There was a time, as difficult as it is for me to believe, that I was not a wine writer/blogger. In fact, I was just your average (OK, I am from Lake Woebegone, I was at least slightly above average) wine drinker. I was married (miraculously, I still am), we had two kids (they are both still alive; again, a miracle), and I had just received my Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania.

So what came next?

Even though I was working in education then (I was a researcher at the School District of Philadelphia–ugh), I was always thinking about wine. So, I convinced my wife that we should spend a ton of money (which we really didn’t have) so that I could fly out to the Willamette Valley. There, I would attend my first International Pinot Noir Celebration (IPNC is a kind of drunken Disneyland for lovers of the variety).

During that weekend, I learned a lot about Pinot Noir, of course, but also about wine in general. I also “learned” a trick that would soon come close to an obsession.

Sabering.

For those who don’t know, the act of sabering is, essentially, slicing the top off the bottle of champagne (or sparkling wine) and is traditionally done with, well, a saber. At IPNC, I saw the act done for the first time with something other than a saber (or a really huge knife of some sort).

That implement?

A champagne flute.

Yeah, pretty crazy.

While I did not actually perform the act while I was out in Oregon, I returned home to Philadelphia that summer determined to recreate the scene for my wife and a friend. I was going pretty much on memory (which is always a questionable strategy) and luckily(?) my wife recorder the entire episode.

Later, I posted it on YouTube and it has since surpassed the 100,000 view plateau (my kids are convinced that I could never garner that many views and insist that more than 99,990 of those views are my own).

I thought I would post that video again here today, hoping to get up to 100,010 views by the end of the day (thanks, mom!). Please make no remarks about how much thinner I was fourteen years ago, I already know. So does my wife. She reminds me. Often.