The grubby truth of working as a sommelier

I'm thankful for it—but I've also been severely humbled.

Mar 21, 2026

This time last year, I was packing up my far-too-short stint in London, about to embark on a two-week wine tasting road trip through France, and somehow figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I had passed my exam for my wine diploma from Le Cordon Bleu, which meant I was a newly minted sommelier. Yet the journey back to the United States meant making some hard decisions. Would I go back to being a journalist? Would I try to change my niche as a writer, from food and nutrition to beverages and wine? Or would I ditch it altogether and follow a completely new path?

Well here I am, a whole year later, and my life is absolutely nothing like I expected. I did take the leap and took a full 180-degree turn. I put down the (professional) pen for now, and decided to focus on my new career. I picked up different positions in wine, then landed a sommelier position at a pretty major restaurant in Manhattan. I now work there full time, and it is (kindly) kicking my ass.

Working in wine can seem like glitz and glamour, and you know what, some days it does feel that way. I get the opportunity to try some of the best wine in the whole world. (A quick taste of 1950 Chateau d’Yquem? Don’t mind if I do.) I spend my days talking to people about wine and curating incredible tasting experiences. I get to be on my feet and talk to people face-to-face instead of sitting at a computer. And when my “weekend” comes, I don’t have to worry about my work. I simply clock out, leave, and live my life.

So yes, there are certainly some positives—not to mention the incredible team I get to work with. But…the grass isn’t always greener. Like every job, and I am certain with every career change, there are some challenges. I thought it might be cathartic to share a few of the realities I’ve had to face.

Working on your feet is exhausting.

The last time I worked in service, I was in my late teens and early twenties. I absolutely loved my jobs—serving up Blizzards at the local Dairy Queen and tacos and burritos at the local Tex-Mex joint. I could easily go four, six, even eight hours on my feet, and still wake up the next day feeling completely normal.

I’m not sure why I had it in my head that working in service in my mid-thirties would feel the same, but boy, have I been humbled. I’ve always been the kind of person to have a young spirit; I like to focus on all the life I have to live instead of focusing on how much of it I already have. It keeps me feeling young, and it helps to not pay so much attention and worry on the creaking bones and sore muscles with each passing day. It’s all a mental game.

Except now as I’m working a job where I am constantly on my feet, walking around a huge restaurant, lifting cases of wine, climbing up and down the ladders…my thirty-three-year-old body is starting to mock me. Guess what, chickie. You’re getting older.

I wake up later these mornings—almost two hours after my body naturally used to. My muscles are sore all the time, and I now have a monthly appointment at my local spa for a massage. (My masseuse forced me into an hour-long treatment this month because my back was that bad.) I’m trying my best to eat more protein and vegetables and drink electrolytes, but when I’m exhausted all I want is carbs, cheese, and alcohol. Which, of course, does not make me feel any better the next day. But at least it makes me feel a little more like a human in the moment.

I love this job, but I’ve also cried. A lot. My body hasn’t really felt like mine because it won’t move as fast as I want it to, and I have to physically force myself to slow down. My work is now in direct correlation with my physical form, and in order to continue working well, I have to take care of my body well. Which feels like a nightmare coming from someone who has always been go, go, go her whole life.

There’s a blessing here, I think. My body is telling me to slow down and take care of myself, something I was pretty horrible at doing in the past. I’m used to pushing my body to the absolute limit. Now I need to set better boundaries, because if I don’t there’s now way I’ll have energy for a Saturday double and twelve consecutive hours on my feet. In good compression socks.

I rarely see my friends.

Hello to my close people reading this. Yes, I still love you to pieces. Yes, I know I’ve been a shitty friend lately.

When I come home at the end of my shift (sometimes even after midnight) it is hard to try and organize a life outside of the long hours and exhausting days. I do try my best, but I have to do the hard thing and prioritize those hours. When I do have the energy to see them, who will I see? Who are the people I desire to catch up with? Who are the people I hold close in my life?

It’s quite isolating. My husband has to remind me that he is not my only friend, and in my free time I do have to see other people besides him. (Although it’s hard. I do love spending all my free time with him, which is a gift.)

