was something. It was sweet for one thing. Second, I could actually smell something other than that fruity ethanol smell. It was distinctly apricot-like with a heavy honey smell dominating as it warmed. There was also a lightly woody, cedar-like smell to it along with some other components I couldn't identify. He, of course, was raving about all of the nuances he could detect and the memories they brought back...

Therein lies what is most beautiful and tragic about wine. For example, I bought two bottles of Ch. Suduiraut '88. I opened one of them a few years ago and I was instantly transported back to my college days. A knot formed in my stomach as I was inundated with uncontrolled emotions, friendships, places we'd been together... I still have the other bottle. I don't know that I will ever open it. If I do, it will be with Christophe. I still buy Ch. Suduiraut. I have bottles from '89, '98, '99, and '01. Each is different and each is at a different stage in terms of a wine's "life." The best wines live as long as a person. Yet, once a bottle is opened, it expresses itself only for a few glasses and then dies forever.