


VERY EASILY, MY FRIEND. BUCKLE UP.
First of all, you gotta understand that wine is BIG BUCKS. Old and rare vintages can sell for tens of thousands of dollars or even more to wealthy collectors at auctions. A single bottle of 1947 Cheval Blanc sold for $300,000 back in 2010. And a lot of 114 bottles of a rare Romanee-Conti sold for $1.4 million in 2014.
And it turns out that high-end wine is dazzlingly easy to fake. Only a handful of people have ever tasted the rarest vintages in the world; and how the bottles were stored, if they were exposed to sunlight or kept in darkness, if the bottle had been opened or kept sealed, or if the environment was humid or dry can affect the wine’s taste, especially after decades or centuries. So who knows what a bottle of 1785 Lefitte actually tastes like? Can anyone actually tell it apart, with certainty, from a hypothetically-much-less-valuable 1784 of the same vintage?
Considering that some of the greatest wine-tasters in the world have also been dupes of some of the biggest wine scams in the world, I’m gonna say no.
There are definitely flavors associated with old wines, even specific vintages of old wines; but you don’t need to shell out for a pricey bottle to top off your fake. Get a cheap bottle of old wine and mix it with some nice quality, younger wines, and no one will be the wiser. Million-dollar wine forgers like Harvey Rodenstock and Rudy Korniawan do exactly that.
It gets even easier when you think that a lot of the people who buy these ultra-pricey bottles never even open them. They’re not for drinking! They’re an investment, or they’re a prestige item, something you take down from your shelf to show off to your friends once in a while. You could fill the bottle with grape juice, and who would ever find out?
So how are you supposed to tell a real bottle from a fake one? The bottle itself? The label? Wine bottles are nothing special; get one made in the right couple-of-decades as the vintage you’re faking, and there’s nothing to tell them apart. Some of them have etched signatures, but those were done with simple hand tools, that you can still buy today. And the labels are no security at all. They’re just paper, ink, and paste. People today are forging the holograms off of $20 bills; you could convincingly fake a wine label using a standard laser printer.
Wine forgery is a HUGE problem in the wine world today. Tracing the provenance of any particular bottle is next to impossible. And frankly, the money in the business is just too good for anyone to want to ask too many questions. The head of Sotheby’s auction house’s international wine department joked that more bottles of 1945 Mouton were consumed on the 50th anniversary of the vintage than were ever produced in the first place.
The question isn’t how do you fake wine: it’s how the fraudsters ever get caught. In Rodenstock and Korniawan’s cases, they just overplayed their hands. Rodenstock sold so many bottles of rare wine that a suspicious customer had a bottle carbon-dated, which revealed that it was two centuries younger than Rodenstock had claimed (and it still took years to take him down).
As for Korniawan, he started selling a vintage so rare that, it turned out, it had never existed in the first place.
There’s a great podcast on this topic in the Stuff You Should Know archives, if you want to hear a whole lot more about this.

wine tastes so bad. I’m convinced the whole world is in on an inside joke together trying to persuade me that wine tastes good to them. there’s no way any one can like the taste of it. it’s like bug spray. the whole frickin world pretends to like bug spray. I don’t understand why. stop the madness



ok so what if Harry and Neville got into like this passive-aggressive lie-off regarding what a truly great man Severus Snape was like they got drunk and Harry was like ‘Snape though’ and Neville was like ‘I know right’ and Harry was like ‘what a… what a fantastic bastard. What a guy.’ and Neville was like ‘we should fuckin’ get him like, like… let’s have a funeral. A huge fucking fuck-off sized funeral with like, lilies, and, a marble coffin, and a big statue, an’ crying women, an’ all that shit’ and Harry got whiskey up his nose laughing so hard and he falls off his stool and just wheezes ‘lillies’
and then during the funeral Neville and Harry like spend the whole time trying to give a better eulogy like they keep getting back up after each other are done to try and have another go at it but then they get schooled by Hermione being like ‘for fuck’s sake boys this is how it’s done’ and she goes up to the podium and just bursts into wild banshee hysterics and throws herself across the glistening marble casket, sobbing ‘oh, it should have been me, would to god that it were me, you stallion of a professor’ and all the reporters tear up a little and then go home to pen really fervid biopics on this bleakly noble and tragically overlooked hero of the revolution
anyway like eighteen years later Harry names his kid after Severus and sends an owl off to Neville like ‘your move, mate’ and Neville pauses in the middle of polishing the giant marble statue of Snape tenderly cuddling an armful of adoring woodland creatures that dominates like 2/3 of his office to cuss a lot and pour himself another drink
