Sexist, but an opener with impact
My grandfather had a naughty turn-of-the-century pocket corkscrew that always garnered knowing winks from the male relatives.
It was a pair of women's legs with a rather threatening-looking corkscrew set between them - the feet tucked into high-button shoes.
When the corkscrew was inserted into the cork, the legs had to be spread wide for it to do its job. This was a risque joke in those days - strictly for the eyes of men only - so I did not know what all the commotion was about until I had reached adulthood and my grandfather was no longer among us.
These days it would be considered politically incorrect to actually use the sexist tool to open a bottle. Nevertheless, amazingly similar versions are now valuable collector's items, displayed with pride in museums of note.
When I was old enough to buy wine, my first corkscrew was nothing quite as flamboyant or intriguing as my grandfather's. I bought one of those ubiquitous Italian brass types - with a lever on each side that when raised, simultaneously extricated the cork. No home seemed to be without this version back then.
It cost about US$2 (about HK$15) and probably is not much more today. But as it was not a worthy example of state-of-the-art engineering, many a cork was viciously split in two.
Over the years corkscrews big and small, cheap and costly, imported and local came and went. But even though I have acquired quite an impressive inventory, I use just two favourites.
One is a curious tweezer design, with a flat metal strip on either side, that when properly inserted, one on each side of the cork, gently lifts it out with a soft whoosh.
My second reliable cork remover is the sleekly hi-tech Screwpull, invented by a 72-year-old retired oil man, who simply adapted the same helix principle used to drill for oil into a handy - much-lauded - corkscrew.
The user simply inserts the corkscrew into the cork then continues turning effortlessly in the same direction until the stopper rises - as if by magic - from the bottle.
It is certainly a conversation piece, although it does not come close in impact to my grandfather's lady with the high-button shoes.
