For many years, I tasted and drank my wine from the same glasses–sturdy little stems that came six to the box for three bucks and change from Ikea. They were the right size, had a good shape, and withstood the dishwasher for years.

Then one day a stranger rode into town, and things changed forever.

The stranger's name was Don Restivo. He came to one of the Vancouver Playhouse wine festivals and conducted a sensory-surprise session, converting the skeptics, including your faithful correspondent. Restivo had made a pact with the devil to dazzle our palates. All right, not the devil but Riedel, one of the world's preeminent glassmakers.

At a seminar, Restivo did the damnedest thing. He poured the same wines into differently shaped glasses and turned our collective heads around. Yes, it made a difference: differently shaped bowls directed the wines to different parts of the palate, and the results were instantly–and amazingly–noticeable.

We left the seminar shaken, dazzled, sober–and poorer. These stems cost in the 'hood of 40, 50 bucks a pop. But many of us swallowed hard and laid out the cash. I've since replicated the tasting at home for wine lovers of every stripe–rank amateur to sophisticated pro–with the same astonishing results. I'm still trying to amortize the cost of the things by doing this party trick.

Restivo reappeared here in March with a new line of glasses called Oenology, from the no-less-redoubtable Mikasa. My first introduction to the company's contribution to the fascinating process of winetasting came at the hands of Tinhorn Creek proprietor and winemaker Sandra Oldfield, who delights in assembling a true blind tasting–the wines' labels hidden, of course, but also their colours. (Mikasa had produced a line of black stems; the eye couldn't tell if a wine was red or white.) Apparently, the absence of a visual reference caught many tasters, even those with professional palates, off guard.

Only a few tasters could correctly identify the six Tinhorn Creek wines Oldfield lined up by their varietal makeup. Were I a more modest person, I wouldn't state here that I was one of the few. Horn blowing is a lost art”¦ I replicated this tasting at home, too; smaller and simpler in scope, it nonetheless never failed to entertain.

But what Restivo brought to town the last time he appeared here wasn't black glasses, but break-resistant ones. Note the term: not unbreakable–there's probably no such thing, unless the glasses were made from something other than glass–but break-resistant. The last time I saw him, he demonstrated this by holding a glass by the stem and banging it on a tabletop. No breakage.

But that wasn't the most important thing about the Open Up tasting glasses; the clincher was the fact that they did what the Riedels of yore had done, only cheaper. Oh, we're not talking the wonderful six-to-a-box-for-three-bucks pricing I recall fondly from the brick-and-board bookshelves days, but not quite the dizzying price points of the Riedels.

Mikasa Oenology stems are made of "Kwarx Advanced Material" according to the sticker on the bottom. It's a proprietary manufacturing process I neither understand nor need to; after all, I enjoy driving my car without knowing how spark plugs work. What I have learned is that they don't have that irritating tendency to snap, crack, or pop when doing the after-the-dinner-party load-in or -out of the dishwasher. And for that, we give thanks to the science that made them so.

Aesthetically, the glasses fit the hand better than many outsized glasses, especially the Open Up Universal winetasting glass, a 13.5–ounce bowl (that's half a standard bottle, you know), which is really all you need in a tasting glass. Half a dozen of these and you're set for anything.

Let me admit to some personal Philistinism. Like most people, I hold my wineglass the wrong way–not by the stem (or, even more pretentious, by the base) but by the bowl. Yep, I cup my hand around that little goody and just gulp away. The Universal tasters take that into account and give you a pleasingly rounded shape with lots of surface for gripping the bowl. It warms the wine faster, but that impels you to drink up faster.

In summation, these glasses are killer. You don't feel you're in your aunt's drawing room, gagging on sweet sherry; you feel you're drinking wine. They are robust and sturdy, but seriously pretty for all that, and, just like those early Ikeas, they're for tasting and drinking, and good company at dinner. First time out, I had mine with fire-grilled asparagus–which, with its mercaptan, presents its own olfactory and gustatory challenges alongside any wine–and John Bishop's lamb shoulder with lentil stew, from his Fresh: Seasonal Recipes Made with Local Foods book, and it was a heavenly time.

Check with your glass merchant–I've always been a big fan of WH Puddifoot (2375 West 41st Avenue) for all things glassware–and treat yourself to a set of Universal winetasting glasses. Or someone you like even better.

And soon into the new year, I'll take you through a tasting of something else that's head-shakingly marvellous: the revolutionary new Breathable Glass from the German producer Eisch. If you want to have a set to taste along in January, you can find them at Herzog Crystal (Park Royal and 535 Howe Street), or Cookworks (377 Howe Street and 1548 West Broadway).

It may be best to do it before the credit-card charges show up in January. The glasses cost around $30 per stem, in packages of six, with an ultimate malt-whisky tasting glass for $40. If I find any fine single malt under the tree, I'll spring for one and see how it measures up to my old-country dram glass.