wine – Stories That Are All True

Beer and wine shopping has quietly become a guessing game. The expert layer that used to guide people through shelves of bottles and seasonal releases has disappeared, replaced by kiosks, static menus, and self‑checkout lanes. The inventory has grown, the choices have multiplied, and the context has evaporated.

You can feel this shift in every major retailer. Safeway, BevMo, Total Wine, Costco, Kroger — they all have enormous selections, but almost no one on the floor who can tell you the difference between two Malbecs or whether a gin leans botanical or classic. The people working the front are there to check IDs or keep the line moving. The people who actually know things are tucked away, busy, or simply no longer part of the model. The result is a wall of bottles that all look the same and a shopping experience that asks the customer to decode everything alone.

And increasingly, customers aren’t even in the store. They’re at home, ordering online, scrolling through endless lists of bottles with no guidance at all. The shift to online ordering didn’t remove human expertise — it revealed that the expertise had already been removed. When you’re shopping from your couch, there is no clerk to ask, no staff member to flag down, no one to explain why two bottles with identical labels taste nothing alike. The digital interface is the entire experience, and it’s not built to answer real questions.

Costco is the clearest example of this. Their alcohol section is famously good — award‑winning wines, private‑label spirits made by respected distilleries, rotating imports, and seasonal gems — but there is no one to explain any of it, especially when you’re browsing from home. You’re staring at a thumbnail image of a bourbon that might be an incredible value or might be a total mystery. The quality is there, but the guidance is gone.

The catalog has become the real point of contact, and the catalog is terrible at its job. Product descriptions are inconsistent. Tasting notes are vague. Seasonal items appear without explanation. Private‑label spirits are opaque. Rotating imports arrive and vanish with no context. Even something as simple as “Is this wine dry” becomes a research project.

What people actually want to ask is simple. They want to know which bourbon is closest to the one they liked last time. They want to know which IPA won’t taste like a grapefruit explosion. They want to know which wine pairs with salmon, which tequila is worth the money, and how to get the nouveau Beaujolais this year without driving to five stores. These are normal questions — process questions, comparison questions, context questions — and the modern retail environment can’t answer any of them, especially not through a website.

This is where a conversational, catalog‑aware AI becomes transformative. Not a generic chatbot, but an AI that can actually read the store’s inventory, interpret tasting notes, check regional availability, understand seasonal patterns, and respond in natural language. Imagine sitting at home and asking BevMo’s website, “Which tequila here is closest to Fortaleza but under $40,” and getting a grounded, specific answer based on the actual catalog. Imagine asking Safeway, “Which of these wines is dry,” and getting clarity instead of guesswork. Imagine asking Costco, “Is this vodka made by the same distillery as a premium brand,” and getting a real explanation instead of rumors.

This isn’t about replacing workers. The workers are already gone from the decision‑making layer. The shift to online ordering made that obvious. AI isn’t taking a job — it’s filling a void that the industry quietly created when it moved expertise out of the customer journey and left shoppers alone with a menu.

The technology already exists. Retrieval‑augmented AI can search, compare, contextualize, and explain. It can restore the layer of expertise that retailers quietly removed. And the big chains — the ones with structured inventory, regional distribution data, private‑label sourcing information, and historical sales patterns — are the ones best positioned to implement it. This isn’t a boutique‑shop project. This is a BevMo‑scale, Safeway‑scale, Costco‑scale, Kroger‑scale opportunity.

Once you can talk to the catalog, everything changes. You stop guessing. You stop wandering the aisles in confusion. You stop buying the wrong bottle because the label looked trustworthy. You start making informed decisions again. You get back the clarity that used to come from a knowledgeable human, but scaled to the size of modern retail — and available from your couch.

The future of beer and wine shopping isn’t about AI for the sake of AI. It’s about restoring legibility to a system that outgrew its own interface. It’s about giving customers the ability to ask real questions and get real answers. It’s about making the catalog conversational — because the catalog is already the center of the experience, and it’s time it acted like it.

