Full Belly Files | Giving the Toast: A Journalist’s Job Hazard and Honor 

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Journalism comes with a number of job hazards. 

There are those inherent to the basic work: living under the threat of deadline at all times; working at all hours, whether that means typing away past midnight or waking up at 4 a.m. to restlessly ponder the lead of your next story; having to drop everything you’re doing, whether that’s writing another article or making dinner for your family, when important news breaks. 

There are those that arise depending on which stories you cover: driving through landmine-ridden countrysides to report from the frontlines; bicycling into remote jungles to cover a health project fundraiser; making enemies with politicians and businessfolk because you report on what they do and say.

There are those hazards that come up later in your career, because your role as a professional witness over the decades supposedly gives you insight into any given situation. Add to that your apparent storytelling know-how, and this makes you a perfect candidate to be on, or maybe even moderate, any number of panels about whatever your expertise is: how to start your journalism career; how to translate your scientific research into an article regular people understand; how to taste pinot noir. These are all generally worthwhile and positive endeavors, hazardous only because they take away from the time spent working on journalism. 

And then, if you’ve really lingered long and made yourself seem especially important on any topic, you may be asked to give “The Toast.” 

The only real hazard here is that it requires special techniques — namely, speaking in front of a large crowd in clear, concise, and compelling manner — that aren’t in the traditional journalist playbook, where observing as a fly on the wall is generally preferred to being the monkey dancing on stage. 

That usually leads to a bit of anxiety, whether from basic stage-fright or creeping imposter syndrome, or some mixture of both. I know some of the more fly-aligned journalists find such a task nearly crippling, while for others, like myself, the slight incursion of nerves mainly means that you don’t indulge in as many appetizers as usual (but possibly more drinks!) prior to the moment of toasting.  

Of course, being asked to give The Toast is about as meaningful a personal honor as one can experience, so it’s an anxiety worth achieving (and you can always eat more apps at the next event). And that’s especially true when The Toast is for someone you greatly admire and respect, which is ideally the case, of course, but not necessarily a requirement.

This is what happened to me last week, at the dinner for Sta. Rita Hills wine pioneer Richard Sanford, held as part of the appellation’s annual Wine & Fire event. The dinner was Thursday, and I was asked to give the toast the day before. I immediately accepted — Richard very much qualifies in my admiration and respect categories — and then went about pondering what I should say (and wear!) in front of about 80 people the following evening.   

What I came up with — and I think what mostly came out of my mouth in front of everyone, although you do slip into a bit of a trance up there — was that I have come to know Richard not just as a guru of wine and an inspiration for so many in the industry, but as a wise guru in life as well. 

Not long after we became closer friends — triggered by the reporting of this cover story back in 2012 — my dad died suddenly, and Richard was the first to reflect on how much the loss of a parent changes your life. That seems obvious, but I was unprepared for how true that would be, even to this day. And yeah, I nearly choked up on that part of the speech. 

He’s also always emphasized how important my role is as a scribe for this region, reminding me of the responsibility to do it well. And in covering his various ups and downs — building and eventually losing ownership of both Sanford and Alma Rosa wineries, although he remains an ambassador for the latter — I was steadily impressed at how Richard remained optimistic and positive, which is a life lesson for us all. Always look on the bright side of life, sang another wise man once. 

My toast went well enough, most anxiety averted (although I did have to pull out my notes once when I lost my train of thought, so I’d give it a B+). 

But I liked Richard’s speech later in the night even better. He talked about how our constant focus on digital screens is causing a great loss of awe in the world, how we’re becoming disconnected from the natural wonders that make life on earth so, well, awesome.

Richard then led us in a moment of silence to recognize this awe. Everyone obliged, and there we were, in the hills west of Buellton, listening to the calmness of nature for a significant stretch of time, much longer than the usual call for quiet. 

It was the best moment of silence I’ve ever experienced, and worthy of every hazard it took to get there. 

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From Our Table

Here are some stories you may have missed from the past week, and one from the archives: 

• Josef Woodard checks out the new Analogue Record Room and wine bar in Solvang.
• Leslie Dinaberg covered the California Restaurant Association’s visit to town, and also checked out the Hotel Californian’s revamped restaurant The Knock.
• Meaghan Clark Tiernan heads out to western Goleta to try PEGASLICE.  
• Hana-Lee Sedgwick writes about the Farmers & Makers event coming to Paso Robles.
• Tiana Molony checked out Koehler Winery’s dog treats and wine event. 
• I seemed to be on the closing beat this week: Miller Family Wine Company sold its wine portfolio to Seattle-based Precept; the natural wine hub Satellite S.B. is shutting down; and the fried chicken-done-well joint Jonesy’s is also closing up shop in Old Town Goleta.  
• Here is the 2012 cover story I wrote on Richard Sanford, which is how we became closer friends.