Auctions serve countless purposes, but they are most fascinating when history goes on sale. The Duchess of Windsor's jewelry. Elvis Presley's jumpsuits.

And this weekend, at a Hart Davis Hart Wine Company auction in Chicago, Steve Verlin's wines.

Verlin, who died in his sleep last year, was the Diamond Jim Brady of my generation. He ate and drank like nobody else I've known, surpassing even the trencherman I most admire, the eminent wine critic Robert Parker.

Here's what a friend e-mailed me after watching Parker and Verlin go at it in France, at the Restaurant Greuze:

"Verlin vs. Parker. Steve nudged ahead with the fourth serving of foie gras. And quenelles preceded the foie gras."

Only once did I dine with Verlin, and that was at a wine lunch that featured, as I recall, more than 20 different bottles, including a Champagne that was at least 70 years old. I'm lucky to remember that much. I barely remembered my own name, let alone what was served.

Diamond Jim Brady lived and ate, not necessarily in that order, from the mid-19th century until early in the 20th. He died at age 60. The owner of one of the restaurants he regularly patronized supposedly called him "the best 25 customers I ever had."

Verlin reigned from the mid-20th century until 2006, when he passed away at age 58. He was a less predictable eater than Brady, who tended toward lobster, crabs, oysters, and beef.

For Brady, it was the Gilded Age. For Verlin, it was more like the Guilden Age.

Parker, in a website tribute, described a number of extraordinary dining experiences with Verlin, including the time they ate at the home of the famous Rhone winemaker Gerard Chave. As Parker recalled, Verlin was "just off the plane from his beloved Jersey…has at least 20 lbs of Sabrett hot dogs…kosher mustard…and special rolls…all hand-carried on the plane to show Chave what a great American hot dog was all about."

Verlin dined gloriously, of course, but he also liked to shock guests with such pairings as truffle-laced popcorn (with Cristal Champagne), his beloved Sabretts (with Vega Sicilia Unico), and Krispy Kreme doughnuts (with Chateau d'Yquem).

I was looking through the catalogue of the May 4-5 sale and noticed that one of my favorite Italian wines, the 1993 Soldera Case Basse Brunello di Montalcino, lot 1766, is estimated at $1200-1800 for a lot of 12. It's a bargain.

If anybody who obtains it would be kind enough to invite me over, I'll bring the mustard and dogs.

The maker of Equal, an artificial sweetener, is in court to put an end to the claims of Splenda, another artificial sweetener.

Splenda has gained enormous consumer acceptance by declaring that it is made from sugar and is therefore natural.

You've seen the slogan: "Made from sugar, so it tastes like sugar."

The battle rages. Experts are testifying. I am certain they will contradict one another. A decision will be rendered that is unlikely to have anything to do with reality and everything to do with technicalities.

I would like to rule on the case.

The ingredient that makes Splenda sweet is made in a laboratory. It's cleverly called sucralose. It's synthetic. It is definitely not sucrose, which is real sugar.

So if you want to use Splenda, by all means do so. I have no idea if it is better or worse for you than Equal. By the way, Equal's sweetness comes from aspartame, which is definitely not sucrose, either.

In my estimation, the makers of Splenda are dead wrong to make any claims whatsoever that sucralose is like sugar.

Soap is made from animal fat. Would you believe the manufacturers of Ivory if they claimed their product tasted just like kobe beef?

Krug is unusual Champagne. The name doesn't sound French. (Founder Johann-Joseph Krug was a German immigrant.) Nobody uses the stuff for Mimosas. (Too expensive.) And it certainly isn't suitable for sipping outdoors on a sun-dappled day. (Too profound.)

Krug makes a non-vintage Champagne labeled "Grand Cuvee." It's called "multivintage" because Krug rightfully believes the wine deserves a category all its own. In great years it also makes a vintage Champagne that combines the distinctive Krug style (intensity, power, elegance) with the characteristics of the particular growing season.

Krug 1996 has just been released. It lists at $250, but you can shop around and do better.

Many people who purchase vintage Krug—wine collectors in particular—like to cellar it. That's because they believe it's rarely fully mature upon release and because bringing out a bottle of the 1988 or the 1973 is certain to evoke gasps from your guests.

The 1996 is an unusual Krug. I think it's ready to drink right now.

The vintage was a great one. (Most Champagne houses released their 1996 bottlings years ago, and the best of those, to my taste, is Dom Perignon.) The 1996 Krug is golden—darker than you'd expect for a newly released wine—with deep, creamy, honeyed notes. The depth is enormous. So is the acidity, remarkably high for a wine that appears to be made from somewhat overripe grapes. It's a maxed-out wine that brilliantly expresses the uniqueness of Krug. With this particular Champagne, you can experience the greatness of Krug without waiting around for it to get better.

It tastes totally mature. Because of that, if this were any wine but Krug, I wouldn't expect it to age particularly well. But you never know with Krug. When I made precisely that point to Olivier Krug, the director of the house, he replied, "If it does, it does."

