It’s not often that I keep a cork. Memories of enough bottles swill around in my head without having to have a cork collection or a label library. But this one was exceptional: 44 years old and still pale, perfect, sweet-drawing, just red-painted by the wine on the end, with no staining up the side at all. Flawless-no creases, cracks, or spots. What every young cork should aspire to but very few achieve. The result: a flawless, perfectly developed wine. I can’t prove the causality. Post hoc is not propter hoc. An odd coincidence, then: It was a sublime bottle of Château Palmer 1966.