Erica Landis writes Erica Landis started her writing career in Mrs. Kelly's second-grade class with a tear-jerking essay about a No. 2 pencil. In eighth grade, she went on to write herself and her friends into a 1980's General Hospital storyline. The notebook pages were passed around the lunch table like wildfire. She knew then that she was a writer.
Erica is an experienced content writer in health, parenting, grief & loss, entertainment, travel, humor, biography, and food & wine. She was a 2023 Fellow of The Meadowood Napa Wine Writing Symposium. She hopes to one day have a Netflix series about her decade working in a wine shop after losing her young son in an accident. She will binge watch while sipping buttery Chardonnay
I once was queen
I received my royal title within months of starting the job. As I meandered my way around the racks and shelves of the wine shop retail floor, the gravitational pull of that section was strong and steady. Customers relied on my recommendations for the newest bottle of golden hued butter and brioche. Sales reps enthusiastically unloaded their bags, beginning their lineup with “…her majesty’s favorite.” Without an ounce of blue blood running through my veins, I was crowned The Queen of Chardonnay.
It began with California. Sweet cream, French toast, marshmallow, vanilla, butterscotch. Weighty and warm on the palate. All-encompassing flavors that culminated in a feeling I craved.
Despite my royal title, I endured my fair share of mockery within professional circles. In case you hadn’t heard, oak and butter bombed Chardonnay is not on trend and hasn’t been for decades. But I upheld my crown proudly.
Chardonnays from South America, Australia, Italy, and, of course, France all found their way easily into my glass and across my lips. But I just kept going back to where my emotions were drawn. Despite a brief love affair with Meursault, California Chardonnay was my perfect match.
But why?
Just as the smells of fresh parsley and burnt onions instantly brought back memories of my mother’s cornflake stuffing, Chardonnay evoked an emotion in me. Just as hearing the distant giggle of a little boy could make my heart break all over again, Chardonnay reminded me of what I had lost before beginning this wine shop job. It also reminded me of what I was desperately trying to get back…being enrobed in feelings of a home. Warm, rich, toasty, sweet, creamy, and sometimes overpowering – Chardonnay symbolized home.
My two-year-old son had died in a swimming pool accident just one month before I softly landed in this wine shop job. I could travel the world within these bottles while in reality, I was just barely making my way from my apartment to work and back again.
My pull towards vanilla and stick o’ butter Chardonnay shouted motherhood and cookies and sweet sticky kisses. It was everything I was missing from my son. Chardonnay’s deep yellow glow was like the evening lamp light of our living room as pajamas and books and occasionally overtired tears filled the room.
Chardonnay was home. Or more accurately, my kingdom. And I was desperately trying to get that kingdom back. I may have been known as the Queen of Chardonnay, but all I wanted was to be called Mommy again. My story was not over.
I continued to taste and learn and appreciate as many grape varieties as I could get in my glass. But with one sip of Chardonnay, I could exhale through my grief albeit briefly. It was a reminder of what I once had and a palpable reminder of my goal of home and motherhood again.
Two and half years after I was crowned Queen, my daughter was born. And while the line of succession would make her a Princess, I happily relinquished my crown to become Mommy again.
A big, creamy Chardonnay still makes me stand still. It is a memory of comfort during my worst days. The persistence of flavors and aromas are an ode to resilience and determination of a woman who once was The Queen.
