You're Welcome. . .and I'm sorry

Fresh into my new role as the Wine Director, I see a table bring in a bottle of Antinori’s Tignanello. A smile can’t help but cross my face - one of my epiphany wines, my second one to be exact. Years ago, one sip of a 1997 Tignanello awoke my palate and I swear timelines shifted. Colors seemed brighter. The world felt larger. This is what an epiphany wine can do for your palate, brain, and in my case. . .life. It led me to think about epiphany moments; the wine, the conversation, and pouring a wine that becomes an epiphany wine for someone else.

Early in my wine enjoyment years, I sought out the richer styles of berries found in California Zinfandels and Late Bottle Vintage Port - rich and luscious. During a seemingly random pre-shift tasting at ObaChine, a Wolfgang Puck restaurant, the manager poured a taste of a Sang de Cailloux Vacqueyras, and my brain shifted. That same rich expression of berry fruit was there, but suddenly, memories of blackberry picking with my dad complete with thickets of thorns, scratched hands, sun-warmed fruit, the smell of earth all came rushing back. I could smell herbal notes too: rosemary, lavender, maybe even thyme. All from this one wine. I was immediately captivated. This was my first epiphany wine. I needed to know more and I’ve never looked back.

Not long after, I was conversing with guests at the opening party for the W Seattle - Earth & Ocean was just about to open, and Larry Stone, MS, was overseeing our wine program. He was nearby, mid-conversation, and I caught a brief comment that he was flying out the next morning to stock the private wine cellar for Prince Edward of England. Hold a moment, I thought, you can do things like this with this wine path? Again, I needed to know more. It was a passing comment, but it landed hard. It reframed what wine could be. Not just something we served or sold, but something people trusted. Something you could build a life around.

Then came the 1997 Tignanello – one of the first Super Tuscans. I don’t remember where I was or who I was with, I just remember the wine. It was the first bottle that felt entirely self-possessed. The fruit was expressed as cherry, plum, and maybe some dried fig. But it wasn’t about the flavors, it was the feeling that everything was exactly where it belonged. Quiet structure, worn leather, spice, a kind of calm clarity that didn’t need to be explained. That wine didn’t ask for attention - it already had it. Something shifted in me and I started to understand that wine wasn’t just about what was in the glass, but what it carried: memory, intention, place, and restraint. Tignanello taught me to take wine seriously. Not just study it, but respect it.

So, when a guest brought in the 2022 Tignanello on my third day in this new role, I smiled. Not because I expected it to be the same - it wasn’t. It didn’t have to be, it was a different wine in a different year for a different table. But for me, it was all connected. I saw the label, pulled the cork, and felt the thread running through everything: Sang de Cailloux, Larry Stone, the '97 Tignanello. I didn’t say any of this out loud. I just opened the bottle and poured. The moment was quiet, but meaningful.

Somewhere between those early experiences and this new chapter, I began seeing the same kind of moment happen for other people. The other night, I had a guest who’d just started exploring dessert wines. She had an apple tart in front of her; she asked me to surprise her, and I brought her a glass of Tokaji. She took a sip, and her eyes widened in a way that I recognized instantly - that electricity of discovery, when something new lands just right. I smiled and told her, “You’re welcome… and I’m sorry - Tokaji is an utterly delicious rabbit hole.” She laughed, took another bite with another sip. Watching her sit back for a moment, being fully present in her sensory experience and delight, reminded me why this work matters.

It’s easy to get caught up in allocation emails, margin calculations, and by-the-glass dilemmas. But then something like this happens, someone has their moment, and I remember what started it for me in the first place. Sang de Cailloux showed me that wine could speak of place. Larry Stone showed me it could shape a life. Tignanello showed me it could be art. Tokaji, most recently reminded me how powerful it is to offer that experience to someone else.

Sometimes you open a bottle.

Sometimes a bottle opens something in you.

What’s the bottle that changed everything for you?