Peter Liem

Our wine cellar in Epernay. It used to be full. Thieves broke in and stole every last bottle. Maybe 25 cases, mostly champagne. As a wine writer I can’t afford to buy a lot, but I did splurge on the occasional bottle of Selosse, Prévost, Dauvissat, Agrapart, Krug. A lot of it was meaningful to me besides being great wine. Gifts given to me by friends: Les Longues Violes from Vincent, Cristal Rosé from J-B, mags of Coeur de Cuvée from Laurent, Elisabeth Salmon from Mathieu, Vauzelle Terme from Jean-Hervé. All my bottles of Las Palmas de González Byass from the 2019 saca that I blended with Antonio. A bottle of 1973 that Lenoble gave to me on my 45th birthday. The magnificent 2019s from Pierre Paillard and Chartogne-Taillet that I wanted to see develop over time. A few bottles of Dom Pérignon from the ‘50s and ‘60s that my friend had bought for us to taste together. Most heartbreakingly, 6-7 cases of old Marie-Noëlle Ledru, purchased directly from her over the years. All of it is gone. To the people who did this—and I mean this sincerely, with all my heart—f*ck you.