As part of our partnership with The Institute of Masters of Wine, we asked current candidates to submit to us an article dedicated to a person, place or particular drink discovery that helped first ignite their passion for wine – and we were blown away by the submissions. Here, we publish the first of two personal essays that most impressed the Club Oenologique editorial team. This one is written by California-based student Jasmine Aum.
When people ask me, ‘How did you start your journey with wine?’ I usually respond casually, ‘oh, there wasn’t really a big reason. I just grew to like its elegance and complexity.’ But that’s not true. The real story feels so whimsical and juvenile that I’ve often kept it to myself. My journey into the world of wine began not with a romantic vineyard visit or a life-changing bottle but with Japanese manga series The Drops of God. Its protagonist, Shizuku Kanzaki, was my unexpected guide into the magic of wine.
Until I turned 22, I knew almost nothing about wine. I grew up in a typical Korean household where my father favoured traditional Korean spirits; wine was not part of our culture. Yet, I had always been fascinated by Western dining rituals. When I saw movies with candlelit dinners and glasses of wine, I would pour grape juice into a wine glass and pretend I was enjoying wine. Then, during university, The Drops of God became a massive hit in Korea. This was back in 2007, long before wine had become mainstream in the country. Though I had never properly tasted wine, I was captivated by the manga.
In the manga, wine was portrayed as a time machine, transporting the protagonist to otherworldly realms
Already enchanted by the idea of wine, the book amplified that fascination into a feverish obsession. In the manga, wine was portrayed as a time machine, transporting the protagonist to otherworldly realms. A sip could evoke vivid imagery: a bubbling brook, a meadow in bloom or a masquerade ball. Having disliked soju’s harshness, I naively assumed wine must taste as transcendent as it was depicted.
My curiosity peaked when I meticulously noted the affordable wines mentioned in the manga and convinced my friends to visit a local wine bar. The only wine available from my list was Ruffino’s Chianti Classico Riserva Ducale Oro. I took my first sip with high expectations but its sharp acidity and dryness startled me; it was nothing like I imagined. Looking back, I now realise that Sangiovese, with its vibrant acidity and bone-dry nature, wasn’t the best choice for a first red wine. Still, I refused to admit my disappointment. Instead, I feigned expertise, parroting titbits from the manga and telling my friends, ‘This is what wine is supposed to taste like.’ Despite this less-than-magical start, I kept returning to that wine bar almost weekly, manga in hand, eager to explore more. Wine had a mysterious, inexplicable pull that kept drawing me back.
Wine, I’ve come to realise, isn’t just about the fleeting joy of a sip or the allure of its rituals
Each volume of the manga ended with practical tips, like budget-friendly wine recommendations and pairing suggestions. The wine bar’s enthusiastic sommelier introduced me to a variety of wines within my modest budget. While I couldn’t conjure Shizuku Kanzaki’s vivid imagery, I gradually fell under the spell of wine’s diverse flavours. Eventually, I wanted to deepen my understanding, so I enrolled in a wine academy. Initially, I was chasing the fantastical allure of wine as depicted in the manga. But as the illusion faded, my genuine appreciation for wine took root. Years later, when I revisited that same bottle from Ruffino, I found it transformed in my perception. Its lively acidity, red fruit notes and floral aromas, perfectly balanced with oak aging, created a wine of depth and elegance.
Since then, Sangiovese has become my favourite grape variety. Amusingly, when I first met my now-husband, I asked him what kind of wine he liked. His answer? Sangiovese. On our first date, we shared a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino with dinner. My initial awkward encounter with wine had evolved into a cherished story, interwoven with my life’s most meaningful moments. Eighteen years have passed since I first stepped into that wine bar with The Drops of God as my guide. I am still infatuated with wine. My palate remains unsophisticated and I lack Shizuku Kanzaki’s poetic precision, yet the passion he sparked within me has never waned.
Would I have embarked on this journey if I had never read The Drops of God? I cannot say for sure. But for someone like me, with no connection to wine, it feels almost miraculous to have gone from a manga enthusiast to a Master of Wine candidate. This speaks to the enchanting power of wine; a drink that inspires boundless curiosity and lifelong learning. Wine, I’ve come to realise, isn’t just about the fleeting joy of a sip or the allure of its rituals. It invites us to pause, reflect and connect with something greater, whether it’s science, art or the people who bring it to life. And yet, someone once said, wine is ‘an island of ritual in a sea of casual’. In a world where structure has faded, wine offers an excuse to embrace a degree of formality. If that’s the case, then perhaps my fascination with wine after reading The Drops of God wasn’t so far-fetched after all. Maybe it’s time to dust off that manga and let my imagination run wild once again.
