Raquel

Gudde Moien, as we say in Luxembourg.

Today, I’m sharing my submission to Jancis Robinson’s 2023 Wine Writing Competition (WWC23) which recently concluded the shortlist period—congratulations to all of the writers who were shortlisted!

The theme this year was, “My favourite wine person”. It could be about anyone, 500 - 2,000 words.

I discovered the competition a few days before the 31 May deadline. After thinking of who I could write about—the obvious being a historical figure or someone I admire in the industry—I landed on my friend, Raquel. My favorite things about wine are the stories and people, and co-created stories are simply more meaningful to me than those of people whom I have never met.

I jammed out a draft in just under an hour. After a quick round of edits, I submitted it with plenty of time to spare the day before. (I never know which side of midnight a midnight deadline refers to.)

While my submission did not make the shortlist (womp), all things considered I am still pleased with how it turned out and I think it’s worth sharing. I like the cadence and how succinctly it captured what I had in mind. My favorite thing about it though is that it is first and foremost a portrait of friendship.

Big thank you to Raquel for agreeing to not only be written about, but also for helping me quickly edit and to share her likeness. A private person, the tiny pixels in the montage below are among the few of her that exist.

I hope you enjoy reading as you contemplate your favorite wine person.

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My Favorite Wine Person

“...stewed prunes.”

“Robitussin.”

“Stewed prunes AND Robitussin!”

My favorite wine person is my friend, Raquel. Two Americans abroad, we first met when I went to interview for a job where she worked in Luxembourg. She was the team assistant who came to collect me from reception. I was the candidate looking to extend my stay in Europe after a botched experience at Amazon EU.

I got the job and started at the end of the year. The first paycheck barely landed in my bank account in time for rent, and just before I burned through the last euro of my emergency fund. A Christmas miracle.

Over the following months, we came to get to know each other, as she had taken on new tasks that put us in closer collaboration over a project gone awry. Blood may be thicker than water, but trauma-bonded co-workers are thick as thieves.

It wasn’t until a rare, sunny day when we decided to duck out and go to the park with a bottle of grocery rosé that we really got to know each other. She grew up on the east coast. I grew up in SoCal. She had moved to Luxembourg for love and marriage. I had moved to start a new life after divorce. The stories flowed as the bottle drew down and the sun set. We became friends.

We are still colleagues and friends, but now it’s more like friends and colleagues. Over the years, we’ve pursued a shared interest in wine, travel, wine and travel, and leveling up both as we try and learn more.

Just before COVID, I decided to study wine formally and managed to get through WSET Level 3 despite the interminable stutter-stepped rollout and repeal of restrictions. She never studied, but it doesn’t matter. Her nose and palate are still better. When I taste, I always want her with me. She can pinpoint things that are only just foggy images in my mind. She articulates what is on the tip of my tongue.

She also gets my weird wine vocab. When I say:

“The tannins are bricky to quite-bricky.”

She knows they’re aggressively green and drying. Like how your tongue would feel if you were to lick a brick.

When I say:

“I’m getting hints of Narnia wardrobe.”

She knows I think it’s old world. Probably a Bordeaux or Burgundy with some age on it.

And she can communicate back to me in my language. When she says:

“Haribo peach rings.”

“No! Mango gummies from the Asian store.”

I know exactly what flavor she means, and that it’s a yummy dessert wine she’ll probably end up buying. She loves mangos.

And so, we’ve continued on this way for the past seven, going on eight years. Every time we find something new, we want to share it with each other. And sometimes when we drink something our old selves used to enjoy, we see how much we have changed.

When offered champagne recently, Raquel asked what it was. Moët.

It took only one look:

“Trash!”

“Trash!”

We went for the rosé instead.

If you liked this, be sure to subscribe and share with your favorite wine person❤️