I was picking up a prescription and nearby I saw a new Italian restaurant. I wanted to go in and look at their menu, but they weren’t open yet, just setting up for the evening service. So I drove on. In the shopping center I noticed a nice collection of restaurants the landlords had amassed. A nice Asian spot. A polished casual place. A brewery/pizza/coffee house. A family taco court. And the new Italian spot. And I thought to myself, when I moved into this neighborhood a generation ago, there was nothing here. Nothing. Suffice to say, progress had been made.
Further down the road on the way to the market where I was going, there is another shopping center. Here there is a very serviceable Tex-Mex place and a smash burger place that is commendable. I have enjoyed eating at both places and will return. But I was going to the supermarket (Ed. note: not the artificial market!).
While parking I noticed a newish pizza joint that has been getting quite a lot of buzz lately. It was 4-ish and I walked in. On the way in, zoomers were busily capturing the front of the place, the seats in front of the place, the front door, the signs, and themselves, ostensibly for another viral TikTok video.
Inside, the seating host greeted me. I told them I lived in the neighborhood and wanted to just take a quick look at the wine list (not the food menu). She looked at me quizzically, and I noticed a micro expression that registered as surprise: Why the wine list? She handed it to me and proclaimed, “You are going to be impressed!” — full of confidence and bluster. The place, only open a few minutes, was full. Full! Pizza was being delivered to tables and the bar; the place was hopping. They were on their way to probably 200+ covers in their 11-table (+bar) spot. So, they were getting busy and there was palpable excitement in the air.
I looked over the wine list and indeed, there were some wonderful selections. Some from places I knew and had been to in Italy multiple times. Friends who made those wines. But not so unusual for a guy who has been to Italy 60+ times and ran the Italian wine portfolio for a number of distributors, large and small, over a 40-year career. Not bragging, just stating the facts. And facts are important in this little tale.
I handed the list back to the host, whereupon she told me the owner was very well versed in Italian wines, and intimated that her boss was unparalleled in her knowledge of Italian wine. (Admittedly, the host had no idea I had been responsible for first bringing into Texas about half of the wines on the list — in her unbridled enthusiasm she was unknowingly intent on teaching this fish how to swim.) There is probably a pithy Danny Meyer dictum out there to parse this — I will just go with: “Know thy customer.”
But it didn’t end there. The host went on to say the owner was a master sommelier. I wanted to say, “Is her name Barbara or Melissa?” which are the first names of the two female master sommeliers in Dallas. But I didn’t. I just said, “Are you sure about that? I know who all the master sommeliers are in this town.” (I do.) Another micro expression. (Was it an “Oh shit” one? Pretty close to that.) But she looked up at the wall and said something to the effect that maybe it was another master certification. (Is there a master of wine in Dallas? Yes, and her name would be Dilek.) But I attempted to extract myself, knowing that, as an old white male boomer, it was not meant to be for me to win this argument. It would just come off as patriarchal and condescending, even if it was in defense of the truth. So I just said, “The truth will serve you better in the long run. And in reality, one doesn’t need to be a master sommelier to assemble a good wine list for a pizzeria in Dallas — it’s irrelevant.”
“Have a nice day,” she bid me adieu (with the micro expression screaming, “and don’t let the door hit you on the way out”).
I walked out of there remembering an incident in Houston that happened 20 years ago when a con man tried to tell everyone he was a master sommelier. Coincidentally, a close friend of mine there had just gotten his MS pin. So I called him up and let him know he wasn’t alone. One could imagine the dustup that caused at the Court of Master Sommeliers. The con man was discredited, rightfully, and order returned to the universe. For a minute.
On my drive to my next stop, Whole Foods, I called an old friend, who was the original Italian wine guy in this town. And I related my story. He laughed and put the phone on speaker so his partner could also sit in on the convo. “Oh yeah, we were there the other night and they told us the same thing — the owner is a master sommelier.” Really? (Ed. note: why not a Super sommelier?)
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| One of the world's only master sommelier and master of wine along with another master sommelier friend of mine, who doesn't give a hang about postnominals. |
Why would someone, in these times, put forth such a preposterous assertion, when it can be truth-checked in seconds on those devices in our pockets/purses? What does it aim to do? Differentiate one’s place from Domino’s? Look, as I said, one doesn’t need to be a master anything to write a good wine list these days. But why claim something that will only draw out bad inferences about the integrity of a place, especially knowing that, to keep a place open and running, even the bright and shiny new place of the moment needs to keep the lights on past the honeymoon period? Just say something like, “Our owner is a longtime sommelier (and that means working the floor, not passing a test). And through extensive research, study, travel and enthusiasm, she has assembled a noteworthy (and impressive!) wine list to go with our handmade food. We are very proud of it.” Period.
But we are living in a time and a world where it doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or not — what matters is if you can stick the landing.
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