If you are a normal person, there's no reason to read on.

This report is for people who have 1982 Bordeaux in their cellars. I assure you that I do not, but I know some people that do. They are overzealous, and they often behave oddly in the presence of what they call their "cellar treasures," but I always appreciate invitations to their homes.

Recently, I was invited to a private dinner featuring six of the greatest Bordeaux from the celebrated 1982 vintage.

Let me make you even more envious. The meal was cooked by Lee Anne Wong, who is an executive chef at New York's French Culinary Institute and a maestro behind a stove. You might know of her because she finished fourth in the first edition of Top Chef, the reality cooking show on Bravo.

(I don't wish to appear unkind, but I've eaten the food of a few of the cooks who finished ahead of her, and whenever I run into Wong, I generally ask, "How the hell did you lose to them?")

My rich friend with the wine cellar brought out Mouton-Rothschild, Lafite-Rothschild, Latour, Margaux, Haut-Brion, and La Mission-Haut-Brion. All but La Mission-Haut-Brion are classified as "first growths," which means they cost so much even a lot of rich guys can't afford them. If you are one of them, a rich guy without 1982 first growths in your basement, I recommend that you read no more. You will start wondering why your life is so meaningless, despite the money you have accumulated.

My friend supplemented the first growths with a few other 1982's, such as Krug Champagne and Domaine Leflaive Bâtard-Montrachet. But I digress. Let's get down to the red wines.

(Oh, maybe not. The Leflaive, served in a magnum, was extraordinary. It wasn't a bombshell, but it had become elegant and profound in its old age. If only that should happen to us.)

Interestingly, my friend served no so-called "right bank" wines, the ones from Pomerol and St.-Émilion. He had bought the best ones, including Pétrus, at the time of their release, but he subsequently sold them all after declaring them uninteresting. That's particularly noteworthy, because Pomerol is thought of as one of the triumphs of the 1982 vintage.

My feelings about red Bordeaux are simple: When consumed young, they're wasted. When properly aged, they're unsurpassed—even by great red Burgundies.

So I wasn't surprised that the wine I liked best at this dinner I now consider one of the best of my life. I'd put it in the all-time, top-ten club.

It was the Latour.

Latour is not generally my favorite Bordeaux. I'm a Haut-Brion guy, which merely did okay at this meal. Some of the other drinkers voted for Mouton, La Mission, or Lafite (subtle, elegant, and ethereal, my number-two wine of the night).

I'm supposed to say something sportsmanlike now, such as, "Each man is entitled to his opinion." Let me say this: They were wrong.

I'm not claiming that at another tasting on another night one of the other six wouldn't have finished ahead of the Latour. When you're drinking old wines, you have to expect bottle variation. This bottle turned out to be the best Latour I've ever tasted. (I had a an opportunity to try 1945 Latour once in my life, and it was tragically corked.) The color was bright, clear, posh, a glowing garnet with the barest hint of age.

It was simply luscious, not an adjective I'd use often with old wines. The fruit hadn't diminished at all, but instead had become cleaner, purer, deeper. It offered insights into a better wine world.

I found myself bowing my head—or perhaps I was just transfixed by Wong's squab, miraculously soft and moist yet with a hint of crispness, served in a black pepper gastrique and accompanied by parsnip purée and spinach with garlic crisps.

Sometimes I can understand why people aspire to more money than they need.