Drunk on DeVine is a wine-soaked diary of misadventures, mispronunciations, and the occasional grape-induced identity crisis.
Written by someone stumbling through the world of wine one glass at a time, this blog serves up unfiltered stories, brutally honest lessons, and the kind of wine wisdom you won’t find in a textbook. If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by tasting notes or confused by terroir—but still love a good glass of red—you’re in the right place.
Grab a glass and check out my latest blog posts below!
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.
A few years ago, when I first dipped my toes into the world of wine, I found myself at a consumer tasting in Vail with my husband and his dad. Back then, I knew next to nothing about wine, yet somehow I was out here "educating" people on our New Zealand wines and a friend’s French rosé.
Sometimes, you put in the work and don’t bear the fruit of your labor—in my case, grapes.
