The Wine Underground

There are wine shops on just about every street corner in Chennai, and yet it is still nearly impossible to buy wine. The word "wine" in India is a stand in any liquor except actual wine distilled from actual grapes. There are a couple vineyards in India, but they still haven't perfected the process and most of it tastes like bitter mouthwash. The only way to get imported wine is through the embassy commissaries (that I don't have access to) or through the black market--which I desperately am trying to contact. I had my first bit of success last night.

The story begins three weeks ago when I was browsing the isles of an upscale food emporium in Kilpauk. As I perused jars of olives and an assortment of pastas, I saw a row of wine bottles tucked away on a top shelf. I pulled one down and examined the label. I frowned when I discovered that it was non-alcoholic. Who would want boozeless wine, anyway?

"It's illegal for me to sell real wine," said the bored looking clerk when he saw me fingering his stash. Then he made sure the store was empty and beckoning me to the counter. "But I might know of a single bottle on the other side of town that I could arrange for you," he said conspiratorially.

"Really?" I asked, "What is it?"

"It's wine. If you want it it's 750 a bottle." 750 rupees comes out to about $17, so it isn't an entirely unreasonable price for good wine. The only problem was that I didn't know anything about the brand, and the clerk certainly wasn't a sommelier.

He told me he would order the bottle and save it for me until the next time I came back. I nodded and promptly forgot about the exchange.

Three weeks later I made my next grocery run.

When I walked in the door there was a flurry of excitement as the staff was busily cleaning the store for Diwali. The clerk spotted me and jumped to his feet. "It's you! We finally got that shipment of Schweppes tonic water you were looking for," He shouted while winking at me.

I had forgotten about my previous order and looked at him blankly. "Thanks," I said non-comprehendingly as I went to the back of the store in search of their fantastic new spritzer. I didn't find any and instead picked up a jar of sun-dried tomatoes.

At the counter the clerk smiled at me and asked if I wanted to see his new seltzer. When I nodded he riffled through a pile of papers under the counter and emerged with a small wine-bottle shaped parcel wrapped in a plastic bag.

"Here it is," he said proudly. And I opened the package and found a stately bottle of Albert Bichot table wine. I'd never heard of it, but figured it was my only chance for wine. I plunked down my VISA card and it appeared on my bill as a baby carriage.

So now I have a bottle of French wine sitting on my desk. The only problem now is that I don't have a corkscrew. I wonder where I can find one in Chennai. The question remains whether or not I can go back to the same shop and pull off a similar feat.

I have to say I sort of enjoyed the process. It felt like I was the last member of the French resistance during the second world war with a single source for black market goods.