The last time I drank a Muscadet, it should have been under an auspicious star, since I was in Half Moon Bay, California, at the Ritz Carlton.

Because it was my birthday and I really needed some pampering, Alice and I splurged. Let me just say, it was a weekend of service mishaps, and the experience of ordering the Muscadet, an addictive little white from the mouth of the Loire river in France, was the RC’s nadir.

For the triumph of a Davidian grape in Goliath circumstances, click here:

First of all, at $44, the Muscadet was the cheapest wine on the restaurant’s list. Now, I understand that this is the Ritz, and it has a right to its book-length list packed with trophy wines: first-growth Bordeaux in multiple vintages, rare Burgundies, cult cabernet, the whole shebang. But it shouldn’t overlook whole swaths of inexpensive greats. And one of the beauties of Muscadet is what they call its QPR, or quality-price-ratio. Retail stateside, it should cost between $10 and $15 a bottle; in France where it is a staple, even lower. The other great appeal of Muscadet, made from a grape called melon de bourgogne, is that it pairs so spectacularly with oysters. And that January night, there were some irresistible oysters on the menu: Hog Islands from Tamales Bay, miyagis from Washington, all my faves.

Anyway, after we’d managed to get moved from the overly-lit, children-packed corner of the restaurant (was it because we were two women that we didn’t look like we were on a date?), I ordered the 2003 Muscadet “Hermine d’Or” from Domaine de la
Louvetrie, which is in the Sevre et Maine appelation in the Loire, the only one on the menu — much to the apparent disdain and confusion of the waiter. A half hour later, it came out – at room temperature. Although I do think it’s true that most people tend to drink whites too cold and reds too warm, this wine was clearly just fetched from a shelf in the kitchen. We asked for an ice bucket and ate our mollusks at an oyster’s pace, waiting for the wine to offer the crispness, the yummy citrus and melon flavors, and the minerally, vague saltiness we wanted.

In retrospect, I think that our waiter thought that we were el-cheapo interlopers going for the least costly wine on the menu. As for the wine service guy (whom we didn’t see until later, when we ordered a much pricier bottle off the red list), he must have thought the nobody was going to order that lowly bottle of muscadet, so he didn’t even bother to chill it. Too bad. Muscadet is the definition of a wine that’s sought after. Not because it’s expensive and collectible, but because it’s perfect with that dish you’ve got waiting right in front of you. Now that’s a trophy.