A master’s student in winemaking recently asked me what people struggle with most when learning about wine. My answer surprised even me—not because I didn’t know, but because after saying it out loud, I realized how deep the problem runs.

The real struggle isn’t tannins or terroir or whether to swirl clockwise. The real struggle is this: Americans have been taught to approach wine the way we approach athletic shoes or schools for our kids. We want to know which one is BEST. We want the shortcut to the ONE.

And I’m done being polite about it.

The Question Everyone Asks

“What’s your favorite wine?”

I hear it constantly. It’s always the first question. And what people are really asking is: Tell me which wine to buy so I know I’m doing it right.

They want validation. They want a celebrity to follow. They want a label they can trust because they’ve been conditioned not to trust their own palates.

People tell me about wines they’ve had on their travels, at wine dinners, or discovered along the way. They’re not sharing—they’re seeking confirmation. Did I get it right? Was that a good wine?

Here’s what I want to tell them: There is no ONE wine. And learning to be okay with that is the entire point.

The Machine of Wine Education

The current I swim against every day is massive. It’s the machine of wine sales in America, where most “education” is actually selling in disguise.

Wine reps are the ones teaching in most “educational” forums, and they’re not educators—they’re salespeople. That’s their job. I don’t blame them. But let’s stop pretending it’s education.

Restaurant owners won’t open bottles for staff to taste, so you have 20-somethings who aren’t into wine serving patrons, and their usual answer to wine suggestions is, “My friend Josh at the bar makes a great cocktail.”

I once took a group to France—a river cruise through five wine regions. The ship brought in a winemaker from California who showed up drunk at every session and spent his time talking about how he came up with cool names for his wines.

Classic example. You have people investing money and time to learn about wine, and they end up as cult followers of a label. The opportunity for genuine wine culture was completely lost.

So I really feel for consumers. They feel bewildered, intimidated, and desperately want to be part of something. But instead of being invited into a culture, they’re being sold a product.

What Wine Education Should Be

When I spend just 90 minutes with curious people, I can change their entire perspective. I do it through story. Through showing them—using their own taste buds—foundational wines alongside a few carefully chosen bites.

Their minds are blown when they realize they can experience wine differently than they thought possible. They discover it’s not about the ONE wine. It’s about the culture of wine.

North Americans don’t really understand place and how that plays into wine. They’ve been taught to value brand over origin, label over land, marketing over meaning.

But when you teach someone that Chablis tastes the way it does because of ancient oyster shells in the soil, or that Barolo is called “the wine of kings” because of centuries of history—suddenly wine becomes a doorway instead of a test.

That’s what really matters. Not the score. Not the label. The story, the place, the why.

The Real Obstacle

The hardest part of what I do isn’t teaching about tannins or acidity. It’s this:

Convincing people they should want to learn. That not knowing is the point. That their own taste matters.

But here’s where I need to be clear: this doesn’t mean “drink whatever you want.” That’s another myth the industry loves to sell because it absolves them of actually teaching anything.

It does matter which wine you serve. A delicate white Burgundy will be obliterated by a grilled ribeye. Left Bank Bordeaux will overpower your Dover sole. Champagne with oysters isn’t just tradition—it’s chemistry.

Learning wine is like learning music. You need to learn the notes before you can improvise. You need to understand structure, harmony, and foundation. But once you understand why certain wines pair with certain foods, why some regions produce wines with more acidity, why temperature matters—then you can start to follow your own instincts.

Then you can sing your own song.

I’m trying to demonstrate that asking “which wine is best?” is the wrong question entirely. The right questions are: What do I enjoy, and why? What really matters when I’m choosing wine?

But that requires people to trust themselves enough to learn. And we’ve systematically taught them not to.

What I’m Asking For

If you’re someone who works in wine—whether you’re a sommelier, a retailer, a rep, or an educator—I’m asking you to think about what you’re really teaching.

Are you inviting people into a culture? Or are you just moving product?

Are you teaching foundation—the why behind the wine? Or are you just handing them a list of “good” labels?

Are you showing them what really matters?

If you’re someone who loves wine but feels intimidated by it—I’m telling you this: Your palate is valid. Your preferences matter. But they matter more when you understand the instrument you’re playing.

Stop looking for the ONE. Start learning the foundation. Then explore the many.

Wine is not a test you pass or fail. It’s a conversation—between the land and the grape, the winemaker and the drinker, history and this moment right now.

And you’re allowed to be part of that conversation. You just need to learn the language first.

The journey is the point. Learning the foundation is the point. Then trusting your own experience is the point.

That’s what really matters. That’s what I’m trying to teach. And that’s what’s worth fighting for.

 

With respect for your palate and your journey,

 

Anne Kjellgren

CSW, WSET3, FWS