That's yet another unusual aspect of Krug. Although it is the most prestigious Champagne house in the world, it has few pretensions. Added Olivier, "It's our own strange snobbiness. We are the Champagne that ages the best and we have the highest purpose for aging, but we don't care if it does or does not."

I wish to declare myself the greatest blind taster on earth.

In a very specialized way.

Blind tasting, as wine drinkers know, consists of identifying a wine without seeing the label or, for that matter, the bottle, which can give away a lot by its shape.

I play this game often. It's amusing, and it requires the taster to think a lot about wine. It's also challenging. The other day I was poured a glass of a dark red wine and asked, as usual, to identify it.

Generally, I would start with trying to guess the grape, then the country of origin, then perhaps the year. In the unlikely event I would get all of those right, I might try for more obscure characteristics, like the region or even the winery.

In this case, I knew precisely what the wine was.

"About $60," I said.

I was real close.

When you think about it, that's all that counts in wine these days. We want to know how much it costs. The taster who can guess that must be considered a superb oenophile. Yet I don't believe any of those fanciful degrees that wine geeks seek, like Master Sommelier or Master of Wine, requires expertise in this matter.

I now consider myself Master of Price.

The wine I tasted was a California Cabernet Sauvignon, the 2001 Terra Valentine Wurtele Vineyard. To be honest, I don't believe I can guess the price of anything except a Cabernet or a Chardonnay—these varietals aren't particularly subtle and they tend to go up in cost in direct proportion to richness, oakiness and depth of flavor. They're very straightforward.

The Terra Valentine had plenty of wood, and an unusual combination of both plentiful acidity and soft tannins. The pleasure was immediate but limited, a little rustic. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to open up, become more complex, or age particularly well. It was, however, quite forceful, as an about-$60 wine should be.

I liked it. Had I been scoring it by the more common 100-point scale, I would have given it an 89.

I looked it up on the Wine Spectator, where it was praised for its intensity and brawniness but criticized for "a cheesy, dry character" and awarded a very mediocre 85. Oh, well. I never said I was the world's best at anything except price.

It's inevitable.

I imagine the title of the book will be something like, The Staff Ace Super Diet.

Appearances on The Today Show. A million copies in print. Gushing newspaper stories that begin, "After an 18-13 season in which he attributed his success to dining on pasta made 'with some kind of cheese or something,' pitcher Barry Zito of the San Francisco Giants reveals his secrets in a best-selling diet book."

Why is Barry Zito's new diet making news?

Because he has a $126 million contract, and in this country, anything that monied people say is considered newsworthy, even if they don't know what they're talking about.

Rich people on the subject of diets might not be quite as insignificant as celebrities on world peace, but it's close.

Zito's diet is prepared for him by Chris Talley, described as an aerospace physiologist. I'm not sure what a person has to do to call himself an aerospace physiologist, but if all an aerospace physiologist does is make fake pasta for pitchers, it can't be the most demanding job around. Remember that phrase, "it's not like rocket science"? I guess maybe being a rocket scientist isn't such a big deal after all.

Tally's company, Precision Food Works, sends boxes of precisely weighed, preservative-free, computerized meals to Zito. He says his favorite item is the chocolate cherry muffin. "So good," he exclaims.

Adds Zito, "There's this pasta he makes with spinach and some kind of cheese or something. It looks and tastes like pasta but it's actually not a carbohydrate. It's really good."

It contains egg whites and spinach powder.

Why, that's almost like food.

Tally also espouses an amino acid suppliment that he claims will enhance mental clarity. In effect, it makes your brain light up.

Remember when all the San Francisco Giants had to worry about was what Barry Bonds was putting in his body?

Yet again, everybody is down on doughnuts.

This time, it's because some dumb kids at a school on Long Island, a suburb of New York City, handed out Dunkin' Donuts laced with a laxative.

One of the victims, 14-year old Shane Hartigan, said his chocolate doughnut with sprinkles "tasted fine." (Shane might not have a future as a food critic.)

The kids who spiked the doughnuts said they were imitating something they had seen on MTV.

No, I'm not advocating the banning of MTV, though I'd rather drink a bottle of stool softener than watch any of the programs on that network.

This isn't the first time doughnuts have been misused in this particular way.

In 2003, a couple of teenagers in Grand Rapids, Michigan, brought laxative-laced donuts to their school, also as a prank.

We could solve this problem, of course, by incarcerating all teenagers as a precautionary measure. There they could perform the one task that's within their intellectual capabilities: breaking rocks.

Better yet, we need a doughnut initiative. Americans should be better informed about one of their most misunderstood foodstuffs.

Doughnuts are deep-fried. Therefore, they must be eaten hot. Even a teenager should be able to understand that.

Remember when we couldn't get enough of Krispy Kreme doughnuts? That's because we could get them hot. And I seem to recall Dunkin' Donuts being made fresh in every store, but perhaps I was misled by the famous "time to make the donuts" advertising campaign of the 1980s, which made it appear that way.

Remember this: An old, cold doughnut is worthless. If you're going to eat them that way, extra-added laxative might be the tastiest ingredient.

