A small vineyard,
three bottles, five people.

Right out of college, I moved to San Francisco knowing almost no one. The first time I went to Napa, with my mom, we visited one of the big, prestigious houses — tiny pours, sterile room, the winemaker nowhere in sight, and a clear rush to get us out the door. I remember thinking: why does this feel like nothing?

Then we ran into a couple of my mom's old high school friends, who talked us into ditching my very Type A+ itinerary for a small, off-the-beaten-path vineyard called Paradigm. Best decision I made that whole trip. Greg, one of the winemakers there, opened three bottles of Napa cab for the five of us, split a box of pizza, and just let everyone say what they actually tasted — no script, no "correct" answer. People described flavors from their own childhoods, some I'd never even heard of.

That's how this story began. Wine is not just a pairing for me. It's a piece of history that I can share with friends, a story that speaks for itself, and a way to evoke a sense of community, regardless of where I am. Sitting around that table, I felt more at home than I had since leaving New York.

I kept going back to Napa, kept going back to Paradigm, and eventually that pull turned into 4.5 months at the Institute of Culinary Education and a Court of Master Sommeliers Level 2 Certified Sommelier exam. Now I get to build that same feeling for other people's tables.