Here's a free holiday tip that might help you find the right gift for that uncooperative friend or family member that's impossible to shop for. For the moment, we'll ignore the fact that these people are usually regarded as such because they have no observable talents or interests, and therefore leave you and I wandering the shops deciding between expensive junk like an electric golf ball detector or a hamster-operated desk calendar. On the contrary, the gift I'm suggesting is very inexpensive, extremely useful, and widely available in most liquor stores -- from the very posh, all the way down to those where requests must be shouted through 3 inches of bulletproof glass. The gift I am suggesting is a wine key.
Every year around holiday time, you can observe an all-new arsenal of complicated corkscrews and bottle openers unleashed upon the gift-buying public. So elaborate are many of these contraptions, that a visiting alien might assume that the act of opening a bottle of wine is an arduous task which calls upon the efforts of many thousands. These devices are often named after cute and/or furry animals, whereas others look like they could be used during surgery to remove pesky ribs or skull fragments. Still others require battery or electric power and vaguely resemble intimate favorites from the Xandria Collection. Another hilarious detail I've noticed this year is that many of these devices are now emblazoned with the word "professional", in extravagant and loopy cursive -- As if that would convince me that the waiters at L'Espalier routinely lug these ridiculous accessories to and from the kitchen whenever someone orders a bottle of wine. I have news for you: I've never been to L'Espalier. I've also never been to French Laundry, nor have I enjoyed the wine at most other famously exclusive restaurants in this world. But I can bet you a 2003 bottle of Joseph Phelps Cabernet Sauvignon that the employees of such places do not use The Rabbit, The Corkenator, The Bottle Slave, or The Auto-Drunkener to uncork their customer's wine, so the 'professional' argument is something of a non-starter.
Which brings us to the wine key. It is a simple and elegant device whose configuration is certainly deserving of inclusion in Phaidon's Design Classics series. It has a comfortable handle. It has a retractable, serrated blade for slicing away foil. It has a long, twirly bit on a hinge. And it fits conveniently in your purse, back pocket, or glove compartment. I'm not a wine expert by any stretch of truth, but I can navigate my way around the ten-dollar-and-under display table with reasonable talent, and I've been known to turn up my nose at the idea of Merlot. But that being said, I have long argued that there is way too much artificial exclusivity associated with the drinking of what is tantamount to old grape juice. Never mind that it's been fermented and consumed by us lucky bipeds for thousands of years. That's no reason for it to be marketed as a luxury item, or endorsed solely by creepy, rich-looking guys with graying temples and polo shirts tucked into their khakis. That kind of imagery makes me feel like I need a drink, and not the kind that you find waiting for you underneath a cork. I believe that wine should be enjoyed by people of all economic classes, so I'm therefore drawn to the wine key for its socially leveling potential as much as for its flawless utility. It is of that rare class of human achievements that technology can not improve upon. As in wine making, it requires skill, determination, and the use of one's hands.
Being thirsty is also a plus.
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