Until the day I met Maggie Harrison, my drinking habits were ruled by the trends of wine bar chalkboards, and as easily changed. I traded varieties in like fast fashion. Mourvèdre for Fall 2012 became cab franc in 2013; there was a whole summer of only tzakoli, not to mention the year I drank a lot of cloudy things I pretended to like.

Everything shifted within my first weeks working at the winery.

When Maggie hands you something, it’s in your best interest to drink it. At the end of my first week, there was a glass of architectural Nikolaihof that rewired my brain in an instant. I had (I thought) moved on from riesling, abandoning it after that glorious summer of. But this? This was something else entirely…

I came in one day shortly after to find our hospitality team serving a flight of rosé with enough age on each bottle to raise my eyebrows. Invited to taste, I found each one perfect, and incredibly fresh. There are only a handful of producers, Maggie said as way of explanation, that bother to do the work to make a pink wine with the same soul and intentionality as red wine. Clos Cibonne and Lopez de Heredia etched themselves in my brain.

A few weeks later, at the end of an orientation tasting through every bottle Antica Terra and Lillian produces, Maggie poured me the 2013 Lillian syrah. After a dalliance with super-ripe shiraz in college, I hadn’t spent much time with the grape. Ignoring the fact that I had fallen in love with every single thing in my glass that day, without exception, I had my doubts.

The nose stopped me in my tracks, and the first sip undid me. It was an impossible wine, with plushness and clarity occupying space in equal measure. Of all the riches that had graced the table that day, it was simply, my favorite.

Lessons in hand, I got curious. Trust the winemaker, trust the work, I thought, as I read producer profiles like novels and scooped up weird bottlings. A dam inside me had broken, and without the lens of what was cool or trendy, I was free to fall in love.

A few months later, I hosted a dinner party, and brought Lillian home for the occasion. As I pulled the cork, I saw eyes wander past me, looking for the pinot they knew I had in the basement. As I began to pour, one guest waived me away saying, I’m not a fan of syrah. I placed a glass into their hand anyway.

This, I promised, is something else entirely.