Scored by Copilot. Conducted by Leslie Lanagan.

Daily writing prompt

What profession do you admire most and why?

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I am quite tired of laypeople calling every person in the kitchen a chef. A chef is the one who steers the ship, literally “boss” in French. A chef is in charge of inventory, food cost, HR, dealing with owners (who likely don’t know much, if anything, about food), and every little thing that comes up during a shift. The only people who are allowed to get away with taking the piss are the cooks who work under them. Anyone else and we’re out for blood. That’s our chef to use and abuse, not yours.

I kid, but in a lot of ways, it’s true. Dealing with customers is the worst part of our job, which is why cooks don’t do it much. We prefer to leave that to front of house, where people who are trained at being nice take the absolute crap people throw at them. That’s why there shouldn’t be a war between front of house and back of house, but often there is because no one knows who to blame when everything goes wrong. Things go wrong a lot.

That’s why I respect chefs so much- they’re the ones that have to keep a cool head while the rest of the kitchen is in the weeds. “In the weeds,” for those not in the know, means that the kitchen is running behind and orders are taking longer than normal.

I have personally been in the weeds more than most, because I’m not the fastest cook around and I’ve been by myself on busy nights. Just because I’m by myself doesn’t mean that I have become a chef, mind you. It means, more often than not, that owners are trying to save labor dollars even if it means there’s more customers than one person can handle.

I decided to get out of the kitchen when I got fired at my last job for being too slow. I tried to get brownie points by being the only one who would bail them out of a crisis, but my floppy muscles kept me from moving as fast as I needed to go, plus the lack of 3D vision made my plating off.

Therefore, I admire what people can do in the kitchen while staying far away from it. I’m currently writing a book about cooking called “Heard,” so named because I got a meme about six months ago that said, “I wish someone would write a neurodivergent cookbook explaining why we do everything.” “Heard” is the callback for receiving an order.

I thought that someone would beat me to press before I got finished, and then decided that it didn’t matter because my voice is unique. There is room for more than one book like this, and I don’t think that anyone has explored the history that I would like to do.

How did the brigade system populate across the world? We have Auguste Escoffier to thank for that, and his figure will loom large as we work away from the first restaurant to “why we do everything the way we do.” My buddy Evan is helping me because he’s been a chef de cuisine and doesn’t mind helping out with recipes, or as I like to call it, “measuring for lay people.”

The reason I need Evan for recipes is that I don’t use them. I just look in my pantry and decide what I’m having based on what’s in there, throwing things in a pan and balancing as I go.

I would also like to explore the history of drinks in another book, because the best book I’ve read on them so far is called “Around the World in Six Glasses,” which explores coffee, tea, beer, wine, spirits, and Coca-Cola. What would make my book different is that I want to explore how people drink in restaurants vs. what they make at home. Is there really a difference, or do people order vastly different things when they’re out and about?

I am rarely without something to drink in my hand, and I have a new angle that’s just now being covered- nonalcoholic spirits and beer/wine. I think that history with them is just now being created, because for the first time, people are realizing that the drinks themselves are fun without the risk of a hangover.

Younger people are also realizing that you can’t necessarily mix alcohol and weed, and given the choice, they’d rather smoke up.

I should probably cover edibles in this book, but because I’m on psychiatric medication, I’ll have to get someone else to do all the tasting.

I gave up everything fun a long time ago, except for nonalcoholic spirits and beers. Athletic is my favorite because there are so many different flavors and they all taste like restaurant quality beer. I haven’t had a dud yet.

It’s a miracle to me how a good amount of hops can trick your brain into thinking the alcohol is still there- or a “Chelada Nada,” which uses the bite of lime and black pepper to create the feeling of relaxation without intoxication.

And by “giving up everything fun,” I also mean working in the kitchen and getting to experiment with food altogether. It’s why I admire chefs the most out of any profession- they get to spend their days perfecting the perfect recipe so that people who really appreciate food can taste art.