I had my first sip of Pearl Morissette in 2015. It was my first big event for theNotice: Neutrogena flew me in for dinner and an exploration into their product line, and we the night away. I got to meet my friends Arianne (does anyone remember Glitter Geek??!) and Jessica (Beautezine is still totally aspirational) in person, and most importantly… I had the first white wine to ever make me really love wine. It’s not a bottle that’s served at The Restaurant at Pearl Morissette, but in a roundabout way, it brought me there.

The bottle in question was the 2011 Pearl Morissette Cuvée Black Ball, a Canadian riesling from the Twenty Mile Bench region of the Niagara peninsula. I still remember how it felt in my mouth: citrusy and dry, with a minerality that felt like it sparkled on your tongue. It’s the sole reason that I ever began to fall in love with wine.

The Restaurant at Pearl Morissette

Pearl Morissette no longer offers wine tastings (something I’ve dreamed of doing for years), but they instead have a restaurant on their property. It’s gorgeous — on the upper level of their ageing cellar, with beautiful light and bright, warm flooring. Their nine course tasting menu changes by the day, highlighting local ingredients and accenting each course with an optional wine pairing.

The most interesting thing about the restaurant at Pearl Morissette, I think, is not its food or its wines, but rather that it features more than just their wines. I imagine that the reasoning is fundamentally practical; they’ve rapidly risen in popularity, and likely don’t have enough of their older vintages to serve them with every course. But the result is a beautiful expression of palettes who truly love wine and food, and want to share it with the world.

Instead, The Restaurant at Pearl Morissette pairs courses with wines that reflect their values, from their favourite producers. We had their pinot noir with one course, which I love—it’s so velvety, but I’m horribly allergic to it for some curious reason—and their upcoming riesling with another. The first course, honey mussels with radish purée and longhorn beef jelly, were paired with a delicious white wine from out of country, and the last three (all sweets, but none too sweet) were served with the most delicious, creamy French rosé.

Unique wines that talk you into loving them

The magic that is Pearl Morissette hasn’t waned at all through the years, and I’m so excited to continue enjoying their new releases each year. (I just picked up a bottle of Violette; the brand is finally available here in Edmonton at Color de Vino and Crestwood Fine Wines & Spirits).

I made the trek to Pearl Morissette with two of my good friends—one who loves wine, and one who only drinks reds. Somehow, the same Pearl Morissette magic that talked me into loving wine five years ago worked on her, too. She entered the room hesitant to get the wine pairings—wouldn’t a bottle of red be safer, after all?—and left raving about their upcoming riesling, which one of their team members served as a pairing for us, as a treat. (My current ethos is to wholeheartedly tell people when you enjoy things. It’s led me to everything from unreleased wines to impromptu magic shows; after all, who doesn’t love sharing their passion with someone who wants to soak it all up?)

Pearl Morissette whites are white wines for people who don’t generally like white wines. They dance across your palette, and they’re never too syrupy—the brand ages their wines for a few years in old French barrels before releasing them, sometimes with a finish in concrete, and there isn’t a sticky-sweet sip to be found. Each mouthful is lively with minerality.

The experience of drinking a good bottle of wine is hard to explain, and I’ve had plenty at the same price point (usually around $45, which is extremely reasonable) that taste no different from a $20 bottle. These are different. Some are as easy to drink as a bottle of champagne; others are as complex as a cocktail. They’re always good, but often, they’re great.

Eating while Asian

Growing up as a kid in an immigrant family—my mom’s side has been in Canada for a few generations; she met and married my father while doing a year abroad in China; both grew up poor—food wasn’t a pleasure that I partook in often. I was a chubby baby and a really, really skinny kid, not from genetics but because my grandmother cooked (poorly) at home every night. (Boiled fish, boiled rice, boiled broccoli!)

The sensory experiences that I now love and often live for were something beyond my wildest dreams until long into my 20s. We rarely went out for dinner unless it was a birthday, and oftentimes didn’t even then. Spending even $25 per plate at a western restaurant was outlandish for my frugal Asian family — a trait that I’m intensely thankful for as a 20something on a budget, but one that stopped me from enjoying food until my adulthood. (If you grew up middle class and you’re accustomed to cooking at home every night with a low-meat diet of whatever was on sale at the grocery store, money practically prints itself.)

Like a lot of Chinese kids, I think, big dinners were something that were reserved for Chinese restaurants, if not for China itself. Treating your friends and family with a dinner that veered into the four digit realm was normal and expected, but treating yourself was a gluttonous act punishable with shameful glances and quiet tisking.