I'm not sure when I became a side-eye-loving hater of all things "picture perfect." I think it was around two and a half in Mena, AR but, again, it’s hard to say. However, I have committed. In art school, I remember a rudimentary composition class that emphasized the importance of placement but also exclusion (i.e Dorothea Lange’s Migrant Mother). We looked at photographs before the final edit and something in me was crushed. The concept that everything is a construct and we as humans can shape almost any reality was suddenly so clear.

Since then what is excluded has always been more relatable to me. TO FRANCE: one thing that struck me was the strong support system that many winemakers (ie, the names on the labels) have. Herve Villemade’s team pouring the massive line up at his table, Thierry Puzelat's daughter, Zoe, explaining Clos du Tue Bœuf to a large group of people with unfiltered humor in French and English, or the quiet, consistent support of Adrien’s Baloche’s blonde-haired friend. If you weren’t there, you'd never know.

Yes, Les Capriades was king, Labet was powerful, and the Loire reigned supreme. But what I liked most about the trip was watching. When you're there, you make your own lens. It can be as blurry or as straight edge as you want. I saw that even the most revered travel in packs and need validation. And though maybe not always seen stateside, women are respected badasses in France and beyond. Blah, blah, blah...next year, I'll have less imposter syndrome, speak more, and learn not as much.

- Rebekah Pineda

We are all so conditioned to fight for our success that we often skip over our missed opportunities. But this is the moment where we should reflect on times where we could have done more, spoken up, and taken action. And I know that I’m not alone in feeling that I have had some shortcomings when it comes to inclusion in wine.
 
A little background for you: While I claim Pittsburgh as home, I did a bit of growing up in Charlotte, NC in a suburban neighborhood where we were the only Black family for years. Houses had ample yards, and each backyard was seemingly a small forest. At that time in my life, I was known for athletics and academics, which often times gave me a pass that even some of my white friends wouldn’t get. I lived in a world of privilege that I did not care to see or even acknowledge. Breaking into the nearby pool to swim at midnight? Cops drove me home. Smashing mailboxes? The cops laughed and sent me on my way. I was trained not to see that my treatment was different from anyone else’s experiences.
 
Even my foray into wine has been laden with opportunities that I now see others who look like me have not received. Small things like tasting invites, or larger things like having your restaurant asked to host awards.
 
Earlier in my career, I never took the time to look around to see that I was either the only, or one of two people of color, instead enjoying and embracing my O.N.I.F.C. status. Or maybe I was just too selfish to care. I was too busy focusing on being in the room to remember to hold the door for anyone behind me. But I’m here now, eyes open, willing to share my past deficiencies to show that we can all be guilty of not doing enough.
 
What matters now is that we’re shifting the focus to highlight the places and people that we neglected before.  We must make up for lost time and failed inclusion—there is a duty for each and every one of us, myself included, to make sure we remember that we did not get here without support, and now it is time to support people who have been overlooked for far too long. Growth is seeing beyond yourself.

Eric Moorer is a sommelier, was part of the opening team at Domestique, and is our Director of Sales.

I'm a born contrarian. Not argumentative, mind you. But just always looking for an alternative approach, a third way. Coming up, I was raised to be Bougie AF. And I often went along with it...at times, quite happily. But when the Elders weren't looking, I was sometimes prone to acting out, trying out, showing out. I was a curious girl who always felt compelled to explore.

When I graduated college, worried that I might be constrained to a life of predictability, I knocked on the kitchen door of a restaurant I adored (the D.C. institution, Restaurant Nora), and asked for a job. They obliged, and my work in food and hospitality (and ultimately, wine) commenced.

I am forever indebted to that opportunity because it validated my natural desire to challenge the status quo, while also demanding that I do so within the professional sphere. As restaurateurs, the Pouillon-D'Amato clan worked relentlessly to address dissonance within American food pathways, and were key players in creating a market for organic, local ingredients. Food should be joyful and nourishing, yes. But food could also be a mission; and food in America was inherently political. This sense of purpose gave me the strength to begin to carve out my own path. And I needed that strength, because as a first-generation West Indian American, great things were expected, and food and service were clearly perceived as a step backward. Yet, I couldn't shake it. I was inspired.

I made my way back to New York, where I was raised, and worked in some fantastic places. A barrage of important restaurants, a bread company, a food consultant...wherever I felt drawn in by feeling part of a community and a larger purpose. Believing that I had already disappointed my family actually liberated me to do whatever I pleased. But wine was not initially on my radar. To me, it reeked of elitism and was filled with people who didn't look like me. But surprisingly, via the encouragement, support and mentoring of many of those people who didn't look like me, white men like Joe Dressner, Terry Theise and Charlie Woods; and white women like Beth von Benz and Anita Katzman, I began to work as a bona fide wine professional. This was before the obsession with credentials and certifications, before anyone dare utter the misguided honorific, "celebrity somm." The business was filled with people who also seemed to be disappointing their folks. And yet they were impassioned, inspired and caring. I had found my tribe.

