The Great Champagne Experiment

Subjects: Moi and The D

Hypothesis: There is, indeed, no champagne that I can tolerate.

Control: Are you kidding? Why start now?

Experiment:
So, I have been known to say that I have not yet had any champagne, sparkling wine, or other bubbly wine-like beverage that doesn’t make me go into immediate gag-reflex-instant-hangover shudders. I know, I know… you know just the right bottle to change my mind. I say bollocks. Last night was champagne’s last hurrah in my life.

Mind you, I did the research. Read up on champagne vs. bubbly from other regions, bubbles and their size and consistency, vintage vs. non-vintage, etc. After thought and consultation I selected a mid-price bottle from Champagne (the region) and eagerly chilled it in our refrigerator in anticipation of the big moment when I drank a glass of champagne that I would actually enjoy. I was promised crème brulee, and a clean apple finish with good bubbles.

Well, I’m here to tell you it was revolting. Awful. Liars…every single mofo that has ever tried to tell me that the reason I hate champagne is because I haven’t had the good stuff. It was vile. Cat’s piss has nothing on champagne.

I even tried the old trick of cutting it with orange juice (well, actually I sacrificed a few good clementines). It was all for naught. It was completely undrinkable.

D reminded me of the days when I could drink straight room-temperature goon (ie. Cask wine), and told me to buck up and drink. Trust me, a horrendous casked Riesling or even chenin is a fine drop compared to that glass that was absolute vileness. Even he gave up after a glass of it.

Thankfully, he did away with the bottle before I descended from my bedroom this morning.

Result:Hypothesis confirmed.