If ignorance is bliss, why was this SO stressful?!

Alright, so... I can’t resist anymore. This story must be told. Absolutely necessary. For those of you who I haven’t told yet: I went to France for Semana Santa to visit a friend that I haven’t seen in FOREVER and his family. I wanted to bring something nice, and seeing as I live in Catalunya, there are some very nice Cavas floating around. I decided that that would make for an enjoyable gift without being too ostentatious or flimsy. A happy medium... Anyways, I know nothing (NOTHING) about decent Cavas, so I started asking around for some advise. The strange thing was that the conversation usually followed a typical pattern:
Cavas, eh?
insert opinion
Who is it for? FRENCH PEOPLE?!?!?!
correction to former opinion
a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...)
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
Emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.
Hmmm... what was the big deal, guys? I think (thought) there was some unnecessary exaggeration going on until I saw this: (its in Spanish, but not hard to get the general idea)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1SjNkomh20&feature=channel_page

I laughed when I saw it... and then realized why I was getting SO much concern and advise. Yep. I was then promptly scared. OH! NO! What if it tastes BAD? OR WORSE: if I like it and they DON’T??
Action had to be taken! AND FAST! so, I went to the only restaurant that was names and bought a bottle of semi-sec rosado... there... no more need to worry. I could put it out of my mind and prepare other things for the trip (like actually buying a reservation on the train...).
I continued my week in innocent bliss, until the day I left for Tarragona (a sort of, pre-trip trip) my host mom barged into the room, located my bottle and studied in in deep and reserved silence. I sat nervously... “Hmm...” she said after a couple of minutes “I’ve never heard of this brand” (*heart sinks* expletive... that can’t be good) “What is it?”... *finger rolls over the label* “SeMi-SeC?!”

a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.

this was beginning to look a bit familiar... So, I made it a productive familiarity. After the brand I chose was officially labeled a “caca” and a disgrace to Catalunya, I demanded names... and where I could find them. A list of names were rattled off at break neck speed... *blank stare* I scrounged around in my desk and finally emerged with a piece of paper and a pen. Pushing them in her direction, I asked her to write them down so I wouldn’t forget. (When in reality, I was tempted to give up the whole business and take something else). I stuffed the paper into my bag and ran to the train station, just barely having enough time to stop by a local cafe (and my favorite) to pick up some coco (coconut, I know... confused me too) balls from Sevilla (made by monks... awesome!).
“There,” I thought to myself on the train, “screw cava! I’m taking this instead!”
Well, as you already know: it was raining on Tarragona when I got there, but determined to sight-see despite the weather, I ran around. After a while, I got tired of being soaked and cold, so I ducked into a bodega (drink store) and saw one of the brands on that had been recommended. The price was reasonable, so I bought it... and then walked around with it all day... and then took it home to Barcelona... and then took it on the train the next day... and then walked around Montpellier with it... and then took it back onto the train. When it FINALLY made it into the hands of my hosts, I was beyond scared. The bottle had undergone some hardcore transportation over the past few days, and seeing as cava is essentially spanish sparking wine, it was probably more fit for christining a new boat than drinking. I nervously watched in the car praying it wouldn’t explode. It didn’t *phew*...
We waited a few days, and then tried it (sans explosion, thank goodness!). I do believe they enjoyed it. If not,... at least they didn’t call it a “caca”.