New York was a whirlwind. I debated on what to write about - the uncanny familiarity I felt walking Downtown, even though I’ve never been there, the resilient melting-pot mentality that is in such contrast with the current political environment, or the fascinating casual-cool restaurant scene that bridges the hot dog and kebab stands with the likes of Eleven Madison Park and Le Bernardin.  

But I came to New York for only one reason, and to not mention it will be a betrayal of my journey as a somm.  I came to New York for the Court of Masters Sommelier Certified exam, an exam that, in the somm world, is only but a baby step towards the great ladder of somm exams, where each tier leads to more impossibly difficult tiers.  

Yet, to me, it was a redemptive full circle, a cross-examination of my growth not only as a somm, but as a person.  It was my catching up, my taking back the reins, my steadiness in my confidence.  

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When I first began working in fine dining in Melbourne, I was so enthralled by the world of wine.  Fresh-faced and having just finished my Level 3 WSET, I was fascinated by the intense reverence my new colleagues had for the Court of Somm exams, no doubt propelled by the recently released documentary SOMM, where the nerdy, jargon-filled world of somming became hipster cool.  

The next CMS Certified exam was in a year, and we were eager to hit the books. Almost every Sunday I was at my mate’s house, both of us pouring over maps, wines in brown paper bags for blinds, discussing, debating, trying to make sense of wine laws and tasting notes, vineyard site dispositions and the formation of this ancient earth.  The more I studied the more I loved it - I was a student of not only wine, but history, geography, geology, politics and business. I had to learn to calibrate and sensitize my sense of smell and taste, understand flavours and textures that are foreign in every day life.  You DO start sniffing rocks, and licking it.  You DO learn the difference between the smell of band-aids, rubber hose, and petrol.  I’ve never had a gooseberry in my life, but somehow I imagined its scent in a Sauvignon Blanc.  It was an incredible journey of learning, when you are not only reading and thinking, but also using your senses to understand the subject and the living world from whence it came from.

Yet, by the time the scheduled Certified exam rolled in, things had changed.  A few colleagues had left, and the earlier sense of camaderie and inquisitiveness was replaced with arrogance and condescension, as we all became self-styled ‘experts’ more eager to correct and challenge each other than to collaborate.  The daily grind of work took presidence, and the early frenzied energy, the ambitous fervor, dissapated like champagne left out in the afternoon sun. As much as I loved my job, and all that came with it, I was tired.  I decided to get into yachting, lured by the travel, the money, the need for a new adventure.

Many alumni went on to do great things - a couple of them passed the Advanced Exam recently, surely on their way to becoming Masters of Wine; some moving on to work in wineries, some opening their own restaurants.  

Yet here I was, having left a career in wine, with nothing to show for it other than my visceral passion for it.  I longed to be with my peers, work in the high-pressure environment of a restaurant, write wine lists that are well thought out and engaging. I couldn’t stand the repetitive and constant ‘cleaning of clean things’ in the world of yachting.  I couldn’t understand the antiquated and fusty styles of service luxury yachts tend to adhere to.  It was a world I didn’t belong to, and don’t know how to be a part of. 

I don’t know why but I took it out on the one thing I loved the most.  I refused to read any wine books or do any self-study, but would act like I was the only authority on wine should the subject come up.  I would become embarrassingly overzealous when visiting nice restaurants, lest the somm didn’t recognize me as a ‘wino’.  I was, by the strictest sense, the worst of the wine snobs.  Deep down I wasn’t really even sure what I was angry at, but  this raging insecurity was eating at me.  I was jealous of my peers, and hated myself for it.  I was angry that my days were spent cleaning with q-tips and folding other people’s laundry, and this pride stopped me from actually enjoying the challenges and new experiences yachting provided. 

It took vineyard trips to Priorat, Sant Sadurni d’Anoia, and Tokay, to release me from my demons.  Winemakers have a way in humbling one schooled in wine - the resilience of the Priorat producers, the gentle genius of Ton at Recaredo, and the spirit and devotion of Tokay winemakers in the midst of post-communism - all gave me a different perspective of wine.   During the most recent tour in Tokay, I found myself in a conversation with Robert Peter of Abraham in Erdobenye, a philosophy graduate and self-taught winemaker.

Wine has always had a way in brewing heart to heart conversations amongst strangers, and I began my road back after that conversation.  I realized that my life is unique - my winding road, my meandering - does not diminish my passion, my love, my absolute obsession with wine.  It fact, it made me realize it was a deeper love, not catered by a rung in the success ladder, or means to show off a trophy.  It is a purer love, based simply on how the grapes tasted in a particular season, the stories they tell for each passing year, their expression of it, and how I can help spread their tales.

***

I signed up for the Introductory Examination right after coming back to Fort Lauderdale, our new base, from Budapest.  Having passed that, I scoured for the Certified Examination in the US for dates that would align with work, and booked it with, dare I say, relative excitement.  

The exam is in three parts - theory, tasting, and service. The theory prep, I was ready for.  I poured over Jancis, Guildsomm, Wine-searcher and all the individual regions’ websites.  I knew the questions were going to be tricky - the CMS exams were like pop-quizzes, where you never really quite know what they will ask you.  I was most worried about tasting - I did a line up of aromatic whites and realized how badly tuned I was, marking acidity, oakiness and weight all over the place.  Service, however, was going to be a piss-take.  If there was one thing I knew I would be good at, it’s going to be service.  

The exam was held in upstate New York, in a tiny town called Poughkeepsie, in one of the restaurants of the Culinary Institution of America (CIA). I think I felt all the emotions in the world - the three-part exam was stretched out to a full day - more than enough time for one to flip back and forth from relief and positivity, to dread and downright fear.  At one point, I was so sure I was going to fail, that I called James up and ranted like a psycho in the midst of the beautifully manicured gardens of CIA, certain my nerves and stupidity during the service component had screwed up my chances of receiving that much coveted purple pin.  At the end, I resorted to a sneaky beer in the student-run cafe to calm my nerves, with only daydreams of that bottle of Selosse champagne I’ve brought along with me, to be opened regardless of celebration or consolation.

As I sat there, sick to my stomach awaiting the results that at one point, would have defined me, I stumbled onto my newfound mantra - the vine needs to be subjected to hardship in order to produce great grapes, and a great producer is one that can make great wines from both good and bad vintages. 

At that instant, I realized that I wasn’t here to be examined only for my knowledge or my skill, but also for my heart, my dedication to the craft, my confidence in what I’m passionate about.  Receiving this pin would be amazing, but it does not define me.  

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**Blog posts are not necessarily in chronological order, and is based on travel notes and fond memories.