A glass of whine...

Getting the simple things in life can be very complicated.

ALTHOUGH we are a fairly careful household, exercising a special care over things that have been around for forty years or so, things do get broken. One of the easiest things to break is the wine glass. When we got down to three I decided that now would be a good time to hunt around for more. I had a fairly simple hunt in mind; maybe a visit to the beautiful Boardman’s or the less larney Game down the corridor at Southcoast Mall.

I had no idea I was in for something approaching a two week boar hunt in a party of 200 accompanying Louis Quatorze across the fields of Flanders.

I tried all over; I even hunted around Makro in Springfield when I went up to fetch a friend at the airport. Everyone had what they thought were wine glasses; and, to a point, they were wine glasses. But they were fiddly, too big, badly designed, or coloured. I feel a bit bilious when I see a lovely Merlot in a blue glass. Or a red one.

I decided that giving up was not an option and one day, having lunch at my favourite coffee shop, who reserve the white balsamic vinegar for me as others might reserve a fine port, I asked the splendid waitress (I believe ‘waitress’ is politically incorrect – although I couldn’t give a monkey’s, and I shall die before condoning the monstrosity ‘waitron’) if she would call the manageress, in who I have boundless trust. I asked who supplied her wine glasses.

At first there was a little confusion, but she soon understood what I meant by and ordinary French wine glass that you see in every restaurant on the planet. Somebody, somewhere (probably France, I thought) is churning those things out by the million. I did not think my request unreasonable; but it was a little forward of me, I admit.

In no time I had a telephone number. I called the number. As scales falling from my eyes, all was revealed. Thys and I spoke the same language. He asked me how many I needed and I said a dozen; anything less would have been churlish and, anyway, I wanted six for a friend’s birthday.

Thys informed me that he had them in 25, 19 and 16 centimetres; the sun shone and the angels sang. Off we went to Maison Thys in Oslo Beach.

It is actually called CATS, for Catering and Tableware Suppliers, which, as names go, is nothing if not functional.

In this tiny shop I found the remarkable and the unremarkable. The unremarkable glasses I sought are the product of the Luminarc company based in a little town, Arques, in the Pas de Calais, north of Paris. I was right; their turnover in a year is bigger than the South African budget. They are the largest glassware makers in the world. There are three companies within one; Luminarc, Arcoroc and Cristales d’Arques.

The simple glasses I sought are called ballon. Thys, alive with passion for his subject, a sadly rare thing these days, regailed me with latest doings of the Durand family, owners of this massive plant.
Maître Durand, presumable père, recently redesigned the wine glass to make it more efficient in collecting the bouquet and delivering the wine to the correct point on the tongue. That is dedication.

The result is quite exquisite; mind you, so is the price.

So now I have my French wine glasses. Holmes would have been proud of me .