Your personal, one-stop source
for fine and rare wines.
Call (212)689-4855 or
Fax (212)689-2080
E-mail wine@RoyalWineMerchants.com
The New York Times
Dining In, Dining Out/Style Desk
Wednesday, June 30, 1999
Treasure Islands In a Sea of Wine
By WILLIAM GRIMES
IF you're in the mood to buy a book, there are two kinds of store. You can go to Barnes & Noble and get a good price on a popular title. But if you're a bookish sort, a reader who prefers Thomas De Quincey to Tom Clancy, your feet instinctively take you elsewhere. Wine is the same way. Stores like Garnet and Astor cover a broad swath of territory at competitive prices. They serve an important purpose. But they are not the only places to buy wine.
There comes a time in every wine lover's life when it pays to think small. For me, that moment rolls around about every eight weeks, when my eyes have glazed over from cruising aisle after aisle of big Australian chardonnays, mild-mannered merlots and insipid vins de pays. The antidote lies in Manhattan's specialty wine shops, a resource all the more precious for being so scarce.
Stores like Royal Wine Merchants on Waterside Plaza offer the wine buyer a different kind of experience. They are selective rather than comprehensive. Their wines reflect the taste and sensibility of the buyer for the shop. Do not look for mass-market brands or discounts. In fact, expect to pay a premium, but also expect more expert assistance and more exciting wines. These are places that throb with the promise of new discoveries, that offer the curious oenophile the opportunity to expand the known universe of wine. It's a store no one arrives at by accident. To reach it, you have to cross a footbridge over the F.D.R. Drive, snake your way through a maze of anonymous residential towers and find a windswept plaza whose fringes conceal a little strip mall.
Tense with expectation, I pushed open the front door and beheld . . . a sorry-looking gathering of mass-market plonk. At the front desk, a young woman wearing fashionable glasses and a downtown haircut was bent over a fax machine. She noticed my bewilderment. I explained my mission. She spoke the magic words: ''Would you like to see our cellar?''
The ''cellar'' was merely a room at the back of the store. I entered. I looked. I gasped. Strewn all over the floor and stacked in makeshift racks were the artifacts of a glorious civilization. A 1952 Latour caught my eye. Then a 1949 Chateau d'Yquem, a 1955 Cheval Blanc, a 1900 Lafite. This was Ali Baba's cave. The display was, shall we say, casual. Sitting on a case of priceless Bordeaux was someone's lunch.
I thought that the woman at the front desk, Laurie Brown, was smiling a secret smile as I emerged. The good stuff was a little rich for my blood. A 1961 Lafite cost $750. The 1952 Petrus was $1,475. But Ms. Brown, the general manager, brought out a fat three-ring binder. This was the heart and soul of the operation, faxes sent almost nightly to the store's customers alerting them to the small lots of interesting wines that Royal's partners specialize in seeking out. Each fax included a description of the wines, with background on the makers and commentary in the margins.
''For those of you who who bought Joseph Roty's '95 premier crus and were screaming for his grand crus, your patience has been rewarded,'' ran one promotional sheet, announcing a shipment of 1991 Chambertins. ''If you want to drink Musigny and are on a minor-league salary -- look no further!'' another sheet blared.
Royal, despite first impressions, was turning out to be a friendly, helpful store. It was willing to mix cases. It delivered in Manhattan, and Ms. Brown thought it might even bend the rules and get something to me in Queens. I ordered a split case of Bruno Clair's Savigny-les-Beaune from the top-rated vineyard of La Dominode (about $48 a bottle) and a 1995 Savennieres from Domaine du Closel, at about $16 a bottle. I signed up for the fax list and surrendered to pleasant thoughts of fabulous wine news to come.
The dream wine may be just a fax away.
for fine and rare wines.
Call (212)689-4855 or
Fax (212)689-2080
E-mail wine@RoyalWineMerchants.com
The New York Times
Wednesday, June 30, 1999
Treasure Islands In a Sea of Wine
By WILLIAM GRIMES
IF you're in the mood to buy a book, there are two kinds of store. You can go to Barnes & Noble and get a good price on a popular title. But if you're a bookish sort, a reader who prefers Thomas De Quincey to Tom Clancy, your feet instinctively take you elsewhere. Wine is the same way. Stores like Garnet and Astor cover a broad swath of territory at competitive prices. They serve an important purpose. But they are not the only places to buy wine.
There comes a time in every wine lover's life when it pays to think small. For me, that moment rolls around about every eight weeks, when my eyes have glazed over from cruising aisle after aisle of big Australian chardonnays, mild-mannered merlots and insipid vins de pays. The antidote lies in Manhattan's specialty wine shops, a resource all the more precious for being so scarce.
Stores like Royal Wine Merchants on Waterside Plaza offer the wine buyer a different kind of experience. They are selective rather than comprehensive. Their wines reflect the taste and sensibility of the buyer for the shop. Do not look for mass-market brands or discounts. In fact, expect to pay a premium, but also expect more expert assistance and more exciting wines. These are places that throb with the promise of new discoveries, that offer the curious oenophile the opportunity to expand the known universe of wine. It's a store no one arrives at by accident. To reach it, you have to cross a footbridge over the F.D.R. Drive, snake your way through a maze of anonymous residential towers and find a windswept plaza whose fringes conceal a little strip mall.
Tense with expectation, I pushed open the front door and beheld . . . a sorry-looking gathering of mass-market plonk. At the front desk, a young woman wearing fashionable glasses and a downtown haircut was bent over a fax machine. She noticed my bewilderment. I explained my mission. She spoke the magic words: ''Would you like to see our cellar?''
The ''cellar'' was merely a room at the back of the store. I entered. I looked. I gasped. Strewn all over the floor and stacked in makeshift racks were the artifacts of a glorious civilization. A 1952 Latour caught my eye. Then a 1949 Chateau d'Yquem, a 1955 Cheval Blanc, a 1900 Lafite. This was Ali Baba's cave. The display was, shall we say, casual. Sitting on a case of priceless Bordeaux was someone's lunch.
I thought that the woman at the front desk, Laurie Brown, was smiling a secret smile as I emerged. The good stuff was a little rich for my blood. A 1961 Lafite cost $750. The 1952 Petrus was $1,475. But Ms. Brown, the general manager, brought out a fat three-ring binder. This was the heart and soul of the operation, faxes sent almost nightly to the store's customers alerting them to the small lots of interesting wines that Royal's partners specialize in seeking out. Each fax included a description of the wines, with background on the makers and commentary in the margins.
''For those of you who who bought Joseph Roty's '95 premier crus and were screaming for his grand crus, your patience has been rewarded,'' ran one promotional sheet, announcing a shipment of 1991 Chambertins. ''If you want to drink Musigny and are on a minor-league salary -- look no further!'' another sheet blared.
Royal, despite first impressions, was turning out to be a friendly, helpful store. It was willing to mix cases. It delivered in Manhattan, and Ms. Brown thought it might even bend the rules and get something to me in Queens. I ordered a split case of Bruno Clair's Savigny-les-Beaune from the top-rated vineyard of La Dominode (about $48 a bottle) and a 1995 Savennieres from Domaine du Closel, at about $16 a bottle. I signed up for the fax list and surrendered to pleasant thoughts of fabulous wine news to come.
The dream wine may be just a fax away.