Adour is the new Alain Ducasse venture in NYC, billed as a wine restaurant, or as my oft fabulously snarky friend Lisa quipped, does that mean you don’t remember the food but you do the wine? And we also remembered the wine service, and the service was a case for the Wine Cop.

There's nothing to drink by- the- glass. (Though I was assured they would find something for me and open it if I were that frustrated.) The actual list was stunning. Our sommelier explained that much of it was inherited from L’Espinasse, the previous tenant. Ducasse didn’t raise the prices.

The 2000 René Engle Village Vosne was on the lists for $80. Bargains like that abound. While I am headed back as soon as possible to cherry pick--before the word gets out--- I’ll bring my own corkscrew and try to take as much control as I can. Why? Read on.

Placing the list in my hands (thank you!) my host made noises about being in the mood for a Spanish white. I panicked because I wanted him to be happy but almost all whites I see from Spain are yeasted avec beaucoup de fruit tropicale or primed with grassy sauvignon blanc yeast like they do in Rueda to the poor verdejo grape, the wine that the sommelier suggested.

I countered, “Any Lopez de Heredia whites?”

Young sommelier who claimed he had worked at Cru, Chanterelle etc. (maybe he did but certainly he didn’t mean the wine dept!) said there weren’t any. Sorry.

“Hey! Look! 1987 LDH Tondonia!” I said, thumping my index finger on a spot in the wine list that shone like a beacon of truth. (And, aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t add..you idiot!)

“Oh,” he said, trying to grasp for credibility, “Your pronunciation me off. Are you sure you want it? It’s a little old.”

I assured him it was exactly what I wanted. Hell it was only $80.
I told my hosts they were in for an experience; "Hold on to your hats," I warned.

It was a fine bottle, lively, like the ocean, like the pink soils it comes from. But the sommelier kept on checking back often in disbelief, did we really like it?
What an oddball bunch we were, he must have been thinking. But then he redeemed himself when recommending a wine, one that I skipped over, because I didn’t know what my host wanted to spend. It turned out $165 for the 1982 Leroy Pommard Les Vignots was no problem.

Wow, what a dynamo. Piercing aromatics, completely elegant, pin pointed long finish. When we commented on its superbness, the wine lad told us he agreed and to assure that the bottles come to us in perfect condition he tastes the wine before it gets poured. This is done to avoid embarrassing situations like the one the week before with Daniel Boulud and the corked bottle.

So far so good, but then the next decision was my host's. Reluctantly I relinquished control. He conferred with the wine lad, selected a 1999 Chateauneuf du Pape, Domaine de la Charbonnière Vielles Vignes. It was poured from decanter, we never saw the bottle. The gentleman at the table didn't seem sure, but accepted it.

It was definitely corked, but no one seemed to mind. It tasted like a dirty mop and not the whole moldy celler so they may have been confused. One even said the wine was delicious. But a few minutes, I looked at the glasses and mostly no one was drinking. It is so easy to be intimated into believing a wine is not corked, but glasses that remain untouched are a dead giveaway to the truth.

I excused myself to head to the WC and on the way I buttonholed our nice young man and discreetly asked him, "Are you quite sure there is nothing the matter with that bottle?"

He did look concerned. Did I out him or did he just not catch it? Meanwhile, I went to do what girls do in the little girl’s room thinking, so much for this guy taking a little nip from the bottle to make sure of its health.

When I returned my friend laughed and said, “You won't believe this. He didn’t say anything just took them away. Can you imagine? All of the sudden we had no wine.”

We presumed another bottle was arriving. We waited. Our food was getting cold. I wondered if they hated me because I made trouble and corked or not, they wanted something to drink with their duck.

Finally another decanter arrived. A completely different bottle. As hard as I could I couldn’t say it bore any similarity to the previous bottle. I could see at least one person liked the corked wine better because this wine was way too fruit -forward, I suspected it was destemmed and might have had some new barrels in its past. It was like sucking on candy. The young man said, "It definitely wasn't corked but it was a little cooked.

Cooked? Hah! But I saw that there was nothing I could say and really why should I? I learned my lesson at Inoteca and really didn't want a repeat of that pissing contest. Anyway, superior wine makes me a better person and that Leroy and LdH worked magic and so I really didn't care if the food was regrettable and the wine service a bit comical for a restaurant with such lofty wine aspirations.

Yet, circling back to the Chateauneuf, the second bottle was so different we wondered if it was really the same year and producer. The wine was never presented, not opened in front of us. Yes, it was Rhone, but, well who could tell?

My friend (and this is a treat for me, someone else can be the bully for once) asked, asked him, “Is there a reason that you don’t open the bottle at the table?”

QUIZ: And, do you know what he said?