after the champagne

Champagne is a puzzle. Effervescent and frothy, it's also the stuff of ritual, tradition and ceremony. My father picked up a trick in London for opening a bottle of champagne that involves swiping the neck off the bottle with the edge of a kitchen knife. The idea is to emulate the Napoleonic soldiers, who supposedly opened it in this dashing way--presumably often, maybe on horseback?, in breeches?--but with a swashbuckling sabre, as opposed to a kitchen knife. The practice has rather taken off amongst our family and friends. Whenever it's a big occasion or birthday, the birthday child or honouree is now obliged to sabre off the champagne into the yard in a dramatic decapitation of the green chilled bottle that is followed by a triumphant and ecstatic fountain of bubbly. My son, Philip, is always close behind with a flute to catch the drops.



After the champagne, and there should always be as much champagne as possible, my husband's family, who is famously restless and likes to fiddle at the table after long dinners and lunches, has a practice of crafting tiny French chairs with the fine, braided wire casing of the cork. Here are four tiny interpretations of a cafe chair, which of course means four bottles of French champagne.



My 85 year-old mother in law, born to an old family in Riga, who is still famously fiddly and restless as a teenager, has the family's best gift for this practice. In the old days, they had to amuse themselves with such tabletop challenges. She knows more games than anyone--and never lets one of her grandchildren win. She is also prone to making tiny, fairy-sized golden goblets with the champagne foil.


KvH