A life-changing moment occurred at a luncheon with Michel Chapoutier. While he remains a titan of the industry, in those days, he was also a bit of a renegade: the stubbly Braille on dem labels espousing less-heralded varieties like Roussanne and what-not. In those days, I was usually the only person of color in the room, and also one of the few women. As we dined and imbibed in the lovely garden room of the old Provence in Soho, I snuck a peek at his hands. Callused. Pillowy and well-tended, but definitely callused in spots. That sighting was one of a string of road signs that told me that I belonged in this world. His hands reminded me of my grandfather, a farmer in Saint Catherine, Jamaica, whose own callused hands tended to pigs and sugar cane. Honest men doing honest work. Were grapes really so different than bananas? I decided they weren't.

We are currently experiencing a reckoning both in this country and within the wine industry. It's necessary. It's overdue. My path was truly not the normal one, particularly for women of color. I was lucky. I was impetuous. I was strangely confident. I thank my mother and my grandmother for that brash sense of entitlement. But honestly, the path to wine shouldn't just be open to heedless Black girl knuckleheads as some one-off. It should be an open and welcoming job path for anyone who seeks it, whether they run into the "right" folks en route or not. Whether they have something to prove, or just want to earn a paycheck in a pretty fun way. Whether they want to be big stars...or just be part of a tribe, that in its best expression, feels a lot like family.

Lee Campbell is a wine consultant and sommelier based in Brooklyn.

APPLY HERE

ABOUT

Streetsense is an experience-focused strategy and design collective that creates brands people love and places people love to be. We are unified by an approach that is people-centered and design-led and are powered by an uncommon team ranging in expertise from interiors to branding, real estate to hospitality. Learn more at streetsense.com or follow us @realstreetsense

Domestique is a natural wine store based in Washington, DC. We (only) work with producers who use organic and biodynamic agriculture and minimal intervention in the cellar to make real wine. We're here in service of these producers. Learn more at domestiquewine.com or follow us @domestiquewine

Patrick has been shopping at Domestique since we opened. He came in often specifically looking for bubbles (Marnes Blanches Cremant and Capriades, among others). After chatting a bit, we learned he was making his own cider in Virginia. He came down for a tasting with Benoit Lesuffleur in July of 2019 and brought some samples. Almost a year has passed since then and we're so excited to carry his first bottling. He's doing everything himself: harvesting wild fruit, trialing no spray practices in an old-growth orchard, and fermenting with little/no SO2 in a couple hundred square feet of warehouse space. It’s very small scale, with roughly 425 cases total production for 2019.

The pear cider is absolutely delightful and is what we want to drink on the patio all summer long. The acid is present and lively without being overpowering. And the bubbles! They are soft and delicate; they don't just dissipate after five minutes open. Cider is what we've been craving recently as the weather warms up and we're hunting something to pair with dehydrated bike rides. And this one is perfect. Below, Patrick shares a little bit about his process, his background, and Virginia. It's a pretty fascinating read.

I was in the mood for Coronation Chicken Salad sandwiches for some reason, but I made do with what I had in the fridge and some sourdough from the freezer, and came up with curried egg salad tartines.

INGREDIENTS
Scallions (if not ramps or other coveted spring alliums), reserve some green tips for garnish
Crab Apple Mostarda (Casa Forcella from Lombardy, highly recommended, or sub mango chutney)
Radishes, diced
Large eggs
Unsalted butter
Madras Curry powder (or Vadouvan)
Labneh (or full fat Fage, Skyr, etc.)
Sourdough bread slices

PREPARATION No measurements needed, trust your instincts. Smash and char scallions in a dry cast iron skillet, add a bit of oil just at the end to blacken, then mince. Stir mostarda thoroughly into labneh. Dice radishes. Cook eggs in boiling water for seven minutes, then shock in an ice bath until cooled; yolk should be jammy and not runny. Toast bread. Bloom curry powder in hot melted butter, add eggs (cut in half), minced scallion, diced radish, and fold together with a fork until well combined.

Schmear toast with mostarda-labneh mixture then top with scoops of egg salad, garnish with sliced scallion.

WINE PAIRING Domaine La Loue Chardonnay 2015. This is among the few sleeper Jura whites remaining, made by Catherine Hannoun, a film producer (worked on brilliant Mondovino documentary on globalization in wine in the late 20th century) who after guidance from her friend Manu Houillon (of Domaine Overnoy) began a micro-domain of her own in the Jura.

