My life is basically just a string of questionable decisions.

Some have worked out astonishingly well, while others… not so much. Speaking of not so much, for a brief moment in time, I found myself with a job in the apparel industry. Okay, it was 13 years of hard labor in men’s streetwear fashion, but time flew the fuck by. Apparently I have a surprisingly high tolerance for shitbaggery when I’m on drugs and the money’s right (which I believe is close to the actual definition of the word “sellout,” but I digress).

In those 13 years, in an industry that attracts some truly horrible human beings, there was one person in particular who was a real standout. And even though many would benefit from knowing who he is, I will not name names for fear that he will sue the living shit out of me (again, see definition of “sellout”). Aside from the run — of — the — mill lying, cheating, and stealing, the frivolous lawsuits and questionable hiring and firing practices, he had one philosophy in particular that rubbed me the wrong way. You see, this guy would purposely create stress in his organization to force his employees into a near — constant state of duress. His reasoning was that many of the best ideas are created because of pressure and discomfort. Some bastardization of the Einstein quote, “Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.” Or was it Mary Shelley’s musing about how invention comes from chaos? Fuck if I can remember, but it was a misery for everyone who worked there.

Turns out, he may have been onto something.

“One of the greatest things I’ve ever tasted just proved one of the worst people I’ve ever encountered right… at least when it comes to grape farming.”

Flash — forward to a few days ago. I get a call from Karen Crouse, owner of Mount Veeder Magic Vineyards, one of the most exclusive vineyards in Napa, California. She wants me to try her wine. More wine? Why not. Anything to help get me through the long days cavorting with beautiful women and popping experimental boner pills (don’t ask). But before she overnighted it to me, she asked what the weather was like. Huh? I’m fine with the occasional small talk, but even I found this to be strange. I live in Southern California — it’s either warm or hot. “Got it. I’ll throw in a few ice packs,” she said. “Just in case.”

Karen doesn’t just grow the grapes and make the wine. She mothers them. From vine to barrel to bottle to shipping, these are her babies, and she takes great care to ensure that the quality is worthy of the Mount Veeder Magic Vineyards name.

But Karen doesn’t sell her investment — grade wine by the bottle. She sells it by the barrel’s worth (288 bottles!), dealing exclusively with high — net — worth individuals who are looking for something special. Something rare. Together, Crouse and her clients create a completely bespoke, not — to — be — sold — anywhere, personalized wine collection complete with custom names and labels. A bottle of wine from the Mount Veeder appellation, tucked away in the Mayacamas Mountains overlooking Napa Valley, is about as special as wine gets, and Mount Veeder Magic Vineyards ship these lucky (and wealthy) bastards about 24 cases of them.

Okay, I’m beyond intrigued — I can’t fucking wait. Eighteen painfully long hours later, I’m ripping into the package, rummaging through my desk drawers for a corkscrew, and popping bottles like I’m T.I. The wine is divine — smooth and rich, like drinking clean, fertile earth mixed with fruit, a hint of spice, and a tease of smoked oak. By my second glass (about 20 minutes later), the wine had mellowed considerably, allowing my primordial cave — bro palate to experience bursts of new flavors — currants and flowers, vanilla and perfume. Wow! Had Karen sold her soul to the devil?

The Mount Veeder appellation is one of the most treacherous places for grapes to grow (and harvesting them… by hand… ‘at night… is a whole other story). The hillside is so steep and the growing conditions so challenging that only the strongest grapes survive — the grapes that truly want to be there. The grapes bursting with a full — bodied grapiness that only the most stressful of growing conditions can evoke. Hmmmm. What does this remind me of? Stress as a precursor to something truly special…