This was a bottle left over from a private dinner at the restaurant. About 25 bottles were opened altogether. There was 1/3 of this left.  I snatched it as everyone had left and grabbed my manager meal and burrowed into my office.  It was a long, physical service and sitting down with a glass of Champagne was what I needed. I usually don’t want to drink wine after service. I taste wine all night, analyzing every bottle that gets served to guests. Checking to be sure that the wines are sound, free of flaws etc. Beer is usually the beverage of choice when I sit down as it helps shut down the analytical side of my brain.  However there was no way I could refuse a glass of the legendary ‘82 Salon. This bottle turned out to be incredibly fresh.  There’s word among collectors that aged bottles of Salon have a tendency to oxidize prematurely. And ‘82 is said to be one of the worst offenders.  Not so with this bottle.  The lemon and Granny Smith apple flavors in its youth had transformed to caramel and shortbread cookie.  There was also a streak of salinity that washed over like high tide. I kept looking at the bottle as I was drinking it and said to my self “holy sh**, this is INCREDIBLE.” It had instantly changed my mood.  It was nearly 11:30 pm and well past quitting time yet I decided I wasn’t going to leave my broom-closet sized office until the bottle was emptied. The experience was similar to when you’re listening to music in your car, and you’ve already arrived home. You’re in your driveway but its impossible to move because the music sounds so perfect and the moment demands you stay until the end.  I poured another glass and was feeling the spirit take hold. I started playing some music. I loosened my tie and smiled.  I kept sighing. In that moment anything felt possible. Wines like ‘82 Salon can make a poet/ motivational speaker out of anyone. I took my last sip and saw that it was 1:00am.  Everyone had left and the hallway was pitch dark.  I used my Iphone to light my way to the kitchen. Walking through on my way to the exit I saw the dishwasher eating french fries and the night porter wearing a dust mask while cleaning the ovens. “Bonne Nuit/ Adios” I shouted to them with the taste of ‘82 Salon still on my tongue.