Self Reflections in Real Time
And a new obsession with homemade ranch dressing
Happy New Year!!
Are we too deep in January for that? In any case, I’m saying it because I do really wish that you and I have a year full of happiness. It’s the least I can hope for, considering such unprecedented times we’re living in. The U.S. exiting the World Health Organization and the Paris Climate Agreement. Insurrectionists who stormed the capitol being released from prison and pardoned of their crimes. Anti-DEI everything. Federal workers’ jobs in jeopardy. More threats of tariffs on goods from the European Union, Mexico, and everywhere else.
I’ve decided not to spend so much time buried in the headlines for this presidential era as I was last time. Back then, in 2016, I was a staff writer for Newsweek. I had no choice but to inundate myself with current events. It was my job to listen to every speech, watch the daily press briefings, and scroll Twitter endlessly. Aside from monitoring what feels like an all-out hit on my precious wine with the potential tariffs and the Surgeon General’s recent claims, I’m tapping out of the news and turning the alerts off. Disengaging. Choosing myself. Choosing peace. I’m staying in my little bubble where it’s warm and cozy, complete with unlimited snuggles, the cutest giggles, and, admittedly, the messiest diapers I have ever encountered. I’ll happily take my son’s shit — America’s not so much.
This means that I didn’t watch the inauguration. Instead, I listened to acid jazz and made a beautiful salad with homemade buttermilk ranch that tasted 1000 times better than anything I ever bought from a store. While mincing the dill, garlic, and shallots for my dressing, though, I couldn’t help but reflect on where I was back during that man’s first inauguration, back during my news girlie era, AKA the most stressful time in my life. I was one of very few Black writers on staff (for a while, the only one) and regularly dealt with an editor who once insinuated that I didn’t smile enough. I was paid pennies but expected to work to the bone. And there only seemed to be the worst of the worst news coming out each day. It was a taste of the real world going into that office at 8 a.m. daily, dealing with the societal pressure to perform. Of course, I had plenty of fun off the clock. Work hard, play hard — that’s what life was all about, and I’m sure anyone who experienced New York City during their twenties understands just how necessary it is to do both. Back then, I lived in a railroad apartment on the Upper East Side with two other girls I met via Craigslist. I paid a steep $850 for a bedroom with no windows. I lived off coffee, $14 salads from Sweetgreen, and cheap Chardonnay that came in a liter bottle. I partied without abandon, and it was not uncommon for after-work drinks at the White Horse Tavern to lead to after-hours at Kitty’s Cantina. Drink the no-good, horrible, terrible news away, I’d say. Somehow, I still showed up to work each morning, bright-eyed and ready to deliver a fresh batch of reckless headlines. Now, I’m 36, living in a quaint and quiet Queens neighborhood with my husband and a baby. I haven’t been inside of a newsroom in five years, and even three of the strongest black coffees couldn’t save me from the tiredness of motherhood, let alone give me the energy required to hit a bar after work. And I’m making my own salad for lunch. I am, however, still drinking the Chardonnay. But I’ve upgraded from $7 bottles of Fish Eye from Australia to $37 Brewer-Clifton from California’s Sta. Rita Hills. #Growth.
A lot had to happen to get me here. So, while it is tough to grapple with the fact that it feels like we’ve taken an enormous step backward collectively with the return of this administration, on a hyper-individual, super-micro level, I have to appreciate the opportunity that’s at hand. From this era, I’m bound to emerge as something new. Something better. After all, that’s what happened the last time.
That last chunk of four years piqued my interest in wine and curiosity to become a wine writer. I wanted out so bad back then. The overwhelm of disheartening information, the onslaught of school shootings, abhorrent racism from government overlords, and plain old tragic events that occurred day in and day out were enough to drive a journalist mad — I craved a different type of storytelling. I did my day job as best I could, but I worked even harder to forge my own path and figure out how to use my gifts as a writer and news-seeker that didn’t provoke mass panic every single day. I was lucky to find my way at a wine shop on 87th Street with a copy of Wine Enthusiast magazine and a bottle of Beaujolais. Burned out from a day of writing shitty SEO articles, I thumbed through that magazine, looking at pictures and reading stories of beautiful lands worked by real people who were working together to create something truly amazing. Then it dawned on me: people wrote about wine professionally, AND I was a writer. The gateway to a new, more fulfilling, and delicious path unlocked. (Shout out to the old guy at 87th Street Wines & Liquors who explained that if I just spent five more dollars, I could uncover a world of wine with significantly better quality than the mass-produced picks I was used to buying, thus completely changing my life and catapulting my career in a new direction).
