We are, effectively, accidental vintages defined by our own personal terroir—that chaotic intersection of place, timing, and atmosphere. We are shaped by the specific soil in which we are planted, gaining structural complexity from the rocky periods and a certain roundness from the good years. It is the stress, after all—much like a vine struggling at altitude—that provides our necessary tannins; without a little struggle, the result is often terribly bland. We absorb our environment through a kind of spiritual osmosis, picking up behavioral notes from the books we read or the company we keep, much like a grape inherits hints of slate or sea air. Naturally, consistency is a myth; we all endure our poor vintages where the harvest is best forgotten. And as for maturity? Well, getting older is no guarantee of improvement—merely a higher probability of gathering dust.

So what, then, are my tasting notes?

You’ll find photography and travel writing alongside philosophy and technical analysis—the soft and the structured, the wandering and the rigorous. Not everything here will be easy drinking. Some entries are meant to sit with you, to develop complexity as they breathe. The technical deep-dives exist to prove that even fermentation follows rules, that there’s discipline beneath the drift.

Pour yourself something. Let’s begin.