This Chardonnay comes from parcels of gray marl in Pupillin, fermented in steel tanks then raised in neutral barrels for over a year. Open this bottle a good hour in advance of serving; there are notes of honey and buttered pastry, followed by golden apple and preserved lemon, with a chiseled mineral and savory finish. An impeccably fresh and precise wine that plays well off the pungent fruit of the mostarda and creamy/chalky labneh, along with the richly spiced and buttered egg salad.

- Saman Hosseini

I've been thinking a lot recently about rituals. As humans, we perform rituals because they help us structure and control our inherently chaotic existence and confront the illusion of time. We make coffee at 7:05am every morning, we purge our closets when spring arrives, we always read the Style section first on Thursdays. 

Celebrations are built upon ritual. My older son, Nat, is going to turn five years old in a few weeks. He's at that age where birthdays take on supreme significance. He's been looking forward to his birthday for six months now. About two months ago, he started telling me, "Dad, Coronavirus will definitely be done by the time it's my birthday." And then a few weeks ago, it changed to, "Dad, I think it will be okay if I can't have a big party with my friends, as long as we celebrate at home and I still get a Nerf blaster."

The other day at our house, we saw our next door neighbors outside playing a game with their kids and one other family. They were all wearing the same color. Nat stood at the window watching intently, not saying a word (which never, ever happens) as the small party pinned tails on paper dinosaurs and ate cupcakes and danced. He seemed shaken, pensive, but also oddly accepting, despite the fact that he hasn't seen a friend in person in almost three months. That acceptance was crushing. Eventually Nat walked away from the window and quietly sat down to dinner. We realized it was the neighbor's eldest son's fifth birthday that day.

Alcohol and ritual go hand in hand. Champagne toasts at weddings, beers after a long bike ride, whiskey shots on birthdays, bottles emptied onto the street for lost friends. Business deals and Roman sacrifices alike revolve around the presence of alcohol.

One thing that we've been focused on learning more about recently is sake. I'll readily admit that sake is the area of beverage that I know the least about. It's always intimidated me somewhat. The other week, I was having a discussion with Lane Harlan of Baltimore's Fadensonnen, a beautiful natural wine and sake bar, and she touched upon the value of serving rituals for sake. Lane explained how, from ceramic drinkware to how it's poured to careful manipulation of temperature, ritual is closely tied to the sensory experience of sake. That ritual is likely much of the reason for my intimidation.

And below we're lucky to have Monica Samuels, one of the world's leading sake experts, writing about the confluence of Japanese sake and natural wine. She picks out a few sakes to help guide any natural wine drinkers, like us, who may be newer to the experience.

One of the many things we've lost because of COVID-19 is ritual, especially the ritual of celebration. There are no weddings, bars, or funerals. But we have a chance to find some new, slower rituals these days. At our house, we'll be having "corn-a-macob" and steak for Nat's birthday, at his request.  Because a June birthday also means the beginning of summer, and all of the rituals that that entails. Hopefully we'll carry some of these smaller rituals with us when the old ones come back too. 

-Jeff Segal

The sun warms planet Earth to a perfect 72 degrees Fahrenheit and the birds signal the triumph of spring. Persephone is seemingly unfazed by COVID-19. It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon and if I ever needed an excuse to celebrate a season, this is it. Listening to my stomach as my sunbathing brain starts to shut down, I’m immediately reminded of the Ferris Wheel-style car park scene from The Fast And The Furious: Tokyo Drift when Google confirms that Oohh’s & Aahh’s is indeed THEE spot for catfish in D.C. 

If that reference is lost, here's a recap: the Christian hip hop duo Grits' hit single “Ooh Aah (My Life Be Like)” serenades the audience just as Twinkie’s custom Hulk-themed Volkswagen Touran I cascades onto the screen. But it’s not four wheels descending onto my phone as I scroll, rather an entree of fried filets of catfish. I click ‘order now’ and watch the clock with adolescent eagerness.

Fast-forward to a platter of the house favorite fried catfish, cabbage with carrots, and the obvious side, macaroni and cheese. I hear angels as I open the Styrofoam and prepare for paradise. But first, pet nat. 

I opt for a sparkling Sauvignon Blanc from Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand, Supernatural Wine Co’s “The-Super-Nat.” It pours a cloudy, honey mustard yellow and sits in the glass like Dole’s pineapple juice right out of the can. The theme of tropical fruit interlaces the aromas of apple and lemon rind. On the palate, I'm greeted with a warm spice akin to a ginger shot that just rinsed down freshly made baked goods and grapefruit. Then I'm promptly introduced to acid and minerals that remains long after I gulp. 

The crisp citric acid cuts through the fats of melted cheese and fried batter that I’ve lathered in Tartar sauce, allowing the catfish to sing a sweet solo of fresh, flakey, whitefish flavor. My lunch be like Ooh Aah…