The Hands That Held The Grapes

I came to wine the way you come to an old record shop you’ve passed by a hundred times—not because you planned to, but because the spirit pulled you in.

You might not know that my first love wasn’t wine, it was coffee. Those early mornings in coffee shops, the steam rising off cups, the slow training of the palate to notice the roasted, the herbal, the floral. I fell in love with the way a bean could hold the memory of a mountain, the hands of a farmer, the unpredictability of rain.

In coffee, I first learned to taste.

In coffee, I first learned that the land has a voice.

As I stood in those spaces, training staff, collaborating on menus, seeing the transformation that happened when someone felt seen and welcomed, the seed was planted. What would it mean to carry that same joy, that same hospitality into another space? To find something where curiosity and culture could collide in a unique way?

When it came time to think about career transition, about how I wanted to spend my hours, I thought about joy. I thought about the art of service, the way a simple offering could become an act of restoration. I thought about wine.

Wine came to me not first as a product but as a people, the ones who tended the vines, the ones who remembered the old soils, the ones who woke before the sun to coax beauty out of difficulty. I took wine seriously because I understood it wasn’t about hierarchy; it was about legacy, creativity, and hospitality. It’s about making space.

I found myself, years later, hosting tastings, not for status, but for the homies. For the people who might’ve found wine intimidating, who might’ve thought the world of wine wasn’t made for them. Free tastings, laughter, and questions with no shame attached. The tastings were little ceremonies of belonging. A way to say, “you deserve to be here too.”

Today, as Beverage Director at Ensemble, that spirit is what I try to pour into every glass. It’s not just about varietal or vintage; it’s about story. About the dirt under the nails. About the hands that held the grapes before the bottle ever touched a linen tablecloth.

My hope is simple: that when you sit down with a glass at Ensemble, you don’t just sip. You engage. You listen. You honor the land, the hands, and the histories that made it possible.

This is The Art of Hosting — not just filling a glass, but filling a spirit. And we are just getting started.

Yours, André Franklin