Empty bottles full of memories 29 August 2007

Chris Mullineux is moving house, undergoing stress, and wondering what to do
with precious empties

On a hunch that mine was pretty high, I recently completed an online version of the SRRS (Social Readjustment Ratings Scale) test. This is the international standard used to measure stress, set up by Thomas Holmes and Richard Rahe way back in 1967. The test takes into account a number of life events assumed to be stressful, such as moving house, changing employment, and marriage (I tick all these boxes as well as quite a few more). Other factors, such as death of a close family member, detention in jail, and divorce are also included, but these fortunately didn’t apply to me. Each item is given a numerical score based on the intensity of the stress, and one’s total for the preceding 12 months determines one’s level of stress.

Unsurprisingly (to me), I easily fall into the highest quartile, and according to the website this means my stress levels should be so high that I have an 80% chance of a major illness in the next 2 years! Thankfully the results are qualified: ‘If one generally has an optimistic outlook on life, and possess good coping skills, then the impact of stress may be minimal.’ Most people in our industry would add that a moderate intake of wine will help too… and this is certainly something I keep in mind as I prepare to move.

Packing up and moving house is not something to look forward to at the best of times, so one naturally doesn’t want to clutter the process with anything unnecessary. One of the things that is quite an effort to move is a wine collection, and though ours is fortunately not that large, a few boxes of full bottles quickly add up in weight.

What about empty bottles though?

People collect different things – coins, stamps, paintings, cars, and houses are a few traditional collectibles that hold interest and investment value. Many winemakers have the habit of collecting empty bottles of inspiring wines they’ve drank, and I am no different. As I start packing these away (my wife thinks I’m crazy for not simply chucking them out), I must admit that empty wine bottles must be one of the most worthless things to collect on the planet. Who would want to buy or swap something that at best represents somebody else’s memories and inspiration?

So, I’m trying to be ruthless and get rid of most. It’s difficult to let go though. As I pick up an empty bottle of ’98 Chateau Rayas and hesitate between a box and the rubbish bin, the perfumed fingerprint of the wine comes back to me, bringing a smile with the distinct memory of how the wine tasted, and the hope that I will bottle something as fine one day. It goes into the box. The same happens with this bottle of Huet Vouvray, this de Trafford Shiraz, and so on.

And here’s an empty 2002 La Soula Blanc, from Gérard Gauby in Roussillon, to me one of the most exciting and unique wines in the world. Having been fortunate enough to work at the winery last year, this bottle holds more than just the memory of the wine and the inspiration it brings. It holds all that was learnt working there, the superb cultural experience working abroad always brings, and the recollection of one of the most hilarious conversations I’ve ever had with a Frenchman.

We were working together, racking wine from a previous vintage to make space for some new barrels, and I asked much sulphur we were going to add, if any. The winemaker replied ‘Pas pour l’instant. Seulement juste avant la mise en bouteilles.’ (Not for the moment. Only just before bottling). We carried on emptying barrels for a while, and wanting to bring up the topic again, I asked ‘Combien de préservatives ajoutez-vous avant la mise en bouteilles? Parce que nous n’aimons pas ajouter beaucoup’ – to my mind a very innocent question asking how much sulphur he was going to add before bottling.

He abruptly stopped what he was doing and looked at me with that half confused, half insulted, and entirely disdainful look that only the French can give. Now I know that some French might indeed be insulted by my insinuating that they actually need to use preservatives in their wines, but surely this guy was taking things too far!  After a few uncomfortable seconds however, a knowing expression dawned on his face and he smiled and started laughing as he fetched a Lexiwine (the uber-handy French-English dictionary specialised for winemaking), and asked me to look up just what préservatif meant.

I scrolled through the pages, and there it was:

Préservatif = Condom.

A serious case of lost in translation! I started laughing too, thinking how funny my question must have been, and the rest of our working day was spent joking about it, and the question of why they would even need this word in a winery dictionary.

I sit smiling now as I recall this story and others that the empty bottle collection piques. Now I know why I collect them, and don’t mind the effort of packing them away to move. Wine certainly is good for stress relief, even when the bottles are empty.