André Mack is America’s most famous sommelier. If, that is, “sommelier” is even a title that makes any sense for someone who also runs a winery in Oregon (Maison Noir), a restaurant in Brooklyn (& Sons), a design firm (Get Fraîche Cru), a drinks show with Bon Appétit (World of Wine), a whiskey brand (Rye & Sons), an Instagram account with nearly a million followers, and is a partner in a venture that designed and sells a $98 corkscrew (Best Wine Key).

We talked with Mack about his toughness and drive, his love of unfashionable aged California wines, his truly insane schedule, and his advice on building a cellar. But we started with his entry into wine, which is as unconventional and unexpected as they come.

On how it all started

The show Frasier got me into wine. I got laid off from my other job. I’m sitting on the sofa looking for my remote, watching some trash show like Judge Judy. And I fall asleep. When I wake up, Frasier’s on and I didn't have the gumption to change the channel. So I’m watching these two brothers. It was their relationship with alcohol that I liked. It was just their love for wine. And I kind of went with it. Like, I’d have my blazer on, my sweater vest—I was maybe 27. And my mom says, “You dress like an old white dude.” 

Never did I think I’d catch the bug or anything like that. But these brothers made me feel like I was missing out, because they had this ritual and way they talked about wine. I heard them say things and I’d look them up. I knew ’61 was a great vintage in Bordeaux because they’re fighting over Haut-Brion. The first time I ever heard of Gaja was when they’re in their Corkmasters wine club. 

That gave me the courage to walk into a wine store for the first time. Because from the outside looking in, if you don’t see anyone who looks like you, you don’t think it’s for you. But that show armed me with some comedic anecdotes. I thought that might protect me.  

So I walk into a store, they’re doing a tasting. They pour me some wine and the person behind me says, “How is it?” And I’m flustered—“Did he single me out? No one else is getting questions? I don’t know!” And I’ve got this red wine in a plastic cup and I say, “It’s not Château d’Yquem,” and the whole place erupts in laughter. I didn’t know Yquem was white wine or sweet or one of the world’s most expensive wines! It was just something I heard on the show.  

So I started stopping by more. You realize wine people are very hospitable and love to share information. Some in a more bloviating way, some more natural, but everyone loves to talk, and I’d just say, “Hey, I got $12 today—whaddya got?”

At that point, money was low. I had to go to work at Red Lobster. I was in charge of putting the sauces on the plate. They had three wines on the list—all white Zinfandel. And at the end of the night, I’m on my hands and knees, washing, cleaning, and then I go to Bennigan’s after with my colleagues to tell war stories and all that. And they say, “Man, why are you on your hands and knees working so hard at this?” And I say, “I want to do the best job I can, and be present in the moment, because I never want to do it again.” I wanted to move on and be good at something.

Then I got a job at The Palm steakhouse, and that’s where I did training. It was a smaller list, maybe 60 wines. We spent the last two hours of each night tasting those wines. It was the first time I’d tasted Riesling next to Sauvignon Blanc next to Chardonnay, and it blew my fucking mind. 

At one point I heard the term “sommelier,” and I was like, “Hold on, this is a job? I can do this?” Because, shit, I can wait tables with my eyes closed. But this is a new thing—this is wine. And sommeliers, you know, they’re always the most suave person in the restaurant, so I was like, “Hey now, this might just be up my alley!”

So I spent every waking moment with my whiteboard in my dining room in San Antonio just learning things. I remember this wine magazine story called “Wine List Confidential” where they interviewed these top sommeliers who were giving secrets and tips. I called each one and said, “Can I come stage for a week for free?” and some said yes. Through that, I met my mentor.

I had no idea this guy I was going to work for—the only Master Sommelier in Texas at the time—had taken a job to work for Thomas Keller. I just showed up at the back door. I didn’t even want to go in. I’m out back rethinking it, saying “Why am I doing this? This is the dumbest shit ever.” But I went in, and it changed my life. He offered me a job at the end of the day. And then he took me with him to the French Laundry.

