I may not be a sommelier, but I’ve spilled enough wine to know what’s worth drinking—welcome to Drunk on DeVine!
Okay, confession time: I haven’t written in a while. Life got busy, the wine kept calling, and apparently “keep a blog up to date” wasn’t high on the list. But here I am, slightly more sober than last week, ready to fill you in on what’s been happening lately...wine-themed, of course.
When Dominic and I were in a NZ, we ended up living in Hawke’s Bay for some time. I expected wine. I expected scenery. I expected skipping whimsically through rows of Sauv like some sort of fermentation fairy.
There’s something that’s been on my mind lately: perception. Specifically, how much I hate it. I know this is dramatic, but stick with me.
Wine glasses have been having a moment in my life lately. Not in the “I’m upgrading to hand-blown Austrian crystal” kind of way—more like the “How did I suddenly end up with a mismatched army of wine glasses?” kind of way.
When it was time to go back to America, my mother-in-law, Jenny, dropped Dominic and me off at the airport. Before leaving, she gave each of us a nice hug and, to me, she said:
One unforgettable day during harvest in Hawke’s Bay, I accidentally drank wine from a hose. But let me back up.
You don’t have to be a sommelier to love wine—I’m living proof. Wine has been my hobby (or excuse for day drinking) for years now. With a last name like Devine and a Kiwi husband in the wine business, not loving wine would just be rude.
Am I an expert? Absolutely not. I’ve spilled wine at fancy dinners, had nights where I couldn’t handle my piss, somehow earned a couple of WSET certifications, and paired more wine with laughter than with actual food.
If you’re here for snob-free wine talk, relatable mishaps, and learning alongside someone who still swirls her glass a little too aggressively—welcome to Drunk on DeVine! Let’s drink, learn, and probably spill a little along the way.
Cheers,
Reagan "Rae" Devine
