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A joke

Geee

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CoolI am sure, that a real gentleman like you will recognise the reasons  for being careful with details in this little cute story.  A man goes to the famous Lucas Carton restaurant in Paris with his  girlfriend and orders the 1928 Mouton.The waiter returns with a bottle full of wine, pours a small amount in  the glass for tasting. The customer picks up the glass, smells the  wine, and puts it down on the table with a thud. 'This is not the 1928 Mouton.'  The waiter assures him it is, and soon there is another twenty people  surrounding the table including the chef and the manager trying to  convince the man that the wine is the 1928 Mouton. Finally someone  asks  him how he knows that it is not the 1928 Mouton.  'My name is Phillipe de Rothschild, and I make the wine.'  Finally, the original waiter steps forward and admits that he  poured the  Clerc Milon 1928. "I could not bear to part with our last bottle of 1928 Mouton. You  know  Clerc Milon, it is in the same village as Mouton, you pick the  grapes at  the same time, the same cepage, you crush in the same way, you put  them  into similar barrels. You bottle at the same time, you even use eggs  from the same chickens to fine them. The wines are the same, except  for  a small matter of geographic location."  Rothschild beckons the waiter forward, and whispers to him,  'When you return home tonight, ask your girlfriend to remove her  underwear.  Put one finger in one opening, another finger in the  other,  then smell both the fingers. You will understand what difference a  small  distance in geographic location makes." :P  
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Geee
CoolI am sure, that a real gentleman like you will recognise the reasons  for being careful with details in this little cute story.  A man goes to the famous Lucas Carton restaurant in Paris with his  girlfriend and orders the 1928 Mouton.The waiter returns with a bottle full of wine, pours a small amount in  the glass for tasting. The customer picks up the glass, smells the  wine, and puts it down on the table with a thud. 'This is not the 1928 Mouton.'  The waiter assures him it is, and soon there is another twenty people  surrounding the table including the chef and the manager trying to  convince the man that the wine is the 1928 Mouton. Finally someone  asks  him how he knows that it is not the 1928 Mouton.  'My name is Phillipe de Rothschild, and I make the wine.'  Finally, the original waiter steps forward and admits that he  poured the  Clerc Milon 1928. "I could not bear to part with our last bottle of 1928 Mouton. You  know  Clerc Milon, it is in the same village as Mouton, you pick the  grapes at  the same time, the same cepage, you crush in the same way, you put  them  into similar barrels. You bottle at the same time, you even use eggs  from the same chickens to fine them. The wines are the same, except  for  a small matter of geographic location."  Rothschild beckons the waiter forward, and whispers to him,  'When you return home tonight, ask your girlfriend to remove her  underwear.  Put one finger in one opening, another finger in the  other,  then smell both the fingers. You will understand what difference a  small  distance in geographic location makes." :P  
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PeterH61

A friend of mine used to write a wine column for a local paper here in London and once when he was having a moan about how UK supermarkets use their buying power to force down the prices they pay to producers, he started it "This week it's not so much a wine column as a whine column ..." But a nice story Gee, though the late Baron Philippe de Rothschild was a great gentleman, and would never have made a scene like that! Still.thabks for the story

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