This week, my wine adventures have been about as exciting as watching paint dry—quite ironic given the frenzy of preparation for my upcoming CMS wine exams. My knowledge of wine regions now feels encyclopaedic, yet somehow still insufficient. In times when focus is paramount, indulging in wine becomes more of a delightful distraction than a dutiful study aid.
But tonight, as the cold creeps in and a hearty shepherd’s pie bubbles away on the stove, I decided to take a study break and crack open a bottle from my collection—a souvenir from my jaunt to Adelaide late last year.
Do you ever revisit the music of your teenage years and cringe? Personally, I endured a Lana Del Rey phase that my Spotify recommendations are determined to remind me of until the end of time. Listening to those melancholic tunes takes me back to my 17-year-old self’s world: all tragic romance and brooding angst. It’s a comical reminder of how far I’ve come since then.
This wine from Adelaide stirs up similar feelings. It’s the Pike & Joyce 2022 Pinot Noir ‘Clonal Selection 777’. Hailing from Lenswood in the Adelaide Hills, it’s part of their ‘Clonal Selection’ range, which “[showcases] the best performing clones and their traits for that vintage.” When I first tasted this wine in August last year, I declared it the most savoury of the bunch—a trait I enjoy in Pinot Noirs.
Yet, it’s not just the savoury notes or the terroir expression, nor the nostalgic memories of my trip that this bottle evokes. Instead, it prompts a reflection on my career and how my understanding of wine has transformed.
Back in August last year, I was in Adelaide, nervously awaiting my WSET Level 3 results and gearing up for a stint at Melbourne’s swankiest new restaurant. My days were a dreamy blur of winery visits, lounging on deserted beaches, napping on cool sands, wandering through markets, and dabbling in eclectic reads: Aristotle, old Hollywood glamour, essays on love, depression, and travel.
At that time, I was blissfully unaware of the rollercoaster ahead. My first sommelier position proved to be a steep learning curve. I arrived at work hours early, meticulously studying the wine list to prove I deserved to don the sommelier suit. Within three months, our restaurant bagged two hats from the Good Food Guide and was hailed as the Best New Restaurant of the Year.
Since then, I’ve made significant strides in both knowledge and connections. The wine that once charmed me with its savoury character now presents itself as fruit-driven and plush, with a whisper of herbaceousness on the finish. It’s a well-crafted wine, but not one I’d necessarily pick for myself now. This shift relfects how my tastes—and tasting skills—have evolved since then. I enjoy this wine as a marker of personal and professional progress. I work in a beautiful venue with a wonderful team, I try exceptional wines every day and am surrounded by people eager to impart their knowledge and help me succeed. In short, life is better than I could have hoped for in August, and drinking this wine reminds me to be deeply grateful for how things have changed.
