I mean, let’s be honest: doesn’t it all seem a little exhausting?
It’s January: a time when we get used to writing a different year at the end of our checks, and it’s cold, and there are no milestones or holidays to look forward to for a good while. The beginning of this month always feels like I’m looking at “fun” in the rear view mirror, but in a way I strangely feel okay with.
In lieu of looking forward to some kind of celebration or gathering, the new year offers at least the chance to analyze past moments of regret and opportunities that fell by the wayside. And although it certainly wasn’t the first time that I’ve had this thought, I once again looked back on the recent past and saw a particular set of my own actions as head-scratching and inexplicable.
I am, of course, referring to getting together with good friends and drinking Champagne, of all things. Almost as soon as I began to process that first sip, I thought to myself, “Why in the hell are we all still doing this?”
The answer, of course, is tradition. I would wager that a number of men don’t want to buy wedding rings, and a number of people don’t want to trudge out to an icy Christmas tree lot and strap a dead plant to the top of their car. And yet, these actions are just kind of what you have to do when the situation dictates, or as part of a larger set of rituals.
So yes, the short answer of why we all popped the cork of a supermarket-caliber Champagne bottle has to do with it being part of the iconography of a giant ball dropping and confetti and “Auld Lang Syne” and goofy party glasses that always somehow seem to have the year on them spelled out through the eye holes.
“New Year’s Eve: a time when we’re all reminded that “Extra Brut” is not synonymous with “Extra Awesome.”
The remainder of the answer, however, is because we’ve been collectively gaslit as consumers and think that just about any Champagne is a fancy treat. Once again, the French and their exhausting systems of classification and categorization come hard-charging into the discussion. Champagne stalwarts would likely say that nobody does it better: that all of the care and craft produces the beverage’s teeny tiny bubbles that make it incomparable to anything else.
So here’s the first part: I don’t know if I like those teeny tiny bubbles. Supposing I’m reading this Difford’s Guide article right, Champagne is carbonated at nearly three times the level as beer. As a result of all of that gas, I take three sips of Champagne and feel like I’ve eaten a full meal. I honestly think there might be value in a Champagne diet: eat whatever you like, but take two sips from a Champagne flute beforehand. Likely you’ll feel so bloated that even noshing on a few crackers and the smallest morsel of cheese will seem unappealing.
I can all but guarantee these flutes were not
fully consumed once the shot was taken.
Second, it’s crazy to me that people still haven’t figured out what “Brut” means. People think “Extra Brut” is synonymous with “Extra Awesome,” when the reality is that the term means “Dry as absolute shit.” In other words, it contains very little sugar. Here, I would remind the reader that you can go to just about any mall in America and find a Cinnabon location, which will sell you a puck-sized dessert so fatty and sugary it would require you to walk for nine miles to work off the calories.
It would appear the alcohol industry as a whole is aware of America’s tendency to want to drink liquid candy any time they’re thirsty. Stella Rosa, known for offering just about the most sugary catalog of wines on the market, seems to have posted 41% year-over-year growth as a result of giving people what they want. That’s pretty remarkable.
But then, suddenly, the clock strikes “12” on January first and we’re all popping corks on the least sugary drink we can. It’s madness, I tell you.
Two Solutions
Let me pause and once again say that I have a sweet tooth. Stella Rosa is too sweet to me, but I’ll be honest: the mall Cinnabon sometimes calls to me in a way that makes me want to crash my ship of sensible dietary choices right against the rocky shore of creamy, unctuous, sugary goodness. With respect to Champagne, it’s not like my tastes are better than the unwashed masses.
No, no: you see, I also want it to be sweeter. I think just as a Margarita, Sidecar, Old Fashioned, or Manhattan needs just a bit of sweetness to keep everything in balance (here, a solid thumbs-down to the Tommy’s Margarita, though many of my good friends love the recipe), I’d argue the kinds of Brut Champagne you’re going to open on New Year’s Eve warrant a similar treatment.
I may have mentioned it before on this site, but there are two bottles of what I call “Champagne Improvement Devices” I stock:
St. Germain. Once called “Bartender’s Ketchup,” this elderflower liqueur has a pretty impressive depth of flavor. It’s also so sticky-sweet that you may need to use a pair of pliers to wrench open the sugar-encrusted screw top if you haven’t used it in a while. But see if a half ounce of the stuff mixed into a flute of Champagne doesn’t solve a lot of your problems.
Creme de Cassis. Essentially, a blackberry liqueur (blackcurrant liqueur, technically, for the insufferable pedants who would correct me otherwise), this old-world product adds not only sweetness, but some nice fruit to the mix. A nice oasis amid the arid desert that is Brut Champagne. The sophisticates will note that I’m far from the first to suggest the combination of Creme de Cassis with Champagne—this classic two ingredient cocktail is known as a Kir Royale.
I also suspect that either Cointreau or Grand Marnier would work in these capacities as well, but that’s an experiment for next year. That’s far enough away that we’ll probably all forget once again what Brut Champagne actually tastes like, but if you remember this suggestion late into 2024, thank me in 2025.
