"You Are More a Prosecco Person, I Think"
An online champagne review delivers the most brutal class takedown imaginable.
A Minor Note: This post is a slight departure from my usual fare on politics and power, however, it does involve class, identity, thinly veiled nationalism and subtle but firm enforcement of social boundaries - so make of that what you will.
This morning, I came across an interaction online that I honestly believe represents peak British internet.
Before you ask, no, it wasn’t in a tabloid comments section, and nor was it on one of the numerous, entirely unregulated hellscapes that pose as social media sites.
No, no - it was on the Waitrose Cellars website, and it was four years ago. Under a listing for a bottle of Pol Roger Brut Vintage champagne which I was perusing this morning in bed, looking for a nice gift for a friend turning 40 this weekend1.
Now, me being me, I decided to do a full read through of everything on it to determine whether this would be an appropriate gift - which, after reading through the “Wine at a glance” section led me to the comments section.
A comments section. On the Waitrose Cellars website. I shit you not. Obviously this serves more as a place where people can review their wine, and ultimately is a good thing, but nonetheless, I ran across the review from a certain “Bubbles and Pearls” writing out of Kent, aged between 35 and 44, who wrote:
I read it - and had to reread it. Then I sat in bed for a bit, staring into the middle distance at my fur daemon cleaning herself at the foot of the bed, desperately trying to figure out whether I had just hallucinated a whole damned class-coded fever dream before I had even had my second coffee of the day.
Now to note, I’m not precious about these things, but what was happening was that someone had taken the time to review a vintage bottle of Pol Roger. A champagne that has, at various points, been known as “the Club Champagne.” A vintage that was quaffed by Winston Churchill and is even now reserved for weddings, anniversaries or men called Rupert who keeps insisting on sabrage despite absolutely no one needing or asking for it.
And it was being reviewed like it was a ready meal.
“Went fine with fish ‘n chips and an episode of stranger things.”
Fine. Not “good”. Not “delightful”. Not "complex with subtle notes of citrus, kumquat and rose.” No. Fine. Like a pair of socks or something that hasn’t offended you quite so much that you need to say something2, but has clearly not enriched your life in any meaningful way.
Which would have been fine, if it weren’t for the aggressive escalation into the utterly surreal:
“One can imagine this is best paired with a hotdog and Markle style heels.”
Honestly, that sentence alone should be framed and preserved by the British Library to denote the point that this country truly started descending into uncontrolled chaos.
Hotdog. In singular - not a barbecue, streetfood or gourmet version with the crispy onions on top. A bog standard, run of the mill hotdog. That alone truly would have been enough, but the addition of the “Markle style heels”, a comment that is so astonishingly culturally specific and Daily Mail coded, deployed so casually and with no explanation, made my head spin just a little bit.
I had thought up to that point that this was potentially just an eccentric pairing suggestion, but it devolved even further into pure, unadulterated disdain with the comment of:
“And it would go down a treat with the crowd at Ladies Day Lingfield.”
Ladies Day at Lingfield. With that line alone, “Bubbles and Pearls” of Kent had made a truly stunning declaration - this Champagne, this Pol Roger Brut Vintage, is vulgar adjacent. Drinkable, sure - but clearly far too dangerously close to the sort of thing that’s quaffed by women wearing fascinators purchased under duress.
The finishing move by “Bubbles and Pearls” is what caps this comment off for me though:
“For a special occasion or entertaining I would definitely opt for one of Waitrose’s many premium English sparklings instead.”
Not a better vintner, champagne or even vintage. No, fuck that for a game of soldiers.
English. Sparkling3.
I am very sorry, but what “Bubbles and Pearls” did here was turn palate into English nationalism. This comparison smacks with the quiet fury of someone who has some very strong opinions about the French, and I imagine even stronger ones about the EU, but has decided to express these through the online assassination of a bottle of vintage champagne.
I was, at this point already effervescent with surprise and delight at discovering this nugget of absurdity on the internets, but, the British internet was not finished with me - because someone replied!
Not immediately in that frenetic way that pugilistic Twitter fights happen, but two years later.
The interlocutor in this case is called “FizzKid23”, and the fact that this was a comment two years down the line, as though “FizzKid23” came across this comment much as I did, but in their case sat with and thought to themselves “no, I simply must intervene” and opened with the most devastatingly middle class opening I have ever come across.
“I doubt if you would actually know what fine champagne tastes like…”
With zero preamble and no “with respect”, they move straight into character assassination, and they follow this with an even more middle class insult:
“…you are more a Prosecco4 person I think.”
Fizzkid in this case, with no swearing, caps lock or drama achieved something amazing - complete and total social annihilation.
To be told that you are “a Prosecco person” in the context of the Waitrose Cellar clearly moved well beyond wine. It is about who you are - and who you are is simply not acceptable.
Fizzkid then makes a brief acknolwedgement that fish and chips are “so expensive these days5”, before landing the final blow:
“…leave the Pol Roger to us please.”
“US.”
An instantly developed imagined collective of what I can only imagine is a gated community of people, possibly in the home counties, who know. A champagne-based in-group from which “Bubbles and Pearls” has now been irrevocably and firmly excluded. I would say you couldn’t make it up, but I would clearly be wrong.
I know this is a strong diversion from my usual work, but this will likely stay with me forever.
Not just the sheer audacity of reviewing a bottle of truly preeminent champagne like it was a microwave lasagne, or even the extraordinary violence of someone telling someone else that they’re “more a prosecco person”, but the fact that, in just a few handful of sentences under a champagne listing I ran across by chance, an entire social hierarchy was constructed, defended and enforced.
In this short exchange, taste became identity, preference became politics and “us” became a boundary. There was not a single raised voice, no outraged exclamation marks or even culture-war hashtags - just an immaculate illustration of British class signalling delivered with restraint, punctuation and a very clear sense of who belongs where.
Which, come to think about it, is how a great deal of our politics actually functions. All of it four years ago, on the Waitrose Cellars website.
I went looking for a 40th birthday present, and somehow found the perfect vignette of middle class Britain.
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Fortieth birthdays have proliferated in my calendar this year. Including my own. Gulp.
I believe the correct parlance for “say something” would be “make a fuss.”
I will note here that I have had delicious English Sparkling wines, some that have been better than some vintage champagnes. I have, however, never used that as what is a thinly veiled nationalist argument.
Again, I personally have no issue of Prosecco and have quaffed unreasonable quantities over many a drag brunch.
A deft pivot that somehow manages to drag the then very pertinent cost-of living crisis into an online fight about far too expensive champagne, because why the fuck not.
Thank for bringing our attention to this matter 😁
Nowt wrong with a bit of "Ye Olde Oak."