Reflecting on the year that has passed, I've found solace in Marcus Aurelius' wisdom: "You could be good today—instead, you choose tomorrow." Imagine treating each day like it's the 31st; perhaps anxieties would fade, and the weight of yesterday wouldn't linger into the new day.
Prepare yourself daily for challenges, contemplate new habits, and let go of those that no longer serve you. Recognize that embracing discomfort is crucial, especially as you navigate the complexities of change with age. Remember, it's not about how long you live but how well you live each day.
Take a moment to meditate. Ask yourself if you did your best, avoided complaints, embraced challenges, prioritized action over words, spoke with good purpose, and built the strongest inner citadel.
The last 121 days have been a journey for me—new challenges, moments of doubt, yet a discovery of resilience. Though the race isn't over and goals remain unfulfilled, understand that there's no true mountain top. The search is its own reward.
The disciplines I've cultivated over three years have been my compass in navigating life's choppy waters. Work with nature, be grateful for hard moments instead of complaining. Reflect on my regret about discovering ancient wisdom late but remember, I wasn't ready then. The greatest virtue that I embraced is courage. Everything that we do requires courage to overcome our fears, but if you somehow manage to build your inner citadel to overcome things that are not up to us, I believe that courage will serve you well. The courage to do something without worrying about someone else’s opinion; the courage to know that you may fail but at least you know you did it; the courage to just make something happen despite how hard it will be.
Consider the incredible odds of being born—1 in 400,000,000,000,000—yet here we are. Embrace gratitude for each day and treat it like it is your first day on earth and possibly last.
#Reflections #SelfDiscovery #JourneyWithin
I am often asked what path I would have chosen had I not found the world of wine and hospitality, but the truth is I genuinely do not have an answer. This profession has given me more than I could have ever imagined, and not once since I first began working in restaurants as a teenager have I questioned the decision to dedicate my life to it.
When I am invited to participate in events such as the Decanter World Wine Awards and find myself surrounded by a mosaic of some of the finest professionals from all corners of the world, it only reaffirms that this was the path I was meant to follow.
The Japanese have a beautiful term for the lifelong dedication to mastering a craft: Shokunin (職人). While often translated simply as “artisan” or “craftsperson,” it represents something much deeper—a relentless pursuit of improvement, humility before the craft, and a profound sense of responsibility to give your absolute best every single day.
Yet after spending this past week in London among so many extraordinary professionals, I was reminded once again of the words of Socrates: “The one thing I know is that I know nothing.”
Wine continues to humble me. It continues to introduce me to new people, new perspectives, new cultures, and new ideas. Through this ancient beverage, I have discovered places and experiences that perhaps I otherwise never would have pursued. It has given me friendships that now span decades, memories across continents, and a deeper appreciation for humanity itself.
A heartfelt thank you to Shivani Tomar, Ronan Sayburn, Caro Maurer, and the entire Decanter team for organizing one of the most thoughtful and impressive events I have ever had the privilege to attend.
I also want to express my gratitude to James Tidwell, with whom I had the pleasure of spending meaningful time during the week. It is hard to believe that our friendship now spans more than twenty years since first meeting in Chicago in 2004 while preparing for our Advanced Exam.
And finally, thank you to the city of London for your gracious hospitality, generosity, and timeless beauty.
The Observing Eye
“Observation and perception are two separate things; the observing eye is stronger, the perceiving eye is weaker.”
— Miyamoto Musashi
Today I came across this quote, and it stayed with me.
In the life I live—balancing hospitality, service, and the responsibility that comes with it—I am constantly interacting, constantly interpreting, constantly reacting. And yet, I am reminded that not everything I think I see is actually what is there.
Too often, I suffer more in imagination than in reality.
This is something Seneca spoke about, but today it feels more personal. I can see how often I allow perception to take control—colored by emotion, fatigue, expectation, even ego. I create stories in my mind about what someone meant, how something was said, or why something happened… instead of simply seeing it for what it is.
And in doing so, I create my own frustration.
The observing eye asks nothing from me except honesty.
To see clearly.
To accept without adding anything to it.
The perceiving eye, on the other hand, is impatient.
It wants to react.
It wants to judge.
It wants to make meaning where there may be none.
And I know this is where I still have work to do.
So today, I will practice something simple—but not easy.
When I feel that impulse rise, when I feel myself starting to react, I will pause and ask myself:
What did I actually observe?
Not what I felt.
Not what I assumed.
But what truly happened.
Because if I can learn to strengthen the observing eye, even just a little each day, I know I will find more peace, more clarity, and perhaps a little more control over myself.
And that, in the end, is the work.
Early Bird Tickets On Sale Now! This isn’t just a Wine Tasting. Join us on October 18 at City Winery and join a community of folks who believe inclusion matters, and hospitality is for everyone. Link in bio. #wine #nyc #newyorkeats
📣 Mark your calendars! Wine on Wheels’ Grand Tasting 2026 is set for October 18, 2026. A Sunday with wine, bites, auction excitement, and joy. We’re thankful for another year bringing together the hospitality community to support and benefit the disability community, and hope you’ll join us! Whether you’re a long time supporter or a new guest, please mark your calendars now!
There was a time when the idea of a sage—someone to study, to emulate, to quietly learn from—felt central to how we grew. Today, that kind of mentorship often feels forgotten. But I’ve come to realize it doesn’t have to be formal, or even personal. Sometimes, it lives in observation, in admiration, in a fleeting moment that stays with you long after it passes.
