The feeling of it gradually becoming familiar to your hand

Today, I would like to talk about wine glasses, which are indispensable in a bar.

My shop is a small wine stand of about 7 tsubo (approx. 23 square meters), and most of the customers who visit are those who don't necessarily want a full meal but want to enjoy delicious wine by the glass.
And at my shop, we only handle the Piccolo 10oz wine glass from Kimura Glass.

It is a classic model that those who love wine might know, with a small, lovely form and a stem that is not too long, leaving a strong impression.
It is thin yet durable, and because it is not too tall, it is convenient for storage, and yet it is very reasonably priced, so I think many people use it regularly at home.

When serving wine, choosing the optimal glass to bring out the aroma and taste to the fullest is very important, and that becomes a crucial job for a professional.

Wait?
The story is a bit contradictory, isn't it?

Why does my shop, which specializes in wine, dare to handle only one type of glass?
Since there are as many thoughts and philosophies about wine as there are people who pour it, I will preface this by saying "this is just my personal view," but there are two reasons for this in my own way.

When you taste different wines in a glass of the same shape, the differences in their respective aromas, tastes, and volumes become prominent.
Since I would like you to enjoy several types by the glass if possible, I focus on wines that are gentle in quality and do not cause much drinking fatigue, so I thought that using the same shape of glass would make it easier to understand and compare the individuality and differences of the wines.
This is the first reason, and it might be said that it is almost everything.

However, the second reason I am about to write seems to capture the essence of being a pourer, even if it is somewhat abstract.

I touched on my study abroad in France in my previous post, and for the majority of my one-year and three-month stay, I lived and trained with a natural wine producer.
During the rest of the time, I stayed in Lyon, the second-largest city in France, where I learned the language and worked part-time, living a life where almost all the money I earned disappeared into wine.

Not far from the room I was renting at the time, there was a wine bar attached to a wine shop called "Le Vins des Vivants," and I would visit it frequently after work without ever getting tired of it.
It is a popular shop that is so crowded that it overflows from the store day after day, but that night was unusually quiet, so I asked Mathieu, the owner, casually while tilting my glass at the counter.

"French people all love wine from the bottom of their hearts, and each has their own preferences and particularities regarding aroma and taste. I know this shop is always really busy, so I think it can't be helped, but do you ever get complaints from customers because you pour different wines into the same glass one after another?"

Although we had become quite close, I was inwardly anxious that I might offend him, but...

"You know, in a bar, a wine glass is part of your body. Of course, I understand that if you pour a different wine on top of it, not only the flavor but also the color will mix. But you know, it gradually becomes familiar to your hand and eventually becomes part of your body.
I am by no means compromising on the quality of the wine, but I want to value the groove of the bar even more than that.
Perhaps because the customers also feel that it is comfortable, I have never been complained about even once."

He answered with a gentle smile, choosing his words slowly.

I might have been half-convinced and half-unconvinced by his response, which I had never imagined.
When I followed Mathieu with my eyes as he left the counter after being called by a regular, the shop was full before I knew it. Not a single person had a dissatisfied face, and everyone was happily drinking wine with a glass in their hand that was slightly dirty at the rim and had an indescribable cloudiness.

"This is the groove of a bar."

The knot in my heart, which was the remaining half, disappeared, and with a glass that had gradually become familiar to my hand, I found myself ordering another glass of wine before I knew it.

This actual experience at that time is the other reason why I dare to handle only one type of glass.

Since the culture and philosophy of France and Japan are naturally different, even if I imitated exactly the same thing, customers would be confused.
When pouring a different wine, I exchange it for a new glass each time, and I personally think that is the way to taste each wine carefully.

On top of that, my stubbornness in sticking to one type of glass might be called my own subtle homage to the generosity of the French people toward bars and the indescribable groove I felt that night.
I really want my customers to feel that sensation of the glass gradually becoming familiar to their hands.

This happened the other day when two colleagues I am indebted to visited the shop.
After they had a glass of pétillant (slightly sparkling wine) and ordered a bottle of wine, I went to bring them new glasses, but—

“We don’t really need to change them, this glass is fine, right?”

“That’s true. The glass has settled in nicely, so shall we take our time and enjoy it as it is? If you’d like, let’s have a toast, the three of us.”

They might have been considerate of not wanting to increase the amount of dishwashing, but I savored an indescribable happiness in the small groove that was born across the counter through the wine glasses.

There may be various opinions about daring to stick only to small glasses among the many options available.
The aesthetic sense of having the same glasses lined up on the counter, and the feeling based on my own real-life experience in France where wine glasses became familiar in my hand—even if I cannot put them into words well, they are always at my core.
Even if it is not accepted by everyone, I feel a tavern aesthetic in that.

Mathieu’s shop has closed now, but I feel like he taught me so many things.
If I could happen to meet him again on a small street corner in Lyon, I would like to tell him while clinking glasses that I have come to understand the groove of a tavern a little better than I did back then.

An encounter with a single bottle of wine might change the rest of your life.
This is the story of a small wine stand owner whose life was driven crazy by such wine, and who continues to be driven crazy by wine in the present progressive tense.

I would like to write down the various things I think about daily and stories related to wine that I really want to share with you here on this note.

Although my writing may be messy, thank you for reading until the end.