Certifiably....
How do you study for test that has no syllabus, but for a list of books fifty strong? I was at a lost and try as I might was unable to find anyone who could help me, tell me what I needed to know. Nothing online, nothing coming from the sommeliers I was surrounded by. And then I met Haley, a sommelier at a local hip restaurant with a fun and somewhat obscure wine list. She had recently passed the Certified Sommelier exam and was a fountain of exam knowledge, overflowing. Thank you, thank you, thank you Haley. Without her I would be without certificate, and less all that cash the exams cost.
The written was crazy hard with loads of obscure questions and archaic references (what’s that about?). The blind tasting, just as everyone said: two fastballs straight down the plate. Not easy but not hard. My service exam was one of the last. While we sat waiting, memorizing wines to recommend and alcoholic components of the classic cocktails, we watched them file in and out of the exam room. They headed to the bar; we sweated in our suits. Poor, Sue, she dropped her bottle of champagne, showering herself with foam smelling of tropical fruit and fresh brioche, she couldn’t bear the wait and excused herself, leaving me her phone number so I could call in the results. I was getting very nervous.
But in reality, it turned out to be a lot of fun. My proctor, an Ozy, was easy to interact with and responded well to my attempts to redeem myself by suggesting alternates to the cocktail that I wasn’t experienced with: Who orders a mint julep in California and under the age of 130? For every old world wine I recommended he wanted a new world and it must be mentioned that having spent time in New Zealand those are the wines I was most familiar with, at the time. It also bears mentioning that there is a fun Ozy-Kiwi rivalry. I wonder if he felt it?
I left the room feeling rather proud and good. Headed to the bar, trying to catch up on the drinking with my co-test takers. They called us back in, after about and hour of social lubrication, and then they read off our names. I watched as new friends and strangers received their pins. The man from Argentina, the cute guy from Cincinnati, they called Sue’s name and I quickly sent a text, keeping one ear on the calling of names. I envisioned returning to work with my tail between my legs.
In the days leading up to the exam there were plenty of well wishes as well as: “It’s a very hard exam, we’re proud of you simply for trying, and you didn’t allow your self much study time but you’ve worked so hard.” I was getting the feeling no one expected me to pass. Sitting there I began to think that I hadn’t. And then they called my name and my heart jumped from the pit of my stomach and lodged in my throat. I wanted to cry, to laugh, to jump out of my chair. I had passed. I drank my celebratory glass of Auslese, smoked a cigarette (I allowed myself the one, I was a stress case in need of release) and came home to a world forever changed for I was a Certified Sommelier and would always be, for the rest of my life. Sweet as!
The written was crazy hard with loads of obscure questions and archaic references (what’s that about?). The blind tasting, just as everyone said: two fastballs straight down the plate. Not easy but not hard. My service exam was one of the last. While we sat waiting, memorizing wines to recommend and alcoholic components of the classic cocktails, we watched them file in and out of the exam room. They headed to the bar; we sweated in our suits. Poor, Sue, she dropped her bottle of champagne, showering herself with foam smelling of tropical fruit and fresh brioche, she couldn’t bear the wait and excused herself, leaving me her phone number so I could call in the results. I was getting very nervous.
But in reality, it turned out to be a lot of fun. My proctor, an Ozy, was easy to interact with and responded well to my attempts to redeem myself by suggesting alternates to the cocktail that I wasn’t experienced with: Who orders a mint julep in California and under the age of 130? For every old world wine I recommended he wanted a new world and it must be mentioned that having spent time in New Zealand those are the wines I was most familiar with, at the time. It also bears mentioning that there is a fun Ozy-Kiwi rivalry. I wonder if he felt it?
I left the room feeling rather proud and good. Headed to the bar, trying to catch up on the drinking with my co-test takers. They called us back in, after about and hour of social lubrication, and then they read off our names. I watched as new friends and strangers received their pins. The man from Argentina, the cute guy from Cincinnati, they called Sue’s name and I quickly sent a text, keeping one ear on the calling of names. I envisioned returning to work with my tail between my legs.
In the days leading up to the exam there were plenty of well wishes as well as: “It’s a very hard exam, we’re proud of you simply for trying, and you didn’t allow your self much study time but you’ve worked so hard.” I was getting the feeling no one expected me to pass. Sitting there I began to think that I hadn’t. And then they called my name and my heart jumped from the pit of my stomach and lodged in my throat. I wanted to cry, to laugh, to jump out of my chair. I had passed. I drank my celebratory glass of Auslese, smoked a cigarette (I allowed myself the one, I was a stress case in need of release) and came home to a world forever changed for I was a Certified Sommelier and would always be, for the rest of my life. Sweet as!
posted by Charity Anais @ 5:58 PM
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