Champagne & sparkling wines: A guide to bubbles and fizz

 

This October, The Second Pour opens the cabinet with one aim: to find wines that don’t just mark the moment, but magnify it. And there’s no better place to begin than champagne - the liquid hurrah to life’s biggest wins.

Why do we drink champagne? It’s because nothing else says you’ve made it quite as well as a bottle of bubbly under pressure. The pop of the cork has become shorthand for success - whether you’ve landed a promotion, closed a deal, or are showering a Formula 1 podium in sticky victory.

That familiar hiss, the rush of bubbles rising like confetti - suddenly a milestone feels bigger, a triumph feels grander, and even your colleague’s over-rehearsed toast sounds almost profound. Champagne turns a moment into a memory; becomes a punctuation mark for life’s best chapters.

Joy in the bubble (sorry, Paul Simon)

Few drinks carry as much drama as champagne. It is, after all, the only liquid that insists on arriving with its own drumroll. Emperors, actresses, dictators, duchesses, even cricketers - champagne has soaked them all. Napoleon carried bottles into battle, claiming victory deserved bubbles (defeat too, presumably). Marilyn Monroe once allegedly bathed in it - though the logistics of pouring 350 bottles into a tub stretch the imagination. Closer to home, opening a bottle during a cricket celebration can feel like matching fireworks with fizz: both noisy and impossible to forget.

The magic lies in its duality: at once delicate and dangerous, frivolous and ferocious. A glass light as a laugh, yet dense with history, culture and technical obsession. If ever there was a drink built for celebrations - joyful, slightly reckless - it is this.

Six legends in a flute

Names in champagne are less brands, more dynasties. Each one has a myth stitched into its label:

Moët & Chandon: Founded in 1743, Moët & Chandon remains the official drink of European aristocracy and Instagram influencers alike. Napoleon reputedly visited their cellars so often, they built a road to his house.

Veuve Clicquot: The Widow Clicquot, Barbe-Nicole, turned her husband’s sleepy business into a global empire in the 19th century. She pioneered the riddling rack, ensuring clear champagne instead of sludge. Today, her yellow label signals instant glamour.

Krug: The serious uncle. Founded in 1843, Krug insists on uncompromising craftsmanship, barrel fermentations, and the sort of prices that make you sit down before googling.

Dom Pérignon: Legend has it the Benedictine monk cried, “I am tasting the stars!” when he perfected the blend. Reality: he was mostly trying to stop bottles from exploding. Still, the myth endures, and so does the aura.

Bollinger: Established in 1829, Bollinger is robust, muscular champagne - the sort 007 orders. Known for its Pinot Noir dominance and oak barrel fermentations, it is unapologetically bold.

Laurent-Perrier Rosé: This deserves its own stage. Rosé Champagne is often marketed with feminine charm - pale pink, delicate bubbles, strawberries on the nose. Feminine? Yes. Fragile? Hardly. More Mata Hari than porcelain doll.

The name

Here’s where it gets fizzy. Champagne isn’t just any sparkling wine - it’s sparkling wine made under very specific conditions in the Champagne region of France. EU law defends the term with the ferocity of a dragon guarding its hoard.

Outside Champagne, the world bubbles on with its own versions: Prosecco (Italy), Cava (Spain), Cap Classique (South Africa), and a growing army of Indian and Thai sparklers. Call them what you like, but don’t call them champagne unless you want to meet a Parisian lawyer with an unlimited expense account.

Bubbles in Bangalore, fizz in Phnom Penh

How champagne is sold, served and celebrated differs wildly between markets. In Paris, it is ritual; in London, business expense; in Mumbai, it is theatre mixed with ambition.

And therein lies champagne’s curious strength: it adapts. It is both rooted in its chalky soils and cosmopolitanenough to grace wedding banquets in Bangkok. It can be drunk with oysters, samosas, or pineapple tarts. It manages to be at once rarefied and surprisingly democratic - as long as you’re willing to spend the money.

The sting in the flute

Let’s not pretend otherwise: champagne is extravagant. You don’t buy it as an everyday drink. You buy it for that curtain call moment when the bubbles take the limelight.

As you raise a glass to celebrate, remember: bubbles float, they rise, and they vanish. A reminder, perhaps, that joy is temporary, but so what? So is life. The point is – don’t let it go flat.

