I have a bottle of fancy wine, born the same year I was (long story), which I decide to share with the family.
My grandmother declines; she does not like red wine, so why would she like this red wine? Um, because it's a 1962 Chateau Margaux? No sale.
The rest of us drink the wine. It is...tasty. Not transcendent. Maybe past its peak. Maybe pearls before swine. Maybe never that great in the first place.
But I wonder, then and now, how much better one bottle of wine can be than another, once some threshold of quality has been reached, and how much more it is worth paying for some incremental excellence discernible only to palates much finer than my own. A chacun son gout, but good enough usually is good enough for me.
Still, I cracked open a decent Burgundy the other night to preview our Thanksgiving pour. I could get used to it.