Every few months, another study makes headlines claiming that alcohol increases the risk of cancer or other diseases. The message seems to become clearer each year: drinking less is better for your health.
As someone who has built a career around wine, I've spent a lot of time thinking about this. I'm not here to argue with science or encourage anyone to drink. The evidence is real, alcohol does carry health risks, and excessive drinking has devastating consequences for many people.
But I also believe that conversations around alcohol have become overly simplistic.
I often go back to an old saying: the dose makes the poison.
Take water, for example. There was a well-known case of a woman in the Midwest who died after drinking an enormous amount of water in a very short period. The water wasn't contaminated. She simply consumed far more than her body could handle, leading to water intoxication. It's a tragic reminder that even something essential to life can become dangerous when taken to extremes.
Of course, alcohol is different from water. Water is necessary for survival; alcohol is not. But the principle still holds: context and quantity matter.
Life is rarely as simple as one headline.
My own family reminds me of that. My mother, who probably had only a single glass of wine in her entire life, died of cancer at a relatively young age. My father, on the other hand, was once a heavy drinker and is still alive and kicking. Does that mean alcohol is harmless? Absolutely not. It simply reminds us that health is complicated. Genetics, environment, lifestyle, and chance all play a role. Population studies tell us about trends, not individual destinies.
What fascinates me even more is what has happened over the last decade.
Wine producers around the world are struggling to sell their wines as alcohol consumption continues to decline, particularly among younger generations. Some point to movements like Dry January. Others believe the pandemic permanently changed social habits. Gen Z also appears to be more health-conscious than Millennials, and many are choosing non-alcoholic alternatives.
Economics can't be ignored either.
Cocktails that once cost $15 to $18 now routinely cost more than $20, especially in New York City. Dining out has become a luxury rather than an everyday activity.
All of this leaves me wondering about something beyond alcohol itself.
What is the impact on our sense