Billionaire's Vinegar

Just read the first third of Benjamin Wallace's The Billionaire's Vinegar. A fun whodunnit, especially for me in this time when I seem to be awash in booze (prep for the 3rd annual puttanesca and new wine bash, trying to get Pietro to bottle his 2007 wine so I can make some room in the cellar, experimenting with making a couple more liqueurs...). There was something I read in the book yesterday that, on first blush, I scoffed at, but then quickly changed my mind about.

There was a romantic aspect to it all. Rodenstock and his new friends were "drinking history," as they liked to say, and would commonly wax historical about what Goethe, Schiller, or Napoleon was doing in the year of the vintage they happened to be opening just then.

And I thought, poo, poo, but almost immediately followed that thought with, Hey, we have some old wine. I want to drink some wine that was made before 9/11. Hmmm. (I just went down there and checked - the oldest bottle is a 1966 antique port. Boom boom.)