I know a little about a lot of things. I know that Eddie Money got sued for ripping off Doris Day's hit song "Que Sera, Sera." I know that Petrarch documented the original true story behind the tale of Romeo and Juliet. I have Jeopardian (as in the show "Jeopardy") random knowledge that sometimes pulls off amazing feats of smugness when on trivia teams, but I crash and burn just as often.
I know which forks to use in fancy restaurants. I know how to sew buttons on to clothing. I could passably referee a men's lacrosse game. I read enough French and speak enough Spanish to be able to follow directions to the nearest bathroom. I know enough about wine etiquette not to look like a blithering idiot when faced with a wine list or a sommelier who thinks he's better than the customers he's mistreating.
So why, then, am I stymied by a glass nipple?
To be truthful, it's actually a glass wine cork of sorts. I am stymied when I remove the foil from the opening of the Sicilian red wine I bring home. I have my rubber hand mat in case it's a screw cap and my corkscrew in case it's a plastic or cork stopper. But ... glass? What the ... Glass? A glass stopper?
I try unscrewing it, but it clearly isn't working. Do I pry it off with a knife? A screwdriver? How in the hell do I get glass out of the glass in order to fill my damn glass?
After giving up trying to ply the stopper out with my hand, I resort to the rubber jar opener, the hand mat of sorts, and carefully secure the bottle between my thighs as I work, work, work the glass stopper. And yes, this really is as awkward and socially unacceptable as this description sounds.
A little research tells me that these glass nipples have been in use since 2003 when Alcoa developed them, but still there are few wineries that use them. They look cool, are supposedly reusable, and help to stop any of that "spoilage associated with corks." Spoilage? Who keeps wine around long enough for spoilage except collectors, who don't drink the wine, anyway, they just look at it and sigh longingly.
And then there's that nasty business of the glass corks only fitting into certain bottles, coincidentally also manufactured by the cork-making companies. Seems like the winery version of Tupperware: Only certain tops fit with certain bottoms, and the luxury will cost you lots and lots of money and aggravation. Eventually, like Tupperware, you'll get frustrated and just toss the mal-fitting items away.
It's always interesting to try something new, but if I want more glass stuffed into my wine, I'll try to do the opposite and stuff more wine into my glass.
