It started at a table in Napa,
with a box of pizza.

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 the Court of Master Sommeliers Level 2 Certified Sommelier exam.

I still choose every wine myself. But the point was never the bottle. It was five people at a table, nobody rushing anyone, everyone saying what they actually thought. That's the night I'm trying to throw every time, for whoever's coming to yours.