Oswaldo Costa
Oswaldo Costa
After four mostly splendid weeks of merry darting, the time came for us to bid adieu. Together with the luggage, I placed a Styrofoam-lined carton with a dozen souvenirs on the rubber-lined scale at the Charles de Gaulle check-in counter. The clerk asked "what’s in the box?" I replied "la gloire de la France." He smiled faintly and said, "ah, du vin."
After immigration, there were no less than three stores selling duty-free wine. Maybe the duty-free concept meant something in our parents' time, but for decades now the pantomime of asking for your boarding pass is wallpaper over an entirely illusory advantage, one close to legalized scam. But there's always time to kill at airports, and the duty-free looms, like Everest.
The structural nature of the duty-free is such that medium or large scale industrial wines, made robust with preservatives, is the ideal fare. It is rare to find something of potential interest to deviants. This was no exception, but because it’s France, there were three shops. As I said (above), three. In the largest, there was even a fridge with a handful of La Taches and DRCs, available for between three and five thousand eurobuckaroos. So there are exceptions to the industrial fare, but only at the highest end.
But not all industrials are equally shrug worthy. Some might even do in a pinch. In one of the smaller shops there were a few dozen screw-capped 187s of 2009 Bouchard Père & Fils Bourgogne weighing in at a promising 12.5%. Each for the far-from-princely sum of 3.10. Now, I would wager that even the most intransigent amongst you might countenance a 750 of industrial Bourgogne for 12.40 under exploitative pricing conditions. And four 187s hoisted upon a ten hour flight would allow the proud possessor the option of drinking one, two, three, even four such little lobotomies according to the degree of whim. Not to mention that, back home, four such screw capped thingies would allow the proud possessor to divide a 750 into four evenings of moderation, should he be drinking solo because his wife is pregnant and watching his weight because he just spent a month in France tasting 246 varieties of cheese.
And what about the wine, you may ask, if you have borne thus far. I only had one, so cannot yet account for lilliputian bottle variation. But the one was extremely potable, pleasurable even. Albeit simple, it delivering more pinosity than I had brought myself to expect. Aromatic, decent acidity, mildly dilute, but certainly not too much so for anyone with a modicum of worldliness. If this was made in a lab, maybe Bouchard can replace all those lost Mollydookers.
In parting, I must share a final indignation. If this costs 3.10 in a near scam situation, the airlines can probably get it, in volume, for less than 1.00. Instead of drinking the near swill that we are offered, gratis on international carriers but usually for $7 in American ones, I could live with the monotony of drinking only this little thing on airplanes going forward. Barring that, every duty-free store in the world could stock 187s of such unpretentious Bourgognes, making most of us happier campers in the sky while raising the standards of civilization for non deviants everywhere.
After immigration, there were no less than three stores selling duty-free wine. Maybe the duty-free concept meant something in our parents' time, but for decades now the pantomime of asking for your boarding pass is wallpaper over an entirely illusory advantage, one close to legalized scam. But there's always time to kill at airports, and the duty-free looms, like Everest.
The structural nature of the duty-free is such that medium or large scale industrial wines, made robust with preservatives, is the ideal fare. It is rare to find something of potential interest to deviants. This was no exception, but because it’s France, there were three shops. As I said (above), three. In the largest, there was even a fridge with a handful of La Taches and DRCs, available for between three and five thousand eurobuckaroos. So there are exceptions to the industrial fare, but only at the highest end.
But not all industrials are equally shrug worthy. Some might even do in a pinch. In one of the smaller shops there were a few dozen screw-capped 187s of 2009 Bouchard Père & Fils Bourgogne weighing in at a promising 12.5%. Each for the far-from-princely sum of 3.10. Now, I would wager that even the most intransigent amongst you might countenance a 750 of industrial Bourgogne for 12.40 under exploitative pricing conditions. And four 187s hoisted upon a ten hour flight would allow the proud possessor the option of drinking one, two, three, even four such little lobotomies according to the degree of whim. Not to mention that, back home, four such screw capped thingies would allow the proud possessor to divide a 750 into four evenings of moderation, should he be drinking solo because his wife is pregnant and watching his weight because he just spent a month in France tasting 246 varieties of cheese.
And what about the wine, you may ask, if you have borne thus far. I only had one, so cannot yet account for lilliputian bottle variation. But the one was extremely potable, pleasurable even. Albeit simple, it delivering more pinosity than I had brought myself to expect. Aromatic, decent acidity, mildly dilute, but certainly not too much so for anyone with a modicum of worldliness. If this was made in a lab, maybe Bouchard can replace all those lost Mollydookers.
In parting, I must share a final indignation. If this costs 3.10 in a near scam situation, the airlines can probably get it, in volume, for less than 1.00. Instead of drinking the near swill that we are offered, gratis on international carriers but usually for $7 in American ones, I could live with the monotony of drinking only this little thing on airplanes going forward. Barring that, every duty-free store in the world could stock 187s of such unpretentious Bourgognes, making most of us happier campers in the sky while raising the standards of civilization for non deviants everywhere.