"My only regret in life is that I did not drink more Champagne."
-John Maynard Keynes

"Come quickly! I am tasting stars!"
-Dom Perignon

As part of Brooke's wedding present, Katie and I picked up a bottle of the Sofia Blanc de Blancs 2003*, produced by the Niebaum-Coppola winery. That's right, those Coppolas. And by Sofia, it's indeed that Sofia.

This particular champagne has been making a splash in recent news because they've decided - gasp! - to package it in little cans. It's rather cute, I've got to say, although I don't know how I feel about drinking bubbly out of a can. The mini champagne bottles are a cute idea, if kitschy, but out of a can like Diet Coke? Hmm. I'm thinking no.

There's just something satisfying about the elegant cork pop** when opening a bottle of champagne. Pouring it into a delicate flute. Watching the bubbles pop and having them tickle your nose as you take your first sip. My favourite apératif is the kir royale - but made the proper way - first the crème de cassis - but not too much!, then the champagne and properly garnished with a twist of lemon peel. More places should serve this. It's such a happy drink. And appropriate for a Champagne Slut*** such as myself. One of my fondest kir royale memories takes place in Paris (where else?), where after we went to visit the courthouses to observe the French judicial system at its finest, my mentor was all, "That was so depressing, we must get some kir royales to make ourselves feel better!"

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I would like someone to create a champagne and name it after me. Look how pretty the packaging is on the Sofia one! (The regular-sized bottle, not the dinky little cans.) It has a pretty label! And it comes in a pretty pink cellophane bag! True, I would prefer perhaps a sheer tulle bag, but that would be for my eponymous champagne. Sofia can do what she wants with hers, including selling it in cans.

Now, I just need to befriend a champagne-maker. One from the proper region so that it could accurately be called champagne would be preferable, because I'm picky like that. Otherwise, I suppose a distinguished California winery wouldn't be bad either. I really would prefer true champagne, though.

And it would have to be pink champagne. There's just such a charm to pink champagne.

Then my bubbly could have the following description: "Much like the person it's named for, this is a complex yet refreshing bubbly. There are hints of peaches and honey, and some deeper honeysuckle and strawberry notes which meld together to form a most harmonious drink. It brings to mind a romantic Parisian afternoon at a café, giggling and giddy with love while the strains of a faraway flute reverbrate in the background." Or some such crap like that. Wine descriptions make me laugh in their pretentiousness. But in the case of my champagne, it would be justly deserved.


*Normally, I would buy slightly more expensive champagne (hee, I just wanted to look at more champagne online) when giving it as a gift. However, seeing that we have already spent so damn much on Brooke's wedding, and knowing that Brooke doesn't really appreciate fine wines, Katie and I took a more economical route. We still got the happy couple 4 bottles of wine and an engraved wine cooler.
**Small digression regarding opening champagne bottles. The summer I worked at an auction house, for some reason my job at one of the auctions was opening the champagne bottles at the reception area, which was a big mistake and they should have realised this, because I broke at least two expensive corkscrews just opening wine the day before, and these corkscrews were supposed to be foolproof. There is no "foolproof" way to opening Champagne. And you're actually supposed to open it without having the cork pop through some complicated twisting and simultaneous pulling action (hm, which upon reflection, is just slightly dirty). That's the classy way of doing it. My college roommate and I would have contests seeing how far we could pop champagne corks, and how loud a pop we could make. Anyway, I got stuck opening champagne, despite my protestations. The hot French security guard - and when I say hot, I mean, ohmygod he was to die for, in that distinguished younger Robert Redford way - took one look at me, assessed the situation, and wisely said that he'd help me. So he opened and I poured. Eventually, he took over the pouring as well and sent me off to do things I was more useful at, like watching the auction from the balcony and seeing if the hot screenwriter I had met at a tasting the night before was there.
***My friend Ellen has started a Champagne Slut club. For some reason, I was one of the first people she thought about when the idea came to her. No idea why. We're gonna get shirts and glasses.