Selling wine at the end of the world.
In the bar, I get that a lot of people are wary of ordering the wrong thing. They’re worried they won’t enjoy the wine they’ve chosen, or that they’ve chosen a wine I secretly think is bad, or stupid, or basic. Mostly these days, they are suspicious that I am simply fleecing them, recommending something costly for my own benefit.
The cost of living crisis is seeing to it that for many of us, treats are becoming more scarce and harder to justify to ourselves. Real household disposable income per will fall by 1.75% in 2022. Wages are not falling in line with inflation. This “stagflation” means, quite simply, that we have less and we are being asked to pay more.
It’s spiralling, causing more people to demand better wages—so at least one good thing might come from this. Perhaps people will be emboldened, more able to stand up and demand the money their employers owe them for their labour, demand their government do more to support them.
As much as I have tried to build a bar where the real world is safely sequestered outside, I cannot stop the economy from seeping into the walls. I am, more than ever, embarrassed and anxious to recommend a more expensive wine from the list in case I am being insensitive to a person’s individual circumstances. We have begun to cut down the number of “premium” wines on our orders in favour of value bottles we know people are more likely to choose and to afford. I have accepted that fewer people are buying whole bottles to share. We ourselves are buckling up for yet another tight period—perhaps the fifth since we opened our doors 51 weeks ago.
Bars, wine: a luxury. It’s true. But the togetherness I feel in our little haven of unreality on a weekend is something I am intensely proud of. I have taken more and more to asking people if they would like a water once they have finished their drink, just to have them stay a little longer, enjoying the escape. I do not and cannot run a charity, and our funds are stretched to breaking point, but I feel like spaces like ours are valuable in times like these. And I am grateful for every glass of wine we sell that enables us to keep opening the door.
Other Stuff
This week, Rachel Hendry’s J’adore Le Plonk newsletter turned two. Happy birthday J’adore Le Plonk! Read about her thoughts on service v experience, and sign up because she is a shining light in the drinks industry and deserves your gentle attention.
As we reach Pride month, I haven’t been able to get a certain artwork out of my head. “Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) by Felix Gonzalez-Torres tugs at my heart every time I think of it. It is an 175lb pile of sweets, which you are encouraged to take from, reducing the pile and enjoying its sweetness in return. It is an allegory of his partner Ross Laycock’s life, who passed away from AIDS, and to me all these years on, a statement of society’s consumption of everything LGBTQIA+ culture affords it while giving little to nothing back to support, aid and sustain it.
The Copa Del Sol is a sculpture on Costa Corayes, Mexico, a concrete bowl 88ft in diameter, designed to collect the sun, sea and horizon in one atmospheric place. “La Copa del Sol is a place to meditate, transmute energy or simply forget about the world for a moment.”
Alicia Kennedy on “oyster culture,” their history, their beauty and why we are drawn to them.
“Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) by Felix Gonzalez-Torres