Rules for romance: Open bottle gracefully

I wanted to do a column on the theme of wine and romance. Seems simple enough.

I thought, this could serve as a reminder that wine is the beverage of love, and cultivating romance in your life should be an everyday goal.

In support of this moonstruck mandate I offer the following hard science. According to leading authorities (OK, the Oklahoma Wine News if you must know), the online research firm Cyberpulse has determined that 59 percent of women ages 21-39 would like their sweethearts to give them wine, not chocolates, on Valentine's Day. "More adult and romantic than chocolates," was the consensus among the 500 women surveyed.

(Obviously we're not talking Four Emus here — think Champagne, or something pink with flowers on the label. Save the stash of Red Truck for the guys.)

Granted, you might wish to take this information with a small grain of salt. The same source notes, in a glowing report on do-it-yourself wine-bottle lamps, that "the beauty of tourism-related attractions is that they ... well, attract."

Whoa, Nellie! Suddenly, that bottle of gussied-up plonk is a triple threat, my fellow men. Give your sweetie wine, not candy, and you score points. You can then make a romantic wine bottle lamp as a permanent keepsake (and demonstration of your glass-working abilities). And who knows? You might attract tourists!

Fair and balanced reporting requires that I present the other side of the story, which comes to me courtesy of reader Eric B. He writes:

"I noticed you are looking for stories related to wine and romance. OK, here's mine. Many years ago I was stationed in the Navy back in Maine. I was dating a girl, and this one time she and I went out to a beautiful coastal beach — Popham Beach, to be precise — where sits an old decommissioned stone and concrete Army fort.

"Most of the fort was fenced in and off-limits to the public. But we, being young and daring, decided to break the rules and climb up on the ramparts anyway. We sat down on an old concrete gunnery emplacement, overlooking stunningly beautiful ocean scenery.

"In an effort to impress my girlfriend, I had proudly brought along a bottle of Washington state riesling, and for a corkscrew, I had my trusty Swiss Army knife. I sat there on the concrete encasement, bottle of riesling gripped firmly between my inner thighs, and proceeded to tug and pull furiously on the cork (hadn't yet learned how to 'rock' the thing open, like you're supposed to!), when suddenly the cork shredded, which caused me to jam the bottle quite hard down into the concrete between my legs. Needless to say it shattered, thoroughly soaking me with the entire contents of the bottle.

"I confess I've never felt so stupid in my life. The only thing we got out of that bottle was the bouquet. I still remember having wet pants, and reeking terribly of wine during our drive back to town."

The problem here, as I see it, is not the fine bottle of Washington riesling that Eric chose for the occasion. Certainly the setting, the scenery, the timing was right. But Eric, a Swiss Army knife corkscrew? Have you ever noticed how small those things are? My advice, should the need ever arise again, is get yourself a grown-up cork-puller.

Gary Cox (of Cox Canyon Vineyards) wrote about an equally unusual wine experience that took place on Valentine's Day a year ago. He and his wife had received a gift certificate to the Greystone restaurant in Yakima and decided to use it for a romantic evening out. "The restaurant has a decent wine list of regional wines," he writes, "and we had just seen 'Sideways,' so we ordered up an Oregon pinot noir. We settled into the ambiance and a deep discussion of our best Valentine's Days over the last 25 years together.

"We did not pay much attention to the waitress when she came back to the table with the wine, presented it to confirm vintage and type, and proceeded to initiate opening it. That is, until she started sweating profusely while uttering under her breath that she had never encountered such trouble removing the foil from the neck on a bottle of wine. At that point, I looked and noticed that for several minutes she had been 'sawing' at the foil with the corkscrew blade, yet had made no progress.

"I asked to see the bottle and quickly realized that it was a screw cap, unscrewed it and handed the bottle back to her. Obviously, she was quite taken aback from this experience, poured our glasses, and beat a hasty retreat to regain her composure. My wife and I chuckled rather heartily, not at her miscue, but rather at the fact that we all had better get used to the new reality in the world of wine. Screwcaps on quality wines are here and will forever change certain rituals we all used to take for granted."

Paul Gregutt is the author of "Northwest Wines."

His column appears weekly in the Wine section. He can be reached by e-mail at wine@seattletimes.com