 
 

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

Pour decisions - how wine sells itself from Bordeaux to Bengaluru

Walk into a Parisian wine store and you’ll notice something odd. No flashing neon signs, no sommeliers in choreographed dances, no QR codes promising to reveal your “wine spirit animal.” Just a weary caviste, ready to recommend a Burgundy that costs roughly the same as your rent.

Contrast that with a wine launch in Mumbai, where the experience involves chandeliers, hashtags, and the faint suspicion you’ve wandered into a Bollywood party. Both sell wine. Both succeed. But the routes they take are as different as Riesling and rum punch.

Old habits die harder than corks

In mature markets - France, Italy, Spain - the wine-selling culture rests on heritage, not hustle. Families pass down domaines over centuries, not social media. Buyers are raised knowing their appellations, and even the goat knows which side of the Loire produces Sauvignon. Marketing here uses Tradition. Soil is the slogan. You don’t “sell” Bordeaux in Bordeaux. You simply point to the vineyard and say: “Voilà. Kindly pay.”

This smug simplicity has its drawbacks. Younger drinkers in Europe increasingly shrug at the terroir sermons and opt instead for craft beer, cocktails, or canned hard seltzer. So the Old World, too, must flirt with reinvention. Pop-up bars in abandoned chapels, digital sommelier apps, and influencer-driven tastings are creeping in. Nothing terrifies a Burgundian more than “keyword” - yet even they now admit the vineyard drone shot plays better on Instagram than their dusty crest.

When the cork is newer than the consumer

New markets (India, China, the Gulf) are another universe. Here, wine is still playing catch-

up with whisky and beer. The strategy is less about highlighting tradition and more about teaching about corkscrews. The selling, therefore, often begins with education. Certified trainers and academies are stepping in. Who don’t merely tell you that Chardonnay tastes of buttered toast; they explain why you might actually prefer it with your mezze platter.

Here, pop-ups, guided tastings, and pairing dinners aren’t accessories; they’re the engine. A consumer in Buenos Aires may discover Malbec at a luxury mall activation, while someone in Colombo might first encounter Chenin Blanc at a corporate workshop. Wine gets positioned less as an heirloom and more as a lifestyle passport. Aspirational marketing with tannins.

Politics and culture in the barrel

Wine is never just fermented grape juice; it’s politics in a bottle. Mature markets benefit from supportive legislation, geographic indications, and state-backed promotion boards. Meanwhile, new markets wrestle with taxes, distribution hurdles, and moral panic. India’s state-by-state regulation structure resembles a Kafka novel. China alternates between welcoming Bordeaux with open arms and accusing Australian Shiraz of plotting against national dignity.

Culture also plays its part. In Mediterranean countries, wine is food - expected on the table like bread. In South Asia, it’s still perceived as a luxury add-on. Each perception reshapes how the product is marketed, priced, and poured. What counts as casual in Tuscany - half a litre of Chianti on a Tuesday - still counts as special-occasion theatre in Singapore.

The net and the grape

Of course, none of this would matter without digital disruption. Social media platforms bring remote winemakers on the same stage as Champagne houses. A reel of someone swirling Gewürztraminer in Vienna might convince a student in Delhi to splurge immediately. DTC shipping, virtual tastings, and wine subscriptions are rewriting old playbooks. A 200-year-old Rioja estate now competes for attention with a TikTok sommelier who explains fermentation while doing squats.

For wine marketers, this is both thrilling and frightening. Tactics are no longer confined to glossy print ads and trade tastings. Instead, they now stretch from influencer collabs to e-commerce checkout pages. The future of wine selling may look less like a vineyard stroll and more like a Shopify dashboard.

Selling the sip

What’s clear is that wine cannot hide behind its vines anymore. Whether Bordeaux, Bengaluru, Verona or Vietnam, the act of selling now means engaging - educating, entertaining, and embedding wine into cultural rituals that extend far beyond the glass.

And if all this sounds a little exhausting, it should! Wine was never meant to be easy. It was meant to be complex, confusing, and occasionally ridiculous. Precisely why people love it. Anyone can sell beer with a billboard. It takes a special kind of madness to sell fermented grape juice with 2,000 years of baggage and a swirl of emojis.

After all, you’re not just selling wine. You’re selling the idea that life is incomplete without it. 

And that’s a truth best swallowed slowly.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

 

Becoming a Wine Professional - Certifications, Careers & Communities

 

You’ve swirled, you’ve sniffed, you’ve pretended to know the difference between “forest floor” and plain dirt. Then, over the second pour, a dangerous idea strikes: What if I turned this hobby into something professional?

