35 candles, a bottle of Grenache and summer in the Valley

On birthdays, barbecue, and the soft rituals that shape a summer well spent.

Jul 03, 2025

The Dog Days of Summer are officially here, and depending on where you are in the world, you might be basking in the sun by day and slipping into balmy, open-window nights. Here in Napa, the hills have shifted from bright spring green to the scorched gold of midsummer. The vineyards—neat rows tattooed into the valley floor—catch the late afternoon light like velvet. Between the redwoods and the oaks, the land hums. Dust hangs in the air like pollen. The world feels suspended. I’m forever a summer child.

It’s my birthday this week. Tomorrow, in fact. I’ll be turning 35.

There’s something strange I’ve come to realize over the years: no matter your age, there’s always someone who thinks you’re too young to understand and someone else who assumes you should’ve figured it all out by now. But birthdays, at least in my case, aren’t about measuring progress. They’re about pausing. Looking back just long enough to ask: What mattered? What stayed? What changed me, even just a little?

This past year passed quickly—almost cruelly so. I remember my grandfather once saying that time doesn’t just move faster as you get older; it collapses. A year becomes a month, a month a week. You wake up and your hair is different, the wine you were saving has aged, the garden you neglected is suddenly overrun with zucchini. There have been health scares. Moments of joy. Good news. Bad. A thousand tiny griefs and a few rare, crystalline highs. How do you distill all of that into a single birthday post? I’m still working on it. I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

There’s a sweet irony to being born on the Fourth of July. As a kid, it made me feel important. As an adult, it’s complicated. The fireworks now feel a little too loud, a little too performative—especially in a world that often feels like it’s unraveling. Some call it the metacrisis. Others call it late capitalism. Whatever name you give it, there’s a collective unease in the air. And still—despite everything—we gather. We celebrate. Not blindly, but stubbornly. Maybe even tenderly. Because life, as chaotic as it gets, still gives us reasons to light a candle and pour a glass.

And that’s what I’ve done this week. I took time off from the day job and built a few days around the rituals I love most: food, wine, long conversations, late mornings. Last night, I inaugurated the grill with spicy ribs and warm potato salad. A bottle of cool-climate Grenache, opened too early but all the better for it. I sat outside until the sky turned lavender and the stars blinked on, one by one. Someone put on music. We poured another glass. We said less and less as the night wore on—not out of silence, but contentment.

I’ve come to believe that a life lived through wine is really a life lived through attention. Noticing what’s in the glass, yes—but also the hands that poured it. The way a tomato tastes different when someone you love is sitting across from you. The way laughter sounds when it’s earned. This little corner of the internet is my attempt to trace that life. And if you’re reading this, you’re part of that story now.

What’s in My Glass?

2021 Frederick Stevenson “Hongell Vineyard” Grenache

A couple of weeks ago, I had the chance to participate in an expanded tasting of Australian wines thanks to Mark Davidson of Wine Australia. We tasted through a lineup of more than ten bottles spanning style, and region. There’s a particular kind of electricity in a room full of wine lovers when something surprises you, and this bottle did just that.

I’ve really been enjoying Grenache as of late, and this felt like the perfect pairing to accompany last night’s barbecue. The Barossa Valley is typically known for its warm-weather fruit bombs, but this is the exact opposite. It’s bright, elegant, and made from old-vine fruit. Don’t sleep on Grenache this summer.

What struck me most about the Stevenson wasn’t just the clarity of the red fruit or the lift of its acidity—it was the texture. Silken but structured, like the way linen moves in a breeze. There’s a wildness to it too, a note of dried herbs and cracked pepper that feels more Rhône than Barossa.

It’s the kind of bottle you open at golden hour and realize, halfway through the second glass, that you’ve slowed down. That time has taken on a different shape. And on a birthday week in the heart of summer, that felt just right.

World of Wine

What caught my eye this week.

👸🏽 Duchess of Rosé: Meghan Markle’s new Napa Valley rosé sold out in hours—proof that royal branding still packs a punch. → The Guardian

🍷 Italian Revival: Once sidelined, California’s Sangiovese is quietly staging a comeback—delivering everything from structured reds to chillable, playful styles. → SF Chronicle

🌿 Sustainable sips: 21 wines—from Spain’s Cava to Greek whites—are proving eco-friendly and delicious can go hand-in-hand. → Food & Wine 

Table Talk

Remember zucchini gate? Well, it turns out that was just the prologue. Our garden, once innocent and orderly, has turned full fertility goddess—spilling squash across our countertops like an offering we never asked for. We’ve pawned them off on friends, left them on neighbors’ doorsteps, and still, they multiply.

Thankfully, summer squash is as forgiving in the kitchen as it is prolific in the soil. This week, I turned to Andy Baraghani for inspiration, grilling up his sweet-and-spicy squash with herbs, chiles, and a hit of acid that brightened everything. It was the kind of dish that doesn’t steal the show but holds it together—quietly, confidently.

There’s something deeply satisfying about cooking from abundance, even when it borders on chaos. The zucchini may be winning the war, but they’ve also brought us back to the table. And honestly, isn’t that what summer’s about? Messy bowls, smoky air, second helpings, and the thrill of making something beautiful from whatever the garden gives you.

Off the Vine

📖 Ocean Vuong’s prose has a way of softening time. His latest novel, The Emperor of Gladness, pulled me back to small-town streets and long summer evenings—reminding me of where I’m from and why I left. I’m only partway through, but already certain this will end up on my short list of 2025 favorites. Few writers distill memory quite like Vuong.

💆🏻‍♂️ I recently decided it was time to level up my skincare. A tiny sample of Augustinus Bader’s eye cream had me convinced I was reversing age overnight. Yes, it’s a splurge—but the formula is clean, the science is solid, and honestly? I’m in my self-care era.

🐻 The Bear just dropped its third season, and we binged it in a single weekend. It’s a bit less chaotic this time around, but no less poignant. I love how the show continues to capture the messy brilliance behind running a restaurant—and how food, even in the chaos, remains the great connector.

Here’s to rosé refills, grilled everything, and stories told under the stars. I’ll be back soon—with more wine, more notes, more life.

— Nick