As the years passed and apartments changed, I continued to sip, enjoy, and learn what I could about wine, how it was made, the regions around the world that produced it, and the people — winemakers, distributors, sommeliers, educators, and experts — who helped it flow into the lives of us enthusiasts. I became the one among my friends known for bringing a bottle and pouring glasses at kickbacks and get-togethers. I started an Instagram account where I documented what I was drinking. I began networking and meeting publicists, editors, and writers who worked in wine and spirits. Finally, in 2019, after much begging and pleading to my editor (a nicer one), I wrote my first wine article. It was about Ayo Yun, an immaculate blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Cabernet Franc produced in the Yunnan province in China’s Himalayan Mountains. I got a crash course on the wine’s production from winemaker Maxence DuLou, and I can remember trying to look as though I completely understood what he meant when he explained how the terroir impacted the elegance and intensity of the wine. I absolutely did not. But by the time Biden was elected, not only did I know the definition of “terroir,” I could also explain it in lament terms to readers, which I did in a few Newsweek articles. I even got a print spread of rosé under my belt. In 2021, when my news girlie era officially ended, I was fully prepared and excited to enter into my woman in wine chapter. Wine scratched my itch for curiosity and allowed me to dive head-first into the subjects that make this world go round: geography, agriculture, history, community.
As I enter my third year as a full-time freelancer and wine writer, and my first as a full-time mom, I find myself feeling similar to how I felt back when you-know-who first entered the office, except without all the burnout and anxiety. I feel like I’m on the verge of the next chapter. I haven’t fully realized what’s next just yet — though I am positive it will include making my salad dressing from scratch more often (and finishing this damn novel!). But while the country eats itself, I’m turning inward. l plan to spend my time less concerned with the person I didn’t vote for and more time focusing on my family, my community, and myself. I’m encouraging you to do the same because the news is bleak right now, and I suspect it’ll only get darker. Do what you must to keep your wits, grow, and come out of this era better than how you went in.
XO,
Jan
My Little Corner of Happiness
With every post, I wrap up with a few more recommendations of the things that have sparked joy on my palate with hopes that you too will discover the possibilities waiting in the glass or on the plate
I am a Big Salad type of person. Save your sad minuscule sides of iceberg lettuce, measly shredded carrots and single cherry tomato. I want Arugula. I want Butterhead lettuce and Batavia. Radicchio! I’d eat more Romaine if it wasn’t always so susceptible of e-coli. And I want all the fixins. Radish and red onion. Olives, lots and lots of olives. Pepperoncini, avocado, cucumber, black beans and chickpeas and roasted corn. Crunchy wontons and crispy shallots. Mounds of bleu cheese, sprinkles of parmesan, or good old fashioned cheddar. I want my salad to be a complete meal and I want it all dressed up for dinner. As of late, that dressing has been homemade ranch that I would drink if I could. Tangy, zesty and perfectly creamy, it has become my go-to quick-fix after washing and chopping vegetables has me too tired to try something more elaborate. It only requires a few ingredients, and I promise you, it is way more flavorful than the store bought stuff.
-1/4 cup buttermilk
-1/4 cup mayo
-3 tblsp Greek yogurt
-1 1/2 tsp minced shallot
-1 1/2 tsp minced fresh dill
-1 1/2 tsp minced fresh chives
-1 small garlic clove
-1/2 tsp lemon juice
-1/4 tsp salt
-14 tsp pepper
-Pinch of sugar
Just whisk it all together until nice and smooth.
PS. You know what goes great with a hearty salad? CHARDONNAY!
loved this!! I will also be tuning out the updates from this President I didn't vote for. Thanks for the inspo to use this time to grow!!