So much for the omissions and puzzling inclusions.  Roussillon and Oporto still produce dark red wines which would be worthy accompaniments to Des Esseintes's black food. We might pause, however, over Tenedos. This island in the Aegean — according to Aeneas, the place where the Greeks hid their fleet to deceive the Trojans into thinking that they had actually abandoned Troy — did enjoy a reputation for its wines, but they could hardly have been imported into 19th-century Paris. Is Huysmans nodding here, and — moving from southern France to Spain as he seems to be doing — did he really mean to write "Penedès"? It is tempting to think so, because although the wines of Valdepeñas at least nowadays tend towards the lighter end of the spectrum, being a blend of red and white grapes, the region of Penedès, in the north-eastern corner of Spain, produces some exceptional reds. Perhaps the most arresting come from an area a little further down the coast, just beyond Tarragona. Here the burnt, volcanic soils of Priorato produce astonishing and uncompromising wines. 

Some years ago I bought some Priorato from John Armit, as part of a Spanish wine offer he was then running. I drank most of them far too young, but a few bottles got lost in a corner of the cellar. When I chanced on them again they were ten years old, and a complete revelation: still unfathomably dark in colour, but wonderfully complex in flavour and scent. They would have been the perfect accompaniment to Des Esseintes's dinner, and I urge you to try them for yourself — while of course hoping that you have a much more genuinely happy occasion on which to drink them.