As a literature lover, I often bristle when asked to name my “favorite author “or “favorite book of all time.” While I have a clear and consistent idea of what constitutes solid writing, a good plot and interesting characters, I’ve found over the years that my taste for stories and tone is dynamic and certainly influenced by events and people in my life at that given time. While as a romantic teenager I devoured the poet Shelley and all of the breathless effusion he offered, today I turn to the worldliness of Miller, the caustic wit of Plath, the blunt magic of Marquez. And while sinking into a dense, head-bending session of Dostoyevsky makes perfect sense in the dead of winter, it’s not what I want in my hand when I’m kicking back on a beach in the tropics (think Marquez). I love them all, but to choose just one to encompass everything I was, am and might be, is pretty much impossible.

The same is true of wine—I’m often asked what my all-time favorite wine in the world is. I usually go through a moment of panicked inner cataloging as I try to recall all of the amazing (and there have been many) wines I have had the fortune to taste over the years. It always elicits the same response in me after I overcome the moment of panic: “That’s a tough question to answer.” I know in general what my favorite styles of wine are, of course. But different wines apply to different moments, different stages in life. And while my own gauge for high quality is systematic, to name a wine that in my mind outshines all others requires more than technical deconstruction. It’s about spirit, about soul. What’s my favorite wine for that cold-weather Russian reading marathon? A savory, meaty Cabernet, or the creamy spice of a 20-year-old-tawny.  But for my tropical respite? It’s the other end of the spectrum—a flirty Albarino, a refreshing Sauvignon Blanc, a glass of bone-dry French bubbly.  Again, all of these are favorites, but to choose one wine above all others is for me, killing the joy of diversity that wine offers.

Perhaps I’ve yet to read the one life-altering book that will trump all others, have yet to taste the iconic wine that will blow all others out of the running. For now, I’m happy to accept that the more, the merrier when it comes to the things that I love, and that to find one source for everything that speaks to me is not only likely impossible, but limiting. The things that are most worth living for in life—art, food, wine, music, love—are multi-faceted, and speak to myriad aspects of the soul at different times.

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