Cork Dork: A Wine-Fueled Adventure Among the Obsessive Sommeliers, Big Bottle Hunters, and Rogue Scientists Who Taught Me to Live for Taste

by Bianca Bosker

“Cabernet” was somm-speak for “easy money,” so for a shot at drinking great wine for good value, I stuck to whatever looked unfamiliar and vaguely intimidating—say, a Mondeuse Noire from the Savoie in France. Thanks to the golden rule—“You can’t make margin on shit people don’t know”—some somms would offer their favorite obscure wines at a lower markup, then make up the difference with the gimmes.

Lesson: When eating out, look for wine names you don't recognize for the best value.

(For knock-off Bordeaux, fill a bottle with equal parts Devonshire cider and port, age for one month, and serve—“the best judge will not be able to distinguish them from good Bordeaux.”)

I'm tempted to try this.

EMP spends ten months training its staff to pour water and employs people with the title of “dreamweaver,” whose job it is to enhance the meal through miniature miracles, like delivering a sled to a guest who, over the third course, mentions wanting to play in the snow.

When you eat out a restaurant you are either paying for convenience or the experience. At these higher end establishments the experience better be earth shattering.

Morgan sniffed at the wine. “It smells like hot dogs.”

“We get all these nouveau-riche people here, so there’ll be, like, a family in sweatpants and they’re going to order a $3,000 wine,” said Liz. “So I don’t think you should necessarily approach people with stereotypes. Because then there’s people like the girl at the bar. She’s in Chanel and has giant rocks on her hands and she’s like—” George, the server, stuck his hip out and put on a nasal falsetto: “DO YOO HAV PINEAPPLE JOOOOOCE?”