by Elyas Beria

There we were, crowded menacingly around the naked and vulnerable bottle, licking our chops. None of us had ever had a Port that old before. In fact none of us were that old. The bottle was an unlabeled 1966 Graham’s Vintage Port. It came from a cellar in England where the vast majority of Port has been consumed throughout history. Its English pedigree might also be why it had no label. Traditionally, it was not unusual for families of means to purchase a pipe of Port in the birth year of a child for them to then consume throughout adulthood. (A pipe is roughly equivalent to 60 or 70 cases of Port and it was common for these bottles to be unlabeled.) So, perhaps this particular bottle, which was about to be descended upon by a mob of crazed wine-lovers, had been purchased as a christening present and sat patiently in a cellar in England for 40 or so years, aging perfectly, only to end up on my kitchen counter—the main attraction of a wine dinner. I didn’t tell our guests beforehand about this special treat, I wanted it to be a surprise. Now the cat was out of the bag and we were all itching to crack it open, which is exactly how an old bottle of Port is traditionally opened.

Generally all cork stoppers in old bottles of wine will be somewhat brittle even if the wine has been stored properly. Extracting them from Port bottles however suffers the added obstacle of being glued to the walls of the bottle by the high levels of sugar that these fortified wines are so loved for. The cleverest way of getting around the hassle of trying to pull the cork out of an old Port is to avoid the exercise altogether. Specialized Port tongs are heated until glowing red hot; they are applied with pressure to the neck of the bottle just below the cork; then a towel soaked in ice water is placed on the heated area causing an instantaneous and clean break. The whole top portion of the bottleneck containing the cork is then removed.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get my hands on a pair of Port tongs in time for this dinner. (Where does one go in New York City to get a pair anyway?) Yet, I couldn’t bear the idea of breaking the wax seal on a 42 year-old bottle and obliterating the cork while trying to extract it. After hours of fruitless thinking I finally struck upon the idea of creating makeshift Port tongs using a $2 piece of heavy gauge wire I bought from Home Depot. I bent the wire into a loop around the neck of a bottle to shape it. I then heated the wire until it was red hot and practiced on an empty bottle. It worked like a charm and I knew I was ready to open the centerpiece of our wine dinner in style.

My wife on the other hand was highly suspicious—as she has every right to be. It wasn’t too long ago that I nearly destroyed my back doing some home repairs after creating what turned out to be a highly unstable “ladder” from wooden wine boxes, a chair, and a few books. But I assured her that this time I knew what I was doing and, amazingly, she believed me.

As all of our dinner guests stood around the soon-to-be-bifurcated bottle my wife insisted that it at least be placed in a bowl in the event that the bottle shatters into pieces so we could strain out the shards of glass and dare to drink it nonetheless—no matter how unlikely I told her that scenario was. Once again my improvised Port tongs were glowing red and it was time to prove my mettle. The tongs were wielded and applied, breathes were held, fingernails were bitten, seconds seemed like minutes, and finally the tongs were removed. The kitchen towel soaked in ice water was placed around the neck and an audible crack broke the silence; the neck of the bottle came clean off. Success!

The only thing more gratifying than holding the severed wine bottle in my hand was the smug look I playfully shot my wife, and even more gratifying than that was finally tasting this marvelous wine. 42 years of perfect aging had left a thick layer of crust at the bottom of the bottle and produced a Port that was silky smooth. We were all a little surprised by the amount of heat that accompanied the bouquet. I guess I was expecting a wine that was in the twilight of its years, gentle and contemplative. Instead I nearly had my eyebrows burned off when I stuck my nose in the glass. Whoosh! A great burst of alcohol met my inquiring sniff but carried with it a bright aroma of red cherries and other red fruits along with a nuttiness that took a few more sniffs to decipher. The first thing that struck me when tasting this beauty was the plush and creamy texture. All of the tannins had melted into an exquisitely woven backdrop of cascading satin. “I taste caramel,” someone called out. “Yes and cherries too,” another added. “Hazelnuts,” said someone else. “Plums,” said yet another. My wife remarked that there was a beautifully integrated smokiness present as well, which I then immediately tasted.

After our initial little tastes we let the remainder of the wine sit in a decanter for three hours or so before returning to it. Some of the heat had disappeared from the nose but it was still surprisingly fierce. All of the same flavors were still present only more vibrant and everyone agreed that it was one of the best—if not most memorable—wines they had ever had. Beyond the fact that it’s always a treat to enjoy a fully mature wine, drinking this Port become an opportunity to commune with the past; to reflect and think of all of the ways that the world has changed since the wine started its life as grapes. I couldn’t help but think that no matter what ills may be plaguing the world, with a glass of this wine in my hand, surrounded by such good friends that, at least for tonight, all was well in the world.

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