Charlie Trotter’s book was really important to me. He taught me that you should hold yourself to a higher standard than the people around you. Excuses are shit. Charlie’s book said, “This is a real career.” Because I went to college and worked in finance, I’m thinking working in restaurants isn’t a career, it’s just a job. But the way he talked about professionalism—he says, “We’re professionals, this is how we should act and move and be.” I’d never read anything like it. When I did, I was like, “I want to do this.” 

On the André Mack work ethic

My typical schedule, man, I’m everywhere. Let’s see: today’s the first. On the seventh I go to the Michelin party. On the eighth we have a launch event. Ninth, I go to San Antonio. Tenth, I go to Houson to hang out with our distributor staff. Eleventh, I do this Honeyland music festival event to do some demo shit on stage. The 13th, I get home. The 14th I’m back on the plane to Arizona doing a buyers’ lunch and a consumer event that night. That’s a typical week. It used to be crazier! 

It’d be different and hard if I worked for Kraft cheese. The fact that I’m working for myself and this is a family business; that makes it easy. I work harder for myself than anybody else. My wife’s really independent—I got lucky. She understands. 

I would die if I slowed down. I’ve always had this burning thing. I’m a competitive person, but only internally. I’m working hard to put some space between me and everybody else so they know we’re not the same. My parents had a conversation with me that my white colleagues never had. My mom said to me, “You have to be 10 times better just to get recognized.” So I just did the work.

The words that haunt me are potential. I was a kid that had potential. I played basketball. It didn’t feel good to not live up to my potential. My thing was, when I find something I think I’m good at, I will never let go.

I come from a place that a lot of people don’t leave. That’s real shit, no fluff, that’s just where I come from. My mother, who was 16 when she had me—she wanted more out of life. For me and for her. It was just me and her. That was it. Last year, my mother calls me on my 50th birthday. She says, “Do you remember someone called Bernice?” I said, “Yeah.” I thought I was related to her. She says, “No—she was a social worker. Both me and you were in foster care.” She said that the first foster woman we lived with had other kids and made them go to the store and steal steaks. And my mom said, “We can’t live here.” So I found out when I turned 50 who Bernice is. And I’m still processing that.

On working for America’s top restaurants—and moving on

You work at a place like Per Se, and you end up really living your life like “what would Chef do?” I’m at the bank doing something and I’m thinking, “What would Chef do?” That's when I knew they got me. It took me three months after I left to decompress. Because you’re trained to walk into a place and you’re like, “That picture’s crooked. This waiter doesn’t have a belt. That guy’s belt doesn’t match his shoes. That table wobbles. That glassware is moving so the stem is defective.” It was really intense and hard to come off of that.

But who doesn’t want to be challenged at work? Maybe in this present time, everyone wants to do the least work possible. But in that job interview, I was like, “Listen, I need discipline.”  

Most people didn’t get fired from that restaurant, they quit. If you were doing something out of line, nine times out of 10 your peer, or the back waiter—not your manager—would let you know. People were like, “We’re not a bistro here. Stop playing grab-ass.”

They called me Judge Dregs. We used to have these doctors come in, and there’d be 85 bottles of Bordeaux open that they brought. At the end of the night, they all had the dregs in the bottom. That’s how I got to drink a lot of old Bordeaux.

David Chang creating Momofuku Noodle Bar—I was blown away by that. He had these people who learned at the top places, using the most advanced techniques, but they’re wearing the Slayer t-shirt and jeans and Adidas shell tops. I saw it and said, “I want to be a part of this. I want to make wines for that.”

There’ll always be a place for these formal restaurants, but the epitome of what great eating looks like is changing.

My thing was always a middle finger to the establishment, but in the nicest way! We don’t need to have all the fluff. Do I really need to eat this off a $200 Christofle fork? Do I really need my waiter to wear Gucci?

