This is an edited version of a personal statement I wrote recently. It explains why I pursue the study of wine and why it is important for me to share my journey.

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The reason I began studying wine was, quite honestly, out of embarrassment. A customer at my newly opened modern Korean restaurant in Sydney’s Surry Hills remarked that an Asian restaurant couldn’t possibly have a good wine list. I remember being unable to respond—not because I agreed, but because I feared he might know more about wine than I did, and that trying to argue would only confirm his point. Having spent most of my professional life outside Korea, the comment struck a deep nerve. That evening, I searched for ways to learn more about wine and signed up for WSET Level 2 at the nearest school I could find. It was 2018, and I was 37.

In class, most students were younger and already working in hospitality. They all seemed fluent in the language of wine. When asked to describe a white wine, my mind went blank and all I could think of was “lemon.” I listened as a young Italian sommelier described the wine as “lemon meringue pie with a buttery crust, lightly scorched on the bottom.” I now know he was describing an oaked Chardonnay, but at the time, I shrank in my seat, desperately trying to find the meringue he mentioned. When he added that the lemon curd was “so evident,” I felt completely out of place.

Wine can be incredibly intimidating—even for those who’ve enjoyed it for years. Before this experience, I had been confident enough in my knowledge of food and wine to open a restaurant with chef’s hat ambitions – the Australian equivalent of a Michelin star. I had even believed I could skip WSET Level 1. But sitting there, struggling to understand my classmate’s tasting notes, I realised how little I actually knew.

What could have been the end of my wine journey turned into one of the most empowering lessons of my life. With only ten people in the class, my turn came. My heart was pounding, hands slightly shaking, and I described a red wine using the usual black fruit notes—then quietly added one impression that stood out to me: soy sauce. Someone in the class sniggered, and I remember turning red.

But my teacher responded with warmth: “That’s the beauty of wine—it evokes different memories depending on cultural background.” What someone from Europe might describe as “balsamic,” someone from Asia might call “soy sauce.” And indeed, the wine—Amarone della Valpolicella—had that savoury, reductive note.

Little did I know that my teacher was a Master of Wine, one of fewer than 400 people in the world to hold that title. I didn’t tell her at the time, but her respectful, inclusive teaching inspired me to keep going. She made me realise that wine—though often intimidating—is open to anyone who seeks to understand it. If I gained the knowledge and authority to guide others, I could help them feel the same sense of belonging I experienced that day.

I believe that for many Asian markets, wine remains unfamiliar and intimidating. Having wine with meals as part of daily life is not a cultural norm in many families. I still remember being offered a glass of wine at age sixteen in a German friend’s home—something unthinkable in 1990s Korea, especially for a young woman. The starting point for wine appreciation in Asia is often very different from that of someone raised in a wine-producing culture.

Although much has changed, and Asia is now one of the fastest-growing wine markets globally, wine is still largely seen as a luxury product. While the allure of fine wine can foster appreciation, it represents only a small fraction of global consumption. The lack of exposure to wines from different price points in relaxed, relatable settings reinforces the idea that wine is for the elite. That’s where I believe representation and inclusion truly matter.

For me, wine is ultimately about connection—shared meals, meaningful conversations, and moments that linger in memory. Long before I began studying it, wine captured my heart simply by being there for those memorable moments. There’s something magical about how a sip of wine can bring you right back to a specific time and place—and learning about its origins, the people behind it, and their stories only amplifies the magic.

I was lucky to be encouraged to embrace my cultural roots as a lens through which to experience wine, and I hope to inspire others to do the same. By promoting wine appreciation with a focus on Asian perspectives, I want to encourage exploration, spark curiosity, and help others find a sense of belonging—connecting cultures and opening up conversations around taste, identity, and tradition.