Welcome to the rabbit hole. One minute you’re Googling “best wine with biryani,” the next you’re memorising soil types in Burgundy and blind-tasting Riesling at 10 a.m. for “career development.”

Why bother with certifications?

Because while your uncle’s “I’ve been drinking wine for 40 years” is heartfelt, it doesn’t impress restaurant managers or importers. Certifications, however, do three things:

1. Organise your chaos – you stop learning wine by accident and start learning it on purpose
2. Add credibility – when you say “this is corked,” people actually believe you, instead of topping up your glass out of pity
3. Plug you into a community – because nothing bonds people like collective suffering over vintage charts.

Do you need prior skills?

Not particularly. You don’t have to be born with a sommelier’s nose or a winemaker’s patience. What helps is:

• A palate that isn’t entirely numb from hot sauce
• Curiosity - reading the back of the wine label, not just the alcohol percentage
• Stamina - for exams, flashcards, and endless acronyms

The big certifications

• WSET (Wine & Spirit Education Trust): The global starting point. Levels 1 through 4, each more intimidating than the last. By Level 2, you’ll casually drop “Rías Baixas” into conversation. By Level 4, you’ll question your life choices. 👉 wsetglobal.com
• Court of Master Sommeliers (CMS): The sommelier route: service, blind tasting, and oral exams. Passing means you can open Champagne without decapitating anyone. 👉 mastersommeliers.org
• Institute of Masters of Wine (IMW): The Everest. Only a few hundred people on Earth have summited. Requires essays, tastings, and at least one Darth Vader moment. But you can write MW after your name. Instant respect. 👉 mastersofwine.org
• Society of Wine Educators (SWE): More academic, less performance. Certified Specialist of Wine (CSW) and friends. Perfect if you’d rather explain tannins with PowerPoint than uncork at a table. 👉 societyofwineeducators.org
• Local diplomas & universities: Universities such as the University of Bordeaux offer oenology and wine business degrees. Less glamorous than sommelier exams, but you’ll learn to pronounce “fermentation kinetics” without hiccupping.

Career paths?

What happens after you’ve collected the certificates, the debt, and the stress-induced eye twitch? Yes, you can go beyond Instagram reels:

• Sommelier: Restaurant floor hero, recommending wines while politely ignoring requests for “something sweet, but not too sweet.
• Retail & merchandising: Deciding what fills shop shelves, i.e., wielding quiet power over everyone’s weekend plans
• Wine educator: Teaching classes, leading tastings, or convincing your friends that “yes, this is a real job.”
• Wine writing: Deadlines, disappointment, and the occasional free bottle. It’s journalism with tannins
• Import/export & distribution: The money end. Less swirl, more spreadsheets
• Viticulture & winemaking: If you enjoy mud, weather complaints, and grapes that don’t listen

 People at the peak

The wine world has its own Olympians:

• Hugh Johnson OBE: Legendary writer, historian, and co-creator of The World Atlas of Wine. A career built on wit, wisdom, and maps. Over 60 years in the business. 👉 hughjohnson.com
• Jancis Robinson MW: Critic, writer, and oracle of grape varieties. Runs one of the most influential wine sites globally. Known for her pen, her palate, and occasionally terrifying precision. 👉 jancisrobinson.com
• Jane Anson: Bordeaux authority, critic, and author of Inside Bordeaux. Moves through Médoc and Margaux like most of us move through supermarkets. 👉 janeanson.com
• Sonal Holland MW: India’s first Master of Wine, educator, judge, and pioneer in growing the wine culture of an entire subcontinent. 👉 sonalholland.com
• Namratha Stanley: Rising voice in wine education and communication, bridging global knowledge with Indian markets. Owner of the Solicantus wine brand. 👉 solicantus.com
• Lindsay Trivers: Sommelier and entrepreneur, co-founder of The Tasting Class in Dubai, demystifying wine in a region where even finding a corkscrew can feel like contraband. 👉 thetastingclass.com

And after you’re certified…?

You can turn your love of wine into a profession. You can sit exams, collect badges, and

declare “minerality” with authority. But certifications are scaffolding, not destiny.

Whether you’re a Master of Wine or just master of boxed wine, the best professionals aren’t the ones who memorise everything. They’re the ones who never stop pouring, tasting, and asking: why this wine, why here, why now?

And if someone sneers at your “lack of credentials,” offer them a blind tasting. Watching them call a Shiraz a Merlot is always more satisfying than showing them your certificate.