A coyote walked into a Quiznos sub shop in downtown Chicago last week and took a seat atop a stack of sodas.

(It was removed shortly afterward by animal control officers.)

It made me wonder about the habits of coyotes, and I looked to Wikipedia for answers.

Could it be that the coyote felt at home among typical fast food restaurant customers?

Unlikely. Says Wikipedia, "The coyote is an extremely lean animal and may appear underfed."

Maybe it was hoping to chat up some of the younger patrons.

That makes sense. Says Wikipedia, "The calls a coyote makes are high-pitched and variously described as howls, yips, yelps, and barks."

Could it have been a connoisseur of fast food?

Possibly. Says Wikipedia, "They commonly eat deer excrement during winter months in northern climates."

WCBSTV.com, the website of channel 2, the CBS affiliate in New York City, just labeled former New York mayor and probable presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani "out of touch" for not knowing the cost of bread or milk.

Yesterday, Giuliani said a gallon of milk cost about $1.50, and a loaf of bread about $1.25 or $1.30.

It proves almost conclusively that he does not shop for food.

Seeking out and reporting such alleged character flaws is apparently how one of our major news outlets intends to evaluate candidates for president.

Meanwhile, CBS did not label President George W. Bush "out of touch" for not knowing the cost of human life.

This is the headline that topped the press release: 816 WINNERS ANNOUNCED IN FIRST WOMEN'S WINE COMPETITION.

The next line: All-Star Panel of Women Judges Chooses Medal Winners at Inaugural Competition.

The first quote: 'Women have spoken," said Lea Pierce, Director, National Women's Wine Competition.

What's this all about?

A little further down in the story we learn the ugly truth. Women are tormented. By men. Yet again.

The story adds, "…most wine competitions are predominantly male affairs, and the wine media tends to be dominated by men."

This is too absurd to tolerate.

Nothing about wine these days isn't about women.

Every wine story I read is about how women are better wine tasters than men.

Every profile of a winemaker I read in a food magazine is about some woman who has taken over the family vineyards.

Every restaurant I visit has a woman sommelier.

I'm in favor of every one of those developments. I just want women to shut up about how the wine world is only about men.

More from that press release: "According to Pierce, if any conclusions can be drawn from this competition, it is that women love a wide variety of tastes and styles."

What might we conclude from that? Of course. Men are the opposite, beasts who guzzle thick red wine, getting most of it on their shirts.

I am drunk with rage.

Let me tell you something about men and wine. Pretty close to 100 percent of the time, we pay for it.

Put that in your press release.

In the category of unfortunate opinion, I bring you the words of Darren Rovell, who writes the Sports Biz blog for CNBC.

He says of a new ballpark concession item from the Gateway Grizzlies of the Frontier League, "It's pretty awesome."

His praise is directed at a foodstuff that any rational person would curse as a crime against cuisine. It is described by the team as "a thin-sliced, steam-grilled, square-shaped burger topped with cheese and grilled onions that is then breaded and deep-fried."

Yes, we're talking about a deep-fried White Castle burger.

Last year, Rovell proudly points out, he endorsed the team's bacon cheeseburger served on a Krispy Kreme doughnut. (By the way, forget the Grizzlies. I'm pretty certain this concoction was invented much earlier by none other than the late rhythm-and-blues singer Luther Vandross.)

Here's a quote from Tony Funderburg, the general manager of the Grizzlies, on the deep-fried burger: "This is just another way to make Grizzlies games at GCS Ballpark more fun!"

According to fledgling food critic Rovell, when he heard the idea from Funderburg, here's what went through his mind: "I thought it was brilliant."

Wherever this guy got his training, I can't believe it was at either culinary or journalism school.

He tasted the burger in his office, after it sat around for an hour, getting cold. Then he had a flash of inspiration. He thought, "I can only imagine how great it is out of the fryer sitting at the ballpark."

Unless it's a foul ball ricocheting off your head, nothing can possibly happen to you at a ballpark that is worse than eating one of these burgers. And, of course, nobody will eat just one.

Gourmet Rovell added that he couldn't eat too much of his burger, "being that I'm down a gallbladder."

He isn't up a lot in IQ, either.

Henceforth, Wolfgang Puck will only use eggs and meat from well-treated animals in his restaurants.

No more foie gras from overfed ducks. No more eggs from penned-up chickens. An admirable plan.

(Okay, he isn't going to alter his preferred method of killing lobsters by slicing them in half while they're alive, but he says his "conscience feels better," and so it should.)

Here's the problem: He has yet to address the problem of cruelty to humans.

I speak now of his breakfast pizza. It consists of scrambled eggs, bacon, two cheeses, and a drizzle of "Wolfgang's very own Ranch dressing" on a pizza crust.

Puck says of his new, benevolent, farm-animal plan, "We want a better standard for living creatures. It's as simple as that."

His ban on inhumanely produced food followed extensive protests by Farm Sanctuary, an animal rights organization, although Puck denied that he was responding to that particular campaign. Nevertheless, it's time for some well-meaning organization to initiate a campaign against inhumane breakfast pizzas. Remember, people are creatures, too.