Some bottles ask to be talked about. Others simply stop the room. On a quiet Thursday, with no occasion to speak of, the 1996 Dom Pérignon did the second thing, and then, for the rest of the evening, the first.
1996 is one of those vintages Champagne lovers say in a particular tone of voice. High ripeness and high acidity at once, a combination that sounded like a contradiction at the time and, three decades on, looks like a gift. The wine has lost none of its tension. If anything, time has drawn it tighter and made it more precise.
In the glass
A deep, burnished gold. On the nose, the toast and brioche you expect, yes, but underneath it something saline and almost chalky, the sort of thing that reminds you Champagne is a place before it is a drink. Then quince, dried apricot, a whisper of smoke.
It is the rare wine that feels both generous and reserved, giving everything while keeping a little back.
On the palate it is long, mineral and unhurried, the kind of length that makes conversation pause mid-sentence. We drank it slowly, with nothing more elaborate than good bread and better company, which is, after all, the whole point.
Should you drink it or hold it?
Both, honestly. It is singing now, but well-stored bottles have years ahead of them. If you have a case, drink one, and let the rest teach you patience.