The individuals listed here are my own choice of the "greats of the wine industry". It's entirely possible your neighbour is a MW but may not advertise it.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.

From vineyard to glass - how the wine industry works

 

If you think wine is just fermented grape juice with a fancy label, congratulations – you are technically correct and spiritually bankrupt. The journey from vineyard to glass is a global relay of soil, sweat, bureaucracy, and blind faith.

Let’s start with the basics. Wine begins in a vineyard, where grapes are grown, coaxed, and occasionally threatened into ripening. In France, this process is sacred. Vignerons in Bordeaux will tell you the soil speaks to them. Some vignerons, for instance, will swear by lunar cycles and a temperamental goat named Marcel who “senses tannin potential.” 

The grapes are harvested with reverence, crushed with restraint, and aged in oak barrels that cost more than your first car. The result? A bottle that whispers of terroir and quietly judges your cheese pairing.

Spain, on the other hand, is less precious and more practical. In Rioja, grapes are harvested with speed and efficiency, often by teams who’ve done this for generations. The wine is aged in American oak, giving it that signature vanilla punch. Spanish winemakers are less concerned with goat omens and more focused on getting the job done before siesta. The 

result is bold, structured, and unapologetically drinkable. Bring on the tapas!

Italy is chaos in a bottle. In Tuscany, winemaking is a family affair, which means everyone from Nonna to your brother-in-law’s neighbour has an opinion. Grapes are grown on hills that defy logic and gravity, and fermentation often involves a blend of tradition and mild superstition. The result is a wine that’s passionate, unpredictable, and occasionally mislabelled. But when it works, it’s sublime.

South Africa brings a different flavour - literally and figuratively. In Stellenbosch, the industry is a mix of old-world technique and new-world swagger. Grapes are grown in mineral-rich soil, and winemakers aren’t afraid to experiment. You’ll find Chenin Blanc aged in clay amphorae and Pinotage that tastes like rebellion. It’s a country still defining its wine voice, and it’s doing so with élan.

Argentina is all altitude and attitude. In Mendoza, vineyards sit at dizzying heights, where the sun is intense and the nights are cold – the so-called diurnal effect. Here, Malbec reigns supreme, and winemakers treat it like royalty. The process is meticulous, with irrigation systems that rival anything that NASA can create, and barrels that smell like ambition and panache. The result is a wine that’s bold, muscular, and ready to tango.

India is the wildcard. The wine industry here is young, ambitious, and constantly battling the climate, the market, and the occasional bullock cart. In Nashik, grapes are grown in conditions that would make a French vigneron weep. Fermentation is fast, ageing is brief, and distribution involves navigating a labyrinth of state taxes and moral outrage. But the wines are improving, and the industry is learning to balance tradition with innovation - often while dodging vicarious monsoon seasons.

The real ferment begins after the wine is ready. Bottling is the easy part - unless the corks split, the labels peel, or someone decides the font looks “too French.” From there, it enters the supply chain: a labyrinth of pallets, customs forms, and temperature-controlled trucks that may or may not be plugged in. Bottles are boxed, barcoded, and handed over to freight companies who treat wine like any other cargo - until something leaks, and suddenly everyone’s a sommelier.

Transit and delivery times can vary widely. In France, a bottle of wine can reach a domestic customer within 24 to 48 hours, assuming no one’s on strike and the courier isn’t philosophising about terroir. Internationally, shipments to major global centres typically take 2 to 5 business days, depending on customs, carrier mood, and whether the label offends someone’s regulatory sensibilities.

On the other hand, India uncorks it differently. Domestic delivery can take anywhere from 3 to 7 days, depending on the state, the season, and the number of festivals currently clogging the roads. International shipping? Technically possible. Practically, it’s a bureaucratic relay involving excise departments, customs clearance, and at least one official who insists your Shiraz needs a certificate of moral character.

Eventually, the bottle arrives at a shelf, a table, or a tasting room. Someone picks it up, reads the label, and says something like “notes of plum and wet grass,” while secretly wondering if it pairs with pizza.

And just like that, the vineyard-to-table journey is complete.

And after all this - after the soil, the sweat, the labels, the stamps, and Marcel the goat - someone will ask you if it’s vegan.

NB: This is not a detailed how-to of the wine supply chain. More a ramble through the bramble of possibilities.

Wine should be enjoyed. Drink responsibly.

Disclaimer: All links provided in this blog are based on my own research and are not paid or sponsored.