On tasting wine

When I first started tasting wine, all I could taste was the alcohol. I’d never seen, like, guava, or any of this stuff in real life. So I decided I’d be book smart. This is a trained skill. I started being around people who were better tasters than me. You may be better, smarter, faster than me, but all I had control over was my work effort.

Rajat Parr has the best palate I’ve ever seen. He has a photographic taste memory. He called a ‘69 Échezeaux at a blind tasting. I was like, “Get the fuck out of here.” And it was. He’s just a gifted taster. When we’re on winery visits, when he talks, everyone’s quiet. 

You talk about “the wine bug”—when it hits, it hits hard. Wine is collectible, it’s culture, it’s people’s history. We romanticize wine, and we don’t do that with any other beverage in the world. It’s the blood of Christ, right? There's something beautiful about it. It’s the only beverage that’s closely related to art. It’s similar to sitting at a museum and staring at an image for hours. You don’t sit with a Jack and Coke and do that. 

Not all of the great wines I’ve tasted had balance, but most did. A lot of them have this length and finish to them that to me indicates a great quality wine. Again, not all of them, and I might even tell you that’s an antiquated thing, like, “Who ever talks about finish as a sign of quality anymore?” But it is—there’s something about the length, the depth and the breadth of the flavor. I wouldn’t quite call it concentration, but it’s the way it sits on your palate. There’s a purity to it, too. A lot of the great wines have that. When you taste it, you know.

On what he wants to drink

I get one meal and one wine? Probably Burgundy and a burger at Red Hook Tavern [in Brooklyn]. A dry-aged, quarter-pound, thick burger. Nothing but onion and cheese, and underneath is a raw onion. Yeah. And 2006 Volnay from Marquis d’Angerville. A magnum. I love to drink magnums. Long and slow—and there’s a lot of it. 

It’s not cool, but I love old California wine. People are like, “What the fuck are you doing?” But I have a bar dedicated to it. I bought a Girard 1989 red wine blend. It’s singing! We sell it for $80. Some of the great wine value right now is in old American wine. Not the “collectible” top-tier wines, but the non-collectible old American wines. A lot still have longevity. Last year we bought this block of ‘86 to ‘89 Kenwood Jack London. The ‘86 was amazing. People would say, “You’re drinking that?” I’m like, “Yeah!” The crazy part is, I’m not interested in the current release. But the old stuff is fun and different.

Most people are shocked that I drink Corona. I just took my kids to Dave & Buster’s here in Brooklyn. And I roll up to the bar, and say, “I’ll take two Coronas.” And the guy looks up and says, “Aren’t you the sommelier guy from Bon Appétit?” And I felt judged! But what’s fun is to be able to appreciate it all.

On what you should drink

To me, the real bug and the magic happen when there are three glasses in front of you and you’re smelling them and learning. Where I can say, “This is Syrah, this is Shiraz, and this is fucking Côte-Rôtie.”

If I’m building your cellar? Well, look, in my circle in Texas, you started with California Cab and got a shit-ton of that. Then you’d grow out of it. But if I’m trying to get you bitten by the wine bug? Classics. They’re expensive, but they’ve been setting a standard for years. We’re going to Italy, Spain, France. How could you build a foundation not built on the classics? We have a lot of people in the natural wine world who don’t even know what the classics are these days. 

For younger drinkers, what’s cool is when you realize there’s thousands of grape varieties, not just the 15 or 20 we talk about. So maybe I’d include a couple up-and-coming areas; some of the newer stuff that’s not expensive, just rare. There are going to continue to be more wine companies that cater to that—more obscure things and tastes. And because of climate change, more of this interesting stuff is going to come from further north, like British Columbia.

But just drink what’s good, man. I try to meet people where they're at. And don’t criticize people for what they do or their choices. Just because you start somewhere doesn’t mean that’s where you finish. Everyone has to start somewhere. I mean, shit, I made cotton candy at Chuck E. Cheese. But look, I worked the highest position in the field and you didn’t. So let’s democratize and demystify wine a bit. 

And listen: it’s just wine.