For a long time, I didn’t quite get Champagne.
A glass of Taittinger.
I certainly understood its place in the wine world: the long history, the meticulous production, the reverence. But every time I found myself at a party where a bottle was opened, I couldn’t understand why people were willing to shell out several hundred dollars for something that never quite lived up to the fuss. The bubbles were fine, the wine was pleasant, but it rarely left a mark.
What I didn’t realize then was that what I’d been drinking often wasn’t Champagne at all. More often than not, it was sparkling wine passed off in the same broad category—a prosecco here, a cava there—festive, fizzy, and fun, but not the same thing. I knew enough about wine to know Champagne had pedigree, but not enough to know I hadn’t really met the real deal yet.
That changed one day on the California coast.
Two of the very best examples of Rosé Champagne.
We were in Big Sur for a friend’s intimate wedding celebration. Sixteen people gathered at sunset on the beach, the Pacific rolling soft waves toward us. A bagpiper stood on the rocks, playing Auld Lang Syne and the light shifted into that impossible glow that only exists for a few fleeting moments.
Out came a bottle of 1996 Dom Pérignon.
The cork popped, flutes were filled, and as the piper’s music carried out to sea, we raised our glasses. The wine was electric: complex, layered, and alive in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t just bubbles; it was texture, depth, and memory distilled. Every sip carried that place, that hour, that rare combination of intimacy and grandeur. The afternoon was so perfect we half-expected dolphins to leap out of the surf.
Champagne anyone?
We can still remember the exact year on the label, the taste of the wine, and the love in the air. But what lingers most is the sense that the Champagne wasn’t simply part of the moment, it helped make the moment.
That’s when I finally understood Champagne. Not because of the prestige, not even because of the undeniable quality, but because of its uncanny ability to elevate what’s already there.
At its heart, Champagne isn’t about the wine alone. It’s about connection. It’s about the way a bottle shared between friends can expand the edges of an evening, making it glow just a little brighter. It’s the unspoken way we say, this matters.
The vineyards at Taittinger’s La Marquetterie.
Yes, it’s a marvel of winemaking—the cool climate, the chalky soils, the careful blending of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier, and the years spent resting on lees to gain that unmistakable richness. But no matter how exacting the process, Champagne is ultimately more than technique and terroir. It’s a wine that insists on being shared.
Some of my most enduring memories involve Champagne, not because the wine itself overshadowed everything else, but because it was woven into the fabric of a moment with people I care about.
A dinner with friends made even more special.
A quiet Tuesday with friends, where someone thought to open a bottle “just because.” A toast after pulling through a rough patch. A birthday where laughter lasts longer than the candles.
Champagne has a way of marking those moments, not with formality, but with joy.
It’s the great multiplier. The wine is remarkable on its own, but add people you love along with the simple act of raising glasses together, and it becomes unforgettable.
If Champagne has taught me anything, it’s that celebration doesn’t need to wait for the calendar to tell us it’s time.
Billecart-Salmon Rosé Champagne.
The magic isn’t reserved for weddings on beaches or millennium years on the label. The magic is in the act of making a moment matter.
Still, as the year draws to a close and December gives us its brightest reasons to gather, it’s hard not to be reminded why Champagne and this season are inseparable. Christmas tables, New Year’s toasts, and reunions with people we love—these are the moments that beg for bubbles. Not because tradition tells us so, but because Champagne makes what’s fleeting, feel timeless.
The best pairing with Champagne.
So yes, open Champagne for the milestones, but don’t stop there. Open it for the Friday night dinner that turned out better than expected, or for the relief of finishing a project, or simply because the people at your table deserve to be reminded that this time, right now, is worth celebrating.
Because in the end, the beauty of Champagne isn’t just in its fine bead of bubbles or its layered complexity. It’s in the way it brings people closer, turns time into memory, and gives joy a form you can hold in your hand.
The greatest wines remind us that life is best when it’s shared. And Champagne, more than any other, was made for that.
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