I am grateful for having friends that are patient with me, and understand that this career change has been quite an athletic one. But I also know it is unfair to let that continually be an excuse to why long periods of time go by until I see them again.

It’s cut throat.

Except, here’s the thing. Working in wine is cut throat if you want it to be. Over the past couple of months I have met a number of different somms, with a number of different goals. Some are looking to be the best-of-the-best, the next Master Sommelier working as the top dog at some the most high-end fine dining establishments. There is certainly a competitive edge, and even if there is a level of camaraderie and a “you’ll get there some day!” attitude, there’s no denying this smug level of satisfaction that comes with having the knowledge, the experience, and the connections.

Then there are the somms who are in the job because it’s just a job. They’re in it for the love of wine, for finding a good bottle for a guest, and for learning more about one of the world’s most precious agricultural products. They find intrigue in the particularities between the different plots and soil types in Barolo, or the complexities of age between an older vintage Bordeaux from the right bank or the left. They don’t feel the need to constantly impress—they’re in it for the fun of it, and for connecting with others on a more human-like level.

It certainly has me thinking of what type of somm I want to be. To be frank, I’ve done the cut throat thing already. I bared my teeth and worked my way up as a journalist, successfully ran a freelance business for over three years, and decided I was done with the rat race. I chose this new lifestyle because I wanted something softer. I’m not looking for another corporate ladder to climb.

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Imposter syndrome is rampant.

This certainly ties into the whole cut-throat thing, but imposter syndrome is real. Never mind that I have a diploma from one of the hardest culinary schools in the world. If I am unable to successfully talk about why the 2019 vintage was so iconic in Brunello, then WTF am I even doing here?

I know I’m still so young in my career as a sommelier, but when I am not able to successfully spit out knowledge, it certainly feels like I am incapable of doing the job. Don’t worry, my peers and my superiors are patient and absolutely forgiving. They’ve been there! They get it! I’ll get there, too! But I want to be as knowledgable not just for the guests, but to prove to myself that I deserve to be in the room.

Which is ridiculous, right? I earned my right fair and square. Between my years as a food and beverage journalist and my knowledge at LCB, of course I deserve to be in the room. I also have data to prove that I am good at selling bottles and making our restaurant some decent money.

Nevertheless, I pin my LCB gold ribbon on my lapel every service to remind myself when I look in the mirror that I am fully capable of doing this job. I am, unfortunately, my harshest critic.

I still love it…and I still want to learn.

This is truly where it all boils down to for me. Yes, while the world of wine is cut throat and I am at the point of tears from the exhaustion, I am still enamored with the world of wine. I take joy in opening my textbooks and learning something new. I am crazy enough to want to try new programs and deepen my education on wine. (Anyone out there try the Wine Scholar Guild? Thinking I may do some of those programs!) And, most importantly, I love trying new wine and finding the perfect bottle for my guests.

This week at work I almost hit overtime in my hours, with nine straight days at the restaurant. And yet, I had some of my most fulfilling shifts as a somm yet. I created new regulars at the restaurant who specifically asked for me so we could talk wine. I had a guest at a table tell me I “absolutely nailed it” with my wine recommendations for his business dinner. I surprised guests with special pours to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, and they left with smiles and rave reviews. I helped guests decipher their tastes and guided them towards their new favorite styles and bottles.

So yes, I will keep going. I have no idea where this career will take me, or if I’ll be at a restaurant forever. But you know what? Life is too short to have to plan everything out, or look at my time in this job as a calculated step in order to achieve the next thing. What if it was simply a job, where I can love and be hospitable and share my gifts in a way that enhance the human experience? Isn’t that fulfilling enough?

I say yes.

Wine of the week

Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve shared my cellar notes! This past week, hubby and I sat at the bar at Cent’Anni, a local Italian spot, and ordered pasta and a bottle of Punset Barbera d’Alba 2020. Punset is a well known producer in Piedmont, Italy, and I was floored to snag a bottle of this at ~$50 at the restaurant.

Tasting notes

Appearance: Clear, bright, violet color, deep intensity, medium-plus viscosity
Nose: No evidence of oak, rich jammy red berries, clay, earthy, some age
Palate: High acidity, medium body, soft tannins, no evidence of oak, long finish