This past week's trip to France has been a sensory discovery journey for me. Wine, cuisine, art — it's no fresh take on what the French has to offer, but experiencing it firsthand, with heightened intention, has shown me what it means to savor.

We kicked off our journey with a bike ride to a vineyard in the Dijon countryside. The host would line all the glasses up, have us sip each type of wine, then spill our impressions. Her eyes would light up whenever I shared something that sounded off-the-wall but made her go, “That’s SO interesting!” I'm no wine expert; in fact, I can bearly tell the difference between a Sauvignon and Merlot. I found myself describing the Pinot Beurot as “sliding into my mouth like liquid silk,” with richness of "a buttery oyster—easy to swallow but lingering in the best way." Suddenly, I had my own sense of what “full-bodied buttery" mean. The beauty here is that there’s no right answer; taste experience is 100% personal.

Alex and I have been binging Culinary Class War on Netflix while traveling, and it’s become our trip’s unofficial theme. By day, we nerd out over our own food experiences; by night, we watch the contestants on there trying to capture the essence of their dishes in a single “perfect bite.” It’s wild how the order of flavors matters just as much as the combination. You layer something creamy first, then adds a dash of citrus... and uh uh, it doesn't work in reverse. This idea has kind of become my new obsession, and I’ve realized that my favorite friends to eat out with have always been the ones who savor each bite with just as much care as I do.

It makes me think back to last year’s Beli craze in NYC. The excitement for the food rating app quickly died off for me because it felt largely like a numbers app and the restaurant-to-restaurant ranking felt arbitrary and lack of context. Like Letterboxd for movies—half the fun is in the articulation. I’m convinced that going a little over-the-top with food storytelling is the best way to become a “self-made food sommelier.”

Speaking of storytelling, some food content creators are doing a great job by weaving side stories inspired by the food itself. Doobydobap is one of my favorites for this—she shares deeply personal stories on YouTube that make her cooking feel like an extension of herself (check out this example: Doobydobap on YouTube). As you learn about her relationship with food, you can’t help but fall in love with her cuisine.

And then, ofc, there's our beloved Action Bronson. Watching him eat and hang out with food lovers is pure joy :)

What makes the idea of food even more captivating is the company you share it with (once again, shout out to Mr. Alex Ham, my favorite dining partner). You will probably have a blast eating out with Action Bronson, because every tasting journey with him is a holistic experience. There’s a charm in discovering why people make food the way they do. Just think about how much wonder you'd discover if you talk to a fusion cuisine chef—like, what made you think x, y, and z would go together? How did where you grew up influence these flavors? So many questions in search of an answer, so much culture distilled all in one dish.

This idea of food partners makes me think back to my Hinge days when I’d spend way too much time choosing the perfect restaurant for a date. A vanilla boy accompanies well with creamy bowl of ramen. Have shared interest in hiking/camping? I'd love to explore having a smoky BBQ fest with you. Heard you also scuba - okay, let's get seafood tapas. It sounds funny but i'm dead serious. The scent and environment i associate our date with, how you order/eat can make me like you more/less. I'm sure there are freaks out there who’d match the dish to their date’s cologne or skin scent. Weird? Sure. Fascinating? Absolutely.

We had one of our best meals in Paris at an open food market, where seafood and meat are cooked freshly on the fly. The dishes, a marriage of land and sea, could have been served in a fine dining setting, but the chef chose this bustling, smoke-filled scene instead. “It’s fun and alive,” he said, “and I want people to enjoy bites without needing to commit to anything more.” There’s something about that casual energy that makes the food even better.

Food is science in how it’s made, and art in how it’s presented. The art also incorporates urban storytelling: if there's outdoor seating, what view should the guests be facing? How are the food catching sunlights? If indoor, how do the guests interact with the space, with each other? What music are you putting on at 6pm vs. 9pm? At the EOD, it's all "vibe-telling."

There's a show — 孤独のグルメ ("The Lonely Foodie") — I’m obsessed with for this exact reason. It's about a Japanese businessman exploring his relationship with food in everyday settlings. It's so captivating to follow along as he makes connection between his physical state and his emotional state. It reminds me of the shared respect between Japanese and French cultures for detail—the way even the smallest choices build up to create something beautiful. In the ’60s, French chefs were inspired by Japanese kaiseki cuisine, embracing a minimalist style that still influences their cooking today.

By now, I’ve tasted and devoured my way through so many dishes and glasses of wine here in France. I’m left thinking about the role of a sommelier—not just for wine, but for food, too. They sit at this fascinating intersection of art and science, curating an experience that feels complete. It’s like scoring a movie soundtrack, finding the right harmony between sound and visuals. Sure, food and wine are subjective, but it takes a special skill to smooth out the rough edges and help others find that “aha!” moment where everything clicks. And that’s where the magic really is: in the moments where art and science meet, making life just a little bit richer, one "perfect bite" at a time.

(It's SO hard to be a great sommelier, the John guy in this video is absolutely nuts)