In a sense, a wine merchant sells time. The history a vineyard has accumulated; the years that have passed inside the bottle. The moment you pull the cork, that time unwinds and becomes aroma.
That is why I never cut corners on storage or on judgement. I would rather you chose by the quality of the time than by the price.

Thirty years. Champagne usually tires. But this bottle grew younger the moment the cork came out.
Not a trace of tired old-wine smell. The finish is crème brûlée. A flood of flavour that recalls the old Dom Pérignon "Œnothèque". — Nights like this are why I can never give up this trade.

To put it plainly: I am on the side of buying. With the yen where it is, primeur — where the price is fixed at the exchange rate on reservation — strikes me as a sensible way to get ahead of next season.
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