There are festivals that feed you, and then there are festivals that remind you why we gather in the first place. The Food & Wine Classic in Charleston—held November 14–16 and presented by Food & Wine, Southern Living, and Travel + Leisure—was firmly the latter. Over three days, more than 50 cooking demonstrations, wine and spirits seminars, fireside conversations, and late-night tastings unfolded across the city’s historic waterfront.
The Classic married Charleston’s Lowcountry soul with a global constellation of culinary and wine voices: winemaker Steve Matthiasson; sommelier and educator Lucy Simon; Graft Wine Shop co-owners Miles White and Femi Oyediran; chef Emeril Lagasse; Top Chef judge and author Gail Simmons; chef Kwame Onwuachi; wine educator and writer Anthony Giglio; pitmaster Rodney Scott; chef Melissa King; Andrew Zimmern; Tyler Florence; and, in a kind of joyful cultural cross-current, Academy Award–winner Regina King, Grammy-winning country music legend Trisha Yearwood, New York Times best-selling author and Somebody Feed Phil host Phil Rosenthal, and Grammy-winner Ciara, to name just a few.
But beyond the star power and spectacle, the weekend offered something else—moments of reflection in a world that feels increasingly heavy. Fittingly, many of those moments began at seminars with Champagne at 10 a.m.
The Classic That Starts in Bubbles
Charleston wakes up slowly, but the Classic bursts out of bed. Each morning, festival-goers streamed into seminars that, for me at least, often started with what I lovingly came to call “breakfast Champagne.”
My weekend opened with a grower Champagne and country ham seminar titled “Bringing the Sparkle & the Funk”—a pairing that instantly made sense on the palate. Miles White and Femi Oyediran, two of the festival’s most magnetic wine minds and the co-owners of Graft Wine Shop, led a tasting that was as intellectually rich as it was delicious. The interplay of briny country ham against electric, mineral-laced bubbles was revelatory; by the end, several attendees (me included) were openly placing online orders for Edwards Virginia Smokehouse country ham for our holiday tables.
Champagne would end the weekend too, in a perfectly circular flourish. Anthony Giglio, veteran wine educator and storyteller, hosted one of the Classic’s most joyful sessions: a Champagne-and-caviar seminar that felt like equal parts master class and story hour. At one point, he implored us to drink together through each glass, tasting as a room, not as scattered individuals.
His stories sparkled as much as the wines, and the room soon bubbled with a distinct Champagne-buzzed camaraderie. Our seminar became its own small community, a microcosm of what the entire festival would offer: the chance to be fully present with one another, glass in hand.
Conversations That Mattered
Between those sparkling bookends, the Classic delivered a profound slate of discussions. A fireside conversation with Phil Rosenthal, Maneet Chahuan, and Julia Coney, framed around “Tall Tales and Cocktails,” set the tone early. They shared the drinks that left indelible marks on their lives, weaving memories and recipes into something closer to oral history than simple storytelling.
Phil described a chocolate egg cream in memory of his parents, a drink that will serve as a sort of preview of his new nostalgic diner, Max and Helen’s, opening in Los Angeles. In that moment, the humble egg cream became less of a beverage and more of a bridge—between generations, between grief and gratitude, between the New York of his childhood and his diner yet to welcome new regulars.
But the most thought-provoking session of the weekend was a panel on the future of food and wine sustainability, featuring winemaker Steve Matthiasson, Tablas Creek proprietor Jason Haas, and heirloom grain champion Glenn Roberts. Moderated by the brilliant and famously incisive Executive Wine Editor of Food & Wine, Ray Isle, the conversation wove together climate realities, economic pressures, farming traditions, and the joy that still draws winemakers back to the vineyard each morning.
Later, I had the chance to sit down with Ray Isle, and our conversation drifted naturally into the question so many of us are asking: What role does wine play in a world that feels uncertain?
Ray, with his signature humility and warmth, put it this way:
“Everyone has enjoyed wine, from peasants to Roman soldiers. It’s a communal drink. A 750ml bottle is built for sharing. That human connection is what gives us hope.”
He reflected on how wine has been present at harvest tables, victory dinners, wakes, weddings, and quiet Tuesday nights alike. The bottle doesn’t change, but the people around it do—and that’s where meaning lives. His words felt like the thesis of the entire weekend: wine as a throughline in human experience, not an escape from it.
Regina King and a Syrah That Stopped the Room
Regina King brought that message into even sharper focus. I was able to join an intimate group for what was far more than a celebrity cameo; it was an offering. She introduced MianU—pronounced “Me and You”—the wine label created in honor of her late son Ian and his gift for turning life’s ordinary moments into extraordinary ones.
Her new, just released, limited edition Mendocino County Syrah was a revelation: vibrant yet grounded, elegant yet powerful, a wine that seemed to carry both memory and possibility. It was the kind of Syrah that unfurled slowly in the glass—dark fruit, savory spice, a quiet lift of violet—and somehow managed to feel both generous and contemplative at once.
Her presentation was deeply moving, spoken with a grace that held the room in stillness. Tasting the wine, I couldn’t help but feel the connective thread between her story and Ray Isle’s reflection: wine as a vessel of community, remembrance, and shared joy. MianU felt like a toast to the people we’ve loved, the ones we still hold, and the ones we carry forward in our stories.
Charleston’s Moment
For decades, the Food & Wine Classic belonged solely to Aspen. But Charleston has stepped confidently into its moment. The city’s architectural charm, exceptional hotels, and deeply rooted food culture create a backdrop that elevates the entire experience.
Nowhere was that more evident than at Zero George, where I had the privilege of dining with the legendary Cathy Corison. One of California’s most pioneering winemakers—full stop—she brought such warmth, wisdom, and grounded brilliance that the evening became something far beyond a run through a tasting menu; it felt like being invited into a living thread of Napa history. The food was exquisite, the setting intimate—soft light, the quiet clink of glassware, the hum of low conversation—but the company was the true centerpiece.
Charleston didn’t just host the Classic; it collaborated with it. The “Dine Around Charleston” series showcased local talent at restaurants like Bintü Atelier, By The Way, Kultura, and Merci, each highlighting the Lowcountry’s signature dishes—wood-smoked barbecue, hand-rolled biscuits, and seafood pulled straight from the tides.
The Grand Tastings gathered more than 100 producers of wine, spirits, beer, and food. The pavilion hummed as guests drifted from Cabernet to Crémant, from oysters on ice to Old Fashioneds built to order—small groups breaking and reforming as someone inevitably said, “You have to try this.”
Additional ticketed events, such as “Pearls of the Coast: A Lowcountry Oyster Roast,” paired live jazz with fire-roasted oysters and hands-on crabbing, bringing festivalgoers directly into the rhythms of Charleston’s coastal traditions.
The Spirit of the Weekend
For all the star chefs, winemakers, and Grand Tastings, what lingered most was the feeling that food and wine remain among the last truly communal acts we share. The Classic underscored that connection is not only possible but essential—made over a glass, a story, a bite, or a bottle built for more than one. It surfaced in Ray Isle’s quiet insistence that a 750ml bottle is inherently communal; in Regina King’s Syrah poured in loving memory of her son, and in Anthony Giglio’s plea that we drink together.
The weekend was made even richer by the people I shared it with: old college roommates reunited after too long, D.C. friends who now call Charleston home, and new friends met in seminar lines and tasting tents. Between events, we wandered cobblestone streets, traded tasting notes, squeezed into packed bars for “one last glass,” and lingered in hotel lobbies until we lost track of time. The festival became our shared calendar—a series of small rendezvous points that wove our days together.
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Photo Credits: Cameron Wilder