Like the wine, the captain of the Vliegend Hert went down with the ship. Unlike the wine, the captain never came up again.
In 1980, a shipwreck was discovered off the coast of Holland that contained thousands of gold and silver coins (whoo-hoo!) as well as several hundred bottles of Mosel wine that had been destined for then hoity-toidy Indonesia (big whoop). The Vliegend Hert went down in 1735, and most of the bottles were found broken.
But a handful were intact, and these go on sale in a couple weeks at the Veiling Sylvies Auction House in Antwerp.
So, What Do You Buy For the Guy Who Has Everything Except For a Bottle of Three-Hundred-Year-Old Oxidized Riesling?
How about some shipwreck wine? If that sort of thing floats your boat, show up in Belgium on May 3, and prepare to shell out between $2500 and $5000 for a pair (apparently, auctioneers don’t want to break up a set) of Davy Jones Reserve. The bottles contain the original wine, but be forewarned if you are thinking of serving them at a Talk Like a Pirate theme dinner—auction house director Juris Scott had the opportunity to taste the pricey plonk and reports, ‘It was a difficult task to find anything else but a buttery smell and a very oxidized wine. It did taste a little like wine, with some secondary acids and some bitter notes.’
Don’t oversell, Juris.
And On a Similar Note…
And what do you give to a dude that has everything except a bottle of ‘yellow wine’ from the French Jura? How about a bottle of ‘yellow wine’ from the French Jura, circa 1774—the same year that Thomas Jefferson was securing his fortune via slave labor?
Indeed, it is too late. That bottle of wine went under the hammer for $49,200 at Christie’s in Geneva last year. Although, were I to sell a fifty grand bottle of wine, I think I would avoid hammering it. Tends to taint the final product with glass shards.
Okay, that’s all. Except that I am one of those people who feels obligated—obsessed even—to round out the word count. So, let’s talk about the Dutch, shall we? As a time-killer?
Dutch Treat? No ‘Treat’ at All…
Certain races amuse me. The Dutch are among them. What’s up with the Dutch? Nothing personal, Dutch people, but shoes made out of wood? How about brassieres made of yttrium? Granny panties made of fusible lead alloys-like-pewter-or-similar-82-isotope radiation-and teenage boy-shields?
Intra-uterine devices made of Uranium-235?
I know, right? Dutch people, please make sense for ten minutes.
All that bicycle riding? Two words (one hyphenated, granted) for you: Four-stroke engine. It works! Ask Henry friggin’ Ford, my Nazi-loving homeboy.
Cows: Yeah, we get it. They make milk. And then, hamburgers.
Shoes: Forget it, I already brought that one up.
Helaas, pindakaas: English translation: ‘Oh well, peanut butter’: Of course, Dutch people. Thomas Jefferson Carver, or whoever it was that invented peanut butter, figured that the peanut would save the world. And it did! We are still here, despite global warming, nuclear holocaust, white flight and similar species-ending nightmares. We have prevailed, and we thank you from the bottom of our boogity-boogity shoot hearts.
‘Lekker’: Somehow relates to taste in whatever language these blonde, buff, blatantly beautiful Europeans choose to choke-on-their-own-tongues over. Okay, alright already; you have to serve meals at specific times. Whatever. Here in the real world (the United States), we have a concept called ‘Breakfast All Day’. Get with the program.
French Fries and Mayonnaise: So, ick. French fries aren’t really French. Nor is French toast. Or French kissing or French Guinea or French-chop-off-their-heads because-they wanted-cake—or Napolean. But God, pus-colored-stuff on fried potatoes? Ketchup, my dear Lowlander brethren. Blood color; that works.
Thumbs In Dikes: More power to ya. Without estrogen on your fingernail, that is.
Whoa! I Am Out of Time Already?
So, good on ya.