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This is a true story. Like many disaster tales, it has an epic, solemn, and finally hilarious ring to it. And I may say at once that red wine stains come out of a tablecloth beautifully, if some enterprising person pops it straight into the washing machine.

Of course, it had to be Chateau Batailley Pauillac 1966.

Dinner at Ron and Peggy Weiss' without exquisite wine would be unthinkable, as Ron has had a life-long passion for tasting, contemplating and enjoying vintage wine. Years ago, while pursuing a career as an independent film maker in Europe, he was engaged in making a documentary on the subject. Living abroad had inspired Peggy and Ron to consider starting their own vineyard, and they searched through the Davis Mountains of West Texas for the right place to begin planting. In the end, however, Ron's expertise and passion fused magically into an enterprise which has become one of the best venues in the country for celebrating wine: Ron, Peggy, and their friend Jeffrey Weinberger opened the now legendary Jeffrey's Restaurant and Bar in an unassuming little building near downtown Austin.

Twenty-five years later, they can still hardly believe they did it. "You should have a party," I urged them. (My husband and I have dined at Jeffrey's for years, and still rave about every meal.) Too modest to plump for a grand extravaganza, and too visionary to want to do anything but look forward, they nodded politely. Perhaps. They had new matchbooks printed up.

Ron tells it this way: he and Peggy flew to the Yucatán for a long weekend. Sitting on the beach, watching the water meet the skyline, they saw a cruise ship emerge on the horizon. CELEBRATION, it proclaimed. They laughed about this. Maybe they should mark that twenty-fifth Jeffrey's anniversary after all. The next day, two more ships appeared, in succession: INSPIRATION. IMAGINATION.

They bowed to the inevitable, and invited the ten "key players" from the restaurant to a feast in their home. The best reason for a celebration is to acknowledge the power that surges through years of commitment, dedication, and intense micro-management—and to smile a bit at the total eccentricity that running such a business entails. David and Alma (yes, they are temperamental chefs, and true geniuses), Marco, Byron, Gary, Johnny (all "career" waiters), Jim (the manager, who looks like one of the Beach Boys), Jeffrey, Ron and Peggy—Jeffrey's would not be Jeffrey's without each of them.

The hosts placed an "extender" table top on their massive dining-room table—a round, sturdy affair, with a pedestal and three legs to support the central column. Etiquette books always tell us that round tables are best for conversation, and Peggy instructed her guests to "bring their stories." After twenty-five years, there must have been a few hair-raising tales to tell.

As she describes it, they began with magnums of Krug Grande Cuvee Brut, to accompany the Beluga caviar. Javier was cooking in their kitchen (a brilliant chef in his own right), and Chloe (Peggy's and Ron's daughter) and Aaron (their son) waited on the guests. A sublime sweet potato lobster bisque with tomalley butter appeared on the table.

The moment had then come: the ceremonial opening of a methuselah bottle of Chateau Batailley Pauillac 1966—the equivalent of eight bottles of wine—which had been carefully stored in Ron's private wine cellar since the opening days of the restaurant. He made his rounds of the table, pouring out each glass. A sigh of contentment was heard. Then Johnny leaned forward to begin another vintage "Jeffrey's" story, and . . . . SMASH went one of the table legs.

It must have been difficult to take in what had happened, at first. Peggy remembers catching the table top in her lap and holding on to it for dear life. These are absolutely professional restaurant people, so the speed at which everything was whisked away must have been remarkable. Many of the guests were clever and fortunate enough to instantly grab their glasses full of wine, thus rescuing at least some of the precious Chateau Batailley, much of which was running across the floor. Javier came rushing in from the kitchen. Chloe and Aaron whisked away the jumble of cutlery and plate. Amazingly, only two of the thirty-six wine glasses were broken. Javier and Marco jumped into a truck and roared off to the restaurant, fetching back two folding banquet tables. Within fifteen minutes, the guests were seated again for the main course of beef tenderloin with clementine demi-glace and risotto fritters.

Dessert was the Jeffrey's "signature" dish of something called "Chocolate Intemperance" (I have seen grown men practically weep when this concoction is presented), and I'm guessing that they might have finished off with a glass of Remy Martin 1738, one of Ron's favorites. (My hunch, as it turns out, was proved to have been correct: everyone who both works at Jeffrey's and who merely dines there is wild about this cognac.)

It takes a fair amount of finesse to cope with the unexpected disasters which can occur when one is trying to offer an evening of jollity to one's friends and colleagues. Wine and good food together create a harmony of delight. Thanks to Ron and Peggy's example, now we all know what to do: if the table falls down, pour out another glass, and start telling another story. This one will not be soon forgotten.

Janice Rossen, an English professor by trade, loves parties, Single Malt Scotch, and Shakespeare.

For more information about Jeffrey's Restaurant, click here.

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