Growing up in a multigenerational family of undocumented immigrants on the Lower Westside of Santa Barbara, I never saw a bottle of wine in the house. Like so many people of similar backgrounds, I simply assumed wine was not meant for us.
Credit: Ingrid Bostrom
Then I found myself working as a nanny in Montecito for just the sort of folks you might imagine would be drinking wine with meals. One evening, after putting their children to bed, I was invited to take part in a birthday toast.
I was flattered by the invitation. Until then, I’d felt like an outsider peering in, but participating in the toast felt special, like a gesture of inclusion. Curious about the wine, I was shocked to learn from a quick Google search that the bottle cost more than $800.
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