How Wine School Made Me Less Pretentious About Wine

I had always loved wine—pairing it with food, with movies, music, air, whatever. I was easy.

My favorite red? Red.
My favorite white? The kind that came in a bottle.

But at some point, things started to change. I began picking out flavors beyond just “grape.” I started using words like varietal—after looking up what varietal meant. I visited wine regions for fun. I was becoming that guy. The guy who sniffs, swirls, and asks if the steak pairs better with Left Bank Bordeaux or Napa Cab from Howell Mountain.

In other words: I was turning into a wine snob. And I loved it.

I thought I was worldly, sophisticated, and—most importantly—better than you.
I wasn’t quite at the “bring my own decanter to a picnic” level—but the trajectory was concerning.

So, I signed up for the globally recognized Wine & Spirit Education Trust (WSET) program to make my pretension official.

But here’s what actually happened: I got humbled by Pinot Grigio, schooled by a Spanish wine educator who saw through every flourish and slurp, and walked away seeing wine not as a status symbol—but as joy.

This is the story of how WSET didn’t just turn me into a sommelier.
It turned me into a better drinker. And a better person? Sure, let’s go with that.

Welcome to Wine School

WSET—short for the Wine & Spirit Education Trust—is the globally recognized gold standard for wine education. It’s wine school for people like me who needed official documentation to justify their personality.

There are four levels:

• Level 1: Wine-curious newbies
• Level 2: Enthusiasts and folks entering the wine industry
• Level 3: Serious professionals and people who clap when they hear the word terroir
• Level 4: Diploma holders—the Navy SEALs of viticulture. (Only about 425 Masters of Wine exist in the world.)

A placement test told me I could skip to Level 2. So, I signed up for a class at The Wine House in Los Angeles, led by a woman named Monica Marin.

And—unfortunately for Cabernet, Burgundy, or Barolo—Monica would end up being the real star of this story.

She walked into class sharply dressed, Spanish, and carrying the kind of confidence that could make a Tempranillo blush.

“Welcome to WSET 2,” she said with a sly smile. “Shall we begin?”

Pinot Grigio, I Owe You an Apology

Each day, we tasted around fifteen wines from all over the world. On Day 1, we started with Pinot Grigio.

Pinot Grigio? I scoffed internally. The punchline of a wine.

I was ready for Monica to tear it to shreds. Instead, she cradled it like it was a Fabergé egg.

She peered into her glass like a jeweler with a loupe.

“Color?”
“Pale?” someone offered.
“Yes, definitely pale. What else?”
Silence.
“Lemon-green, perhaps?”

We all nodded like cult members.

“Onnnnn the nose!” she declared, face diving into the glass.
“Intensity?”
“Medium?” I ventured.
“Maybe medium-minus,” she replied. “Aromatic characteristics?”

“Apple?” someone stammered.
“Yes. Also grass?”
I sniffed. Apples and grass—sure enough.
“Lemon?” I added.
“Yes, of course. Anything else?”
She paused. “Pinot Grigio always gives me… wet stone.”

I sniffed again. Dammit—wet stone! That was it.
This wine I’d always written off as basic was suddenly being treated like a precious gem.

We tasted. I tried to impress by gurgling air into my mouth like a lawn sprinkler.
“You’re supposed to do that to oxygenate the wine, right?” I asked.
“You can do whatever you feel,” she said. “Personally, I think it’s a macho thing people do to seem fancy. But it’s not necessary.”
Gulp. (Literally.)

She continued: “It’s dry, medium to high acid, medium alcohol, medium body… a very medium wine. Now take another sip—let’s analyze the finish.”
(Translation: how long the flavor lingers after you swallow. Not long in this case.)

We rated it using WSET’s official categories: Faulty, Poor, Acceptable, Good, Very Good, Outstanding.

“Remember,” Monica said, “you’re not judging whether you like the wine. I don’t love Gewürztraminer, but I can still assess its quality.”

“Acceptable?” someone offered.
“Yes. This wine isn’t going to change your life—but it could be nice on a terrace in Italy in the summer, with some calamari, no?”

Yes. Absolutely yes.

Around the World in 45 Wines

We toured the globe through our glasses—one swirl, sniff, and sip at a time.

We strolled through the hills of Champagne, where chalky soils give the wine its elegance and the bubbles feel like whispers of royalty.

We roamed the châteaux of Burgundy, home to Pinot Noir so delicate and earthy it tastes like it was raised in a velvet underground cave.

We soaked in the salty breeze of Marlborough, New Zealand, where Sauvignon Blanc practically leaps out of the glass with passionfruit, lime, and a slap of fresh-cut grass.

