I said to her, "I'm interested in the thing behind the thing. Like, not what it is but why it is. Like, there's wine. And it's sexy and people love the experience they have with wine. But I'm not interested in the sexiness. I'm interested in who owns the land. Talk to me about the cover crops. Tell me what the weather was like the day you harvested that one block. List the names of the bodies who worked the land. The thing behind the thing."
I never had one of those wine epiphanies. You know the ones sommeliers and wine aficionados claim to have had. Something like sitting in a candlelit cellar drinking a vertical of red burgundy.
I've been asked this question before: When did you fall in love with wine? I can't answer that question with a specific year or bottle or person. But I can tell you that, like everything else I have a passion for, it's something that has deepened with an authentic intentionality.
I no longer just drink wine. I study it. I look for the color in the glass. Hunt for the fruit and the spice. Wait for the tongue to tell me what's alive in each sip.
All of my self is engaged in the act and there is an appreciation for the artistry in its making.
It's storytelling in the juiciest way.
I think that's what I love about wine: Someone, somewhere, has put all of him or herself into creation.
And to be able to share in that creation is a gift.
So it's not really about wine. I mean, it is, but it isn't.
It's really about living.
Wine is just an extension of how I wish to be in the world: curious, present, embodied, and grateful. And always looking for the thing behind the thing.