At that moment, staring at the endless and hypnotizing stream of micro-bubbles that magically form at the bottom of the glass and gently float to the top, I am struck by the contrast of my humble, hard-working grandfather and the delicate glass of Champagne before me. I think back to the last time I drank Champagne. I was in a club in London, England, surrounded by men in white dress shirts and women in stilettos. It’s a centuries-old contradiction. I wonder how this modest scene before me has evolved into a world-wide cliché of extravagance.
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