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wine aerates it in the pouring and then leaves a large surface area of it exposed to the air. The longer the wine is subsequently left in the decanter before drinking, the more it will be exposed to the oxygen in the air—but will this be for good or ill? It is indisputable that the oxygen in the air attacks the alcohol in the wine from the moment the bottle is opened—this is why one pumps the air out of partly consumed bottles of wine so as to try to preserve them for pleasurable drinking the following day. Therefore, argued the renowned professor Émile Peynaud of the Institut d’Oenologie at the University of Bordeaux, the aeration of a sound wine through decanting is indefensible. (He acknowledged that some faulty, nasty-tasting wines might improve with aeration.) The majority in the Bordeaux wine trade do not agree with their late local expert—decanting of wine before drinking is generally favored, even for up to four hours. Hugh Johnson recommends aeration of almost all red wines and the majority of whites. David Bird, though like Peynaud a scientist, sides with Johnson, at least for younger wines.

A recent blind tasting comparing decanted and undecanted fine Bordeaux wines did not resolve the dispute. It suggested that while some are improved by seventy-five minutes in the decanter, others are made worse, but that only trial and error could determine which way a particular wine inclined. This scarcely amounts to useful guidance: after decanting, it’s too late.

But why would anyone want a swizzle stick?

THE TERM swizzle stick is generally used now to refer to a little plastic paddle used to stir your take-out coffee. But go to an antiques dealer and that is not what you’ll be offered. Instead, if they have any, you will be presented with an odd little cylinder, of silver or gold, out of which you can propel something that looks like a tiny cocktail umbrella without a covering. Half a dozen silver (or gold) wires will spring free like umbrella ribs, and there you go.

But where do you go? And why? And why “swizzle”?

The commonest explanation is that the swizzle stick is to stir the bubbles out of your champagne, which raises the question of why anyone would want to pay extra for wine with bubbles in it, only to pay even more extra for a device to get the bubbles out. This is one of those unanswerable questions of social history, but we can hazard a guess. The flibbertigibbet who takes a sip of champagne, sneezes, giggles, and says, “Oooh, the bubbles get up my nose!” is a legendary figure still with us, as you can see at any wedding. But there was a time—in the 1930s, the heyday of the swizzle stick—when giggling, sneezing, or performing any of the involuntary pneumatics associated with carbonated drinks was simply incompatible with the elegance and poise required of a woman. So (we humbly suggest) the swizzle stick in its retractable form was born, as a preemptive strike against the destabilizing bubble.

But why “swizzle”? The most likely answer there is that the word has been used for punches since the eighteenth century. We might reflect on whether the Englishman’s classical education in the behavior of the ancient Greeks at their symposia may have predisposed him to the idea of diluting his wine; we will never know. We do know that the earlier word punch, first seen in the early seventeenth century, comes from the Hindi panch, “five,” referring to the five basic ingredients: wine (or brandy), water, lemon juice, sugar, and spice. And we know from personal experience that a glass of punch or swizzle needs the occasional stir, and stirring it with a spoon is likely to lead to spills and splashes; hence the traditional glass (or metal) rod, with a rounded end, is often used instead. And there we have it: a stick to stir your swizzle.

What would go nicely with curry?

PAIRING WINE and food used to be reasonably simple: the local wine and the local food would generally sit in harmony. Retsina with your kokoretsi, burgundy with boeuf bourguignon, a prosecco with fegato alla veneziana, a Bandol rosé with your