To be in the presence of Alain Ducasse and Daniel Boulud—two individuals whose work, discipline, and legacy have shaped our industry in profound ways—was something I did not take lightly. These are individuals who have not only achieved greatness, but who have sustained it with humility, rigor, and an unwavering commitment to excellence.
To thank Chef Ducasse for the inspiration he has given so many of us, and to acknowledge Chef Boulud for elevating New York’s dining culture while never losing an ounce of his passion—it was deeply personal. Taking a photo with them felt almost secondary. The real privilege was simply being there, present, aware, and grateful. On that day, Lady Fortune was generous beyond measure.
Still carrying that feeling, I found myself at the MET Museum, rolling into the world of artist Raphael. And what struck me most was not just his brilliance, but how much of it was shaped by others. His father, Giovanni Santi, laid the foundation. His early training under Pietro Perugino gave him form and grace. Then came the profound influence of Leonardo da Vinci—from whom he absorbed techniques like sfumato and compositional balance—and even the rivalry with Michelangelo, which pushed him toward greater depth, tension, and anatomical precision.
We like to think of ourselves as originals—and in many ways, we are. But we are also a reflection of those who came before us. We carry their lessons, their influence, their spirit. Whether through direct mentorship or quiet observation, we are shaped by the people we admire, the work we study, and the standards we choose to uphold.
And perhaps the real work is not in trying to be entirely original, but in honoring those influences while finding the courage to shape them into something that is, ultimately, our own.
The Observing Eye
“Observation and perception are two separate things; the observing eye is stronger, the perceiving eye is weaker.”
— Miyamoto Musashi
Today I came across this beautiful and profound quote from Musashi, and it
immediately resonated with me. In the world that I live in—hospitality, non-profit work, and the constant balancing of multiple responsibilities—this lesson feels especially relevant.
Too often, I am guilty of allowing myself to suffer more in imagination than in reality. What Musashi expresses here echoes something Seneca warned about long ago, yet it offers me a new lens through which to examine my daily reactions. I realize that I still have a long way to go in strengthening the
observing eye.
I remind myself that observation and perception are not the same.
Too often, I allow perception to take the lead—colored by emotion, fatigue, expectation, or ego. I tell myself stories about what I think is happening rather than seeing clearly what is actually in front of me. In doing so, I create unnecessary frustration, anxiety, and distraction.
The observing eye is stronger because it is honest. It asks nothing more than
to see things as they are—without judgment, without exaggeration, without narrative.
The perceiving eye, though useful, is weaker. It is quick to react, quick to assume, and often driven by impulse rather than discipline.
When I feel triggered, I will pause and ask:
What did I actually observe?
Not what I felt. Not what I assumed. But what truly happened.
Verona becomes even more special when I have the privilege of spending time with my favorite Veronese—those who reveal the true beauty and magic of this city.
Time with Andrea Sartori is always a gift. As the face of Sartori di Verona, he embodies a kind of modern Renaissance spirit—thoughtful, philosophical, and effortlessly witty. The kind of presence that reminds you that wine, at its best, is as much about people as it is about place.
And of course, no visit to Verona is complete without an evening at Benda, in the heart of the historic center. A table there, in the company of what I like to call the last gentleman of Verona, is always something to look forward to.
Under the direction of Vittorio Bendazzoli, a visionary with a clear and confident point of view, the cuisine strikes a beautiful balance between flavor and playfulness—refined, yet full of life.
Another unforgettable evening in a city that continues to give more than one could ever ask for.
For over five years, I have studied Stoicism and Cynicism. What began as curiosity has become discipline, shaping how I see the world.
To be before the Arena of Verona, still intact after two millennia, is a reminder of what endures—and what does not. Wars, disasters, generations of lives have come and gone, yet it remains.
It forces a simple reflection: permanence is rare. We are not among it. We pass through briefly, often resisting a truth that cannot be changed.
As the Stoics remind us, we are temporary. Shadows and dust. The task, then, is not to seek permanence—but to live with clarity, purpose, and acceptance while we are here.
Every time I arrive in a place like Verona, I do my best to slow down, to take it all in, and to reflect on the blessings that Lady Fortune has granted me. There have certainly been unforeseen obstacles along the way, but when I find myself standing before these majestic architectural marvels, I cannot help but recall the words of the Stoic-minded Saint Paul the Apostle in Romans 8:18: “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”
Whatever path one follows—philosophical or spiritual—this journey of life is both short and swift. The challenge, perhaps the greatest one, is to remain aware in those rare moments of quiet, contemplative happiness. They are fleeting, delicate, and often gone before we fully grasp them. And yet, it is precisely in those moments that we are reminded not to take anything for granted—for they may never come again in quite the same way.
Another Easter Sunday in the books—600+ guests served, grateful for every moment.
Now we shift gears… a few weeks on the road begins. This is my rhythm when I travel—simple, focused, never lets me down.
See you soon, Italy 🇮🇹❤️
It is that time of year again—a moment to pause and reflect with gratitude.
I want to extend my deepest thanks to Lori Lengua, who continues to generously create opportunities for me to share the mission of Wine on Wheels and the work we are so passionate about. Your belief and support mean more than words can express.
A very special thank you as well to New York legend Rosanna Scotto, who continues to show the world why New Yorkers possess that rare combination of resilience and grace. You embody the very spirit of this city.
These opportunities are a true blessing. And while I am still learning how to fully embrace the obstacles and challenges in my life with the same gratitude I hold for the good, I am reminded that the difficult days are just as meaningful. They are the days that shape us, build our character, and ultimately deepen our appreciation for those fleeting but beautiful moments of joy.
