The Master’s Touch
A Sunday Reflection and possibly a new chapter of Pinot Noir: A Love Story
Happy Sunday and welcome back to Love is a Flavor.
My intent today was to share another chapter of Pinot Noir: A Love Story, but I got sidetracked by something that may very well end up as a chapter itself.
Today I had the pleasure of attending an event in Napa. The legendary Chef Jacques Pépin is celebrating his 90th birthday by hosting 90 events across the country for his 90th year. Today was number 75 at the Uptown Theatre, titled “Jacques Pépin - A Legacy of Heart and Soul.”
As I listened to the chef share stories of his remarkable journey, I was transported back to my early days at Mirassou Winery, back when I was a wet-behind-the-ears Hospitality Director with more enthusiasm than wisdom.
We had a wonderful woman working with us named Ruth Wiens, who possessed such a profound understanding of how wine and food enhance our lives. Ruth didn’t create events to tell us how to enjoy life, she created experiences that let us feel what it was like to truly enjoy life.
Ruth had scheduled a series of cooking classes with a chef she’d seen on television, someone with a comfortable, casual, and inviting style that had caught her attention. My job? “Help him.”
That was it. Not exactly detailed direction.
So I did what any eager young hospitality director would do: I helped set up the demonstration kitchen, arranged the chairs, made sure the sample plates and cutlery were ready. Standard event prep. I thought I knew what “helping” meant.
Then Jacques Pépin walked in.
There was a moment—just a heartbeat—where he found his bearings in the unfamiliar space. But the instant his eyes landed on the stove, the pans, the selection of knives, and the kitchen paraphernalia, something magical happened. He transformed. The space grounded him, centered him, like a pianist finding their bench or a painter picking up their brush.
What I remember most, and what became a fork in the road in my understanding of wine—wasn’t his flawless technique or his expert instruction. It was his presence. His energy. His reverence.
This man didn’t just handle ingredients. He communed with them. He oozed respect for everything he touched and transformed. Every onion was worthy of care. Every egg deserved attention. Every dish was a small act of devotion.
Yes, he taught us how to dice an onion properly, how to make the perfect béchamel sauce, how to debone a chicken with surgical precision. But that wasn’t the lesson at all.
The lesson was Jacques’s love for creating something beautiful and soul-filling for others. That’s what made him tick. That’s what lit him up from the inside.
The true lessons were crystal clear:
Cooking is an act of love, and it will bring you great joy.
Sharing what you create makes people feel loved, nurtured, and cared for.
This is one of the greatest acts of unconditional love you can offer.
And of course, you can never use too much butter.
It was a major turning point in my understanding of how wine and food fit into the world.
Yes, there were “rules”—what glass to use with what varietal, what temperature to serve certain wines, endless protocols and preferences. But sitting there, watching Jacques pour love into every gesture, I realized all those rules were meaningless compared to what he was actually teaching us.
This is all about love.
The techniques matter, sure. Knowledge has its place. But at the heart of it, whether we’re talking about a perfectly deboned chicken or a beautifully crafted Pinot Noir, we’re talking about human beings creating something with intention and care, then sharing it with others as an act of generosity.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
Well, that was more than four decades ago. Jacques has gone on to host dozens of television cooking shows and become one of the most beloved and respected chefs in history. His influence has touched countless lives, shaped entire culinary movements, and reminded generations that cooking, like wine, is fundamentally about nourishment, not just of the body, but of the soul.
I feel so blessed to have relived that lesson today, to have it wash over me again with the clarity it deserves.
It was a blinding flash of the obvious: wine is all about love, sharing, and giving of ourselves to others. The rest, the scores, the pairings, the proper stemware, those are just the delivery system. The message is always the same: I care about you enough to share something beautiful.
Thank you, Chef Pépin, for the lesson and the reminder. Thank you for showing us the way, not just in the kitchen, but in life.
We need to heed this lesson more today than ever.
In a world that’s increasingly disconnected, increasingly hurried, increasingly focused on image over intention, Jacques Pépin stands as a quiet revolutionary. He reminds us that the most radical act we can commit is to slow down, pay attention, and offer something made with love.
Whether it’s a coq au vin or a glass of Pinot Noir, the magic isn’t in the complexity of the recipe or the pedigree of the vineyard. The magic is in the intention behind it. The magic is in the love.
So here’s to Jacques Pépin at 90, still teaching, still sharing, still showing us that the best things in life aren’t just consumed, they’re experienced. They’re felt. They’re shared.
And here’s to Ruth Wiens, wherever you are, for having the wisdom to bring that lesson into our world all those years ago.
Sometimes the most important instruction is the simplest one: “Help him.”
Because in helping others share their gifts, we discover our own.
Love is a flavor. And today, it tasted like gratitude.
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If this story resonated with you, I’d love to hear about a moment when someone showed you that your craft—whatever it might be—is really about love. Share it in the comments or drop me a line.
Let’s keep flooding the world with light.