a not serious guest writer — Jo Mills
Jo Mills arrived into Aotearoa from England pursuing adventure. What she found was a love of the country, a love of the local wineries and as it happens, the love of her life (and he happened to make wine so that was jolly handy). It all sounds like something straight out of a romance novel and before marriage and a subsequent name change, our guest scribe went by Jo Montagu (sans -e), just like that raving old romantic himself, Romeo. So, you could say that the stars aligned...or rather crossed. Chuck in the celestial guide of Te Pae Māhutonga and you’ve got yourself a story worthy of the shenanigans of a Shakespearean style love fest.
While we’re writing of writers, Jo herself is one heck of a pen holder. Before she boarded the plane that would see her land and remain living in New Zealand, she studied English at Oxford and her wine life started in earnest in London. These collective skills were put into action as Jo helped grow, make and sell wine alongside her lover Nick Mills at the family farm and winery called Rippon located on the edge of Lake Wānaka. Jo became an established face amongst the wine-curious crowd as she touted the benefits of a bottle of Pinot Noir from schisty soils. However, in 2022 she stepped away from working directly on Rippon to focus more on writing and pursuing a career that she surely was destined to fulfil. Jo established The Write Path, a contract communications company that helps organisations tell their story.
With this collective and deeply connected expertise, I asked Jo if she’d write a not serious piece. I gave her little in the way of a brief but rather asked if she might reflect on how she finds wine enlightenment in a world of social pressures and public perceptions. She’s delivered in spades and properly put us on the right path to seeking true wine enjoyment without all the wank. Please enjoy the not serious words from the seriously splendid wordsmith, Jo Mills.
Sharing without sharing; liking without the likes
We all see it, we all do it. That post. The look-what-I’m-drinking-right-now post. It’s ubiquitous, it’s globally recognisable and, for many, it’s successfully monetised. I love knowing what people are drinking, I love seeing the wines of friends and peers crop up around the world but how much can be captured in a single picture or post, especially when staged against a ‘Gram friendly monochrome background? Where are the people, where’s the food and where the hell is the music (and I’m not talking the Meta remix chosen to accompany the glitzy reel)?
If you live in the world of wine, the chances are you’ll get the impossible question: what’s the best wine you’ve drunk? I’ve never known how to answer that but, when something is required, I have been known to opt for the “1995 DRC Bâtard Montrachet that accompanied a twelve egg, two truffle omelette.” It seems to satisfy those who want, well, that kind of answer and, to be fair, as experiences go, it was, of its kind, hard to beat.
Ask me with genuine interest and time on your hands though, and I’ll tell you about the night we had friends over for an impromptu dinner that rolled into the early hours of the morning. The bottle that, in the eyes of The Wine Critic, would be of little import, could not have been a better match as we dragged blankets outside, turned up Neil Young, and looked up at the vast and cloudless sky. There were no phones to capture the moment, no staged selfie, nor, indeed, “wine buffs” present. Stumble across us and you’d find just a line of bloody good friends, lying on the cold grass, drinking the wine in as appreciatively and deeply as we did the celestial show above us.
There’s the bottle too, given to us by the winemaker, a friend in Saumur, when we visited him at his domaine. Is it a grand vin? No. Was it a superb wine as we drank it with our children back in Wānaka, listening to Georges Brassens, eating raclette and reminiscing about our time overseas? Indubitably. Does it sit up on The Shelf of Glory, a wonderful mix of wines of known note and wines of personal meaning, in our living room? It certainly does, in all its dusty splendour. Did it make it to our feeds, our #blessed and #grateful feelings conveyed to whomever was scrolling at 7pm on a Friday night? It did not.
The Shelf of Glory.
There is, of course, a time and a place for letting the Instaworld know what you’re drinking. The rep will appreciate it, the winery too but, without the people, without the vibe, what’s there? A bottle, a glass, some well-meaning sentiment, but it’s like the dust jacket without the book and the story inside.
Almost two decades ago during a vintage in Burgundy, my boss opened an extraordinary bottle with little pomp, no ceremony but with considerable reverence. One man at the table talked and talked about himself throughout the evening. He paid no attention to the wine in the glass or the people around him, asked questions of neither and wanted no answers. It was only when both his glass and the bottle were empty did he look to see what he had been drinking. His eyes widened when he saw the label and, when he left for the evening, he took the empty bottle with him. Our host was uncharacteristically quiet over the course of the evening and, as I bade him goodnight, he slipped something into my hand: the cork as he quietly said: “my wines will only sing when there is someone listening.” I have it to this day.
This all happened in the days before Instagram and feeds and look-at-what’s-in-my-glass posts. Knowing the guest, seeing how he posts now, I am in no doubt that if this were to happen today, there would be shots of that bottle, shots of his glass, probably a shot of him too, but to what end? To each their own and no more so than with wine but what would this signify? What was his memory of that evening? He missed the conversation about the ways in which a season’s grass affects the taste of the local cheese, he missed the story of the drunken monk waking the monastery as he cycled back after an unplanned and unsanctioned wine tasting and he missed the songs: the song of the wine, the song of the table and the song of the people.
I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t post any more than I want to tell you which wine in my time was “the best”. All I think I’m trying to say is that the social world would be a better place with fewer full glasses and clean backgrounds and more empty bottles, smeared plates, loose vinyl sleeves and crumpled cushions. These are the backdrops against which the best wines are often drunk, their voices clearest, the memories enduring. For these, I am #blessed.
— Jo Mills
Follow Jo on Instagram
#livingourbestgramlife 🫶 #blessed 😇 #winelife 🍷 #whittakerschocolate 🍫 #notanadbutheywhittakers 👋 #shagpilecarpetdreams 😘 #dreamingofshagpile #shag ♥️
we’re super grateful to our pals at antipodes water company. they supply us with the good water for our chats. antipodes is an artesian water that contains no chemicals, and when you’re pouring an organic wine that is gold. the mineral content also keeps the palate fresh so you can taste the wine the way the winemaker and nature intended you to. thanks antipodes, you’re the bomb. antipodes.co.nz