We scaled the wind-whipped mountains of Patagonia, sampling Malbecs that feel like campfires in the snow—bold, wild, untamed.

We basked in the golden light of Napa Valley, where ripe Cabernet struts its stuff like a beauty pageant winner in oak-scented evening wear.

We cruised through the coastal hills of Santa Barbara County, where cool-climate Syrah and Chardonnay offer a balance of sun and sea, silk and steel.

It wasn’t just tasting. It was teleportation.

And here’s the kicker: the more I traveled through wine, the less I cared about impressing anyone with it.

Monica didn’t just teach wine. She staged an elegant heist on your ego and left a glass in its place.
She taught us to look—not just at the wine, but through it. To see soil, story, and the hands that made it.

It was wine school, technically. Spiritually? It was charm school for former assholes.

Pairing Like a Pro

Monica also taught us how to actually pair wine with food—without sounding like a guy who brings laminated menus to dinner parties.

Here’s her cheat sheet, the one still floating around in my head every time I reach for a corkscrew:

1. High-acid food needs high-acid wine. Tomato sauce? Vinegar? Lemon? Go Chianti, Sauvignon Blanc, or anything Sicilian with a grudge.
2. Spicy food hates alcohol and tannins. Choose low-alcohol wines with a hint of sweetness—like Riesling or Gewürztraminer. Or better yet, have a beer.
3. Bold food, bold wine. Steak? Call in the big reds—Cabernet, Bordeaux, Malbec. Go full drama.
4. Subtle food, subtle wine. Delicate dishes call for elegant wines like Pinot Noir or Old World Chardonnay.
5. Sweet food needs sweeter wine. Stop drinking Champagne with wedding cake. It makes the cake taste sour. (“It drives me crazy,” Monica said. “Everyone does it. I will never understand.”)
   Go with Sauternes or Tokaji instead—wines that know how to dance with dessert.

It was like decoding a language I’d been pretending to speak.
Not rules, exactly—more like invitations. To match mood with mouthfeel. Acid with acid. Spice with sweetness. Ego with humility.

Rioja, Tapas, and a Birthday Gift

I was especially excited for Rioja day—not just because we were covering Spanish wine with a Spaniard, but because it was my birthday. 

The wine of the day was Crianza, a medium-aged Rioja that, frankly, felt appropriate for a man in his medium-aged years. Monica walked us through Rioja’s four tiers like she was reciting family members:

Joven, Crianza, Reserva, Gran Reserva. Each aged longer. Each treated with more reverence.

In a fit of birthday generosity, I offered to treat the class to a bottle of Gran Reserva. Monica lit up. We ran down to the Wine House floor, picked out a beauty, and brought it back upstairs.

“We have a treat!” she beamed. “We’ll taste Gran Reserva next to Crianza, thanks to Dan’s birthday.”

Everyone in class raised a glass to me. A birthday drink at 10 a.m.—like college, but way more bougie.

She inhaled the Crianza. Smiled. “There’s a street in Rioja called Calle Laurel,” she began. “It’s lined with tapas bars. On hot days, students go from bar to bar—one Euro gets you a tapa and a glass of Crianza. By the end of the street, they’ve had ten tapas, ten little glasses of wine, and they are drunk, full, and happy for ten Euros. Fantastic, no?”

Yes. With that story, how could it not be?
Then she moved on to the Gran Reserva. One sniff. A pause.
“This,” she said, “this is serious.”

She told us about the estates, the aging, the history. And she did it with the same care and joy as she had for the humble Crianza. That’s the part that stuck with me. Both wines got equal respect. No ego. No posturing. Just pleasure.

Happy birthday to me.

The Real Lesson

Tasting the world with Monica was unforgettable. And I’m not the only one who thinks so—she was named WSET’s Wine Educator of the Year in 2019. Even if you don’t live in L.A., her class is worth the flight and hotel.

I came into the program to become more pretentious about wine—to twirl better, sip smarter, flex harder. 

But what I got was the opposite.

Monica had a gift. Not just for teaching, but for surgically removing the part of your brain that wants to show off. She taught us to find something beautiful in every wine. They all have a purpose. They all tell a story.

After class one day, I brought up that infamous study—any amount of alcohol is bad for you—and how more people are switching to non-alcoholic options. Monica took a breath and said:

“When I go to the doctor, they ask what I eat, how much I exercise… but they never ask how happy I am. Wine makes me happy. Sharing wine with friends—that’s so much more than just what it does to my body.”

Cheers to that! 

The class ended. I passed the WSET 2 exam. 

I can now identify 45 wines—and at least 5 types of pretension.

But the biggest lesson?

That wine isn’t about showing off. It’s about showing up—curious, open, ready to pour. 

And yes—Pinot Grigio? Criminally underrated.