A man goes to the famous Lucas Carton restaurant in Paris with his
girlfriend and orders the 1928 Mouton.
The waiter returns with a bottle full of wine, pours a small amount
in
the glass for tasting.
The customer picks up the glass, smells the wine, and puts it down
on
the table with a thud. "This is not the 1928 Mouton."
The waiter assures him it is, and soon there are another twenty
people
surrounding the table, including the chef and the manager trying to
convince the man that the wine is the 1928 Mouton. Finally someone
asks him how he knows that it is not the 1928 Mouton.
"My name is Phillipe de Rothschild, and I make the wine."
Finally, the original waiter steps forward and admits that he poured
the Clerc Milon 1928. "I could not bear to part with our last bottle
of 1928 Mouton. You know Clerc Milon, it is in the same village as
Mouton, you pick the grapes at the same time, the same cepage, you
crush in the same way, you put them into similar barrels. You bottle
at the same time, you even use eggs from the same chickens to fine
them. The wines are the same, except for a small matter of
geographic
location."
Rothschild beckons the waiter forward, and whispers to him, "When
you
return home tonight, ask your girlfriend to remove her underwear.
Put
one finger in one opening, another finger in the other, then smell
both the fingers. You will understand what difference a small
distance
in geographic location makes."
