You are what you drink…or something like that. On occasion, the wife and I hit the town with some friends; paint it a certain barnyard shade of rouge. We often stay in and I’ll cook something up. Regardless, our feasting friends have high standards. Not always for the food - though I do make a mean roast chicken - but definitely for the booze. When it comes to wine, the dinner gang consists of those who know, those who dare, and those who couldn’t care less. It’s those who know that generally start all the fuss.

The bottle of wine you order with dinner can say a lot about you, whether you like it or not. Yes, your waiters will judge your selection - in particular, he’ll be paying attention to cost; hoping to determine how cheap you might be and the prospects of a tip. Your guests, knowing you or not, will either be thankful you ordered for the table or they’ll never let you do it again. Your wallet will either be shocked into submission or pleasantly surprised.

The clincher on wine - the whole classy aspect of it - is in its delivery. Even the most inexpensive bottle of house red can carry and allure when it is presented properly: white linen draped over a waiters arm like a banded stamp of class; the pivot of a corkscrew ever so gently piercing the flesh of the cork, pulling out until that fair and familiar pop releases an aroma that will undoubtedly complement your meal.

So what’s the deal with the freakin’ twist-off?