When I decided to move sort of suddenly back in November, you could say I was, uh, a bit outside of my comfort zone. Relocating is stressful for most people under normal circumstances, let alone during a global health crisis or with just two weeks to prepare.
To me, though, it was necessary both to escape the crowds that had invaded the town in which I had been living and to help get a hold of the depression I had let consume me. Plus, I’d found the ideal place, a converted 19th-century carriage house all of 15 minutes from my family. I couldn’t pass it up.
Since facilitating a pandemic-era move meant just as much going with the flow as much as it did planning meticulously, I decided to channel my compulsion to organize into hunting down the perfect first wine to open in my new apartment.
I wanted something refreshing, confident and curative. And with just two requirements in mind—less than $30 and delicious—I had a lot of options.
I started the search almost immediately, scrolling through countless wine reviews and taking several trips to area bottle shops. About a week in, I found a Vouvray purported to have distinct minerality, a lick of salt and bright, invigorating acidity. Just my style.
The actual move, on the other hand, wasn’t as straightforward.
Somehow despite soaking rain, an 80-minute trek to pick up the only available U-Haul and four flights of angled stairs, my small troop of masked friends managed to load and unload all my stuff just fine. However, a series of sudden appliance-related complications meant I wasn’t actually able to live in the new place for another 10 days.
My first night in wasn’t exactly awesome either. After a hectic workday and a rather abrupt push out the door from where I had been staying while in housing limbo, I found myself standing in my new kitchen, surrounded by everything I own and exhausted from all of it.
I figured if ever there was a time for wine, surely, this must be it. But when I pulled out the carefully chosen Vouvray, I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why. I just wasn’t feeling it.
Putting it back with a sigh, I paused. I still wanted to honor the moment with a glass of something.
I picked up a bottle I’ve had countless times, an expressive and easy-to-like Provençal rosé I often keep around. I poured, gave the glass a little swirl and took a slow sip. I gazed around and remembered it’s okay, the best things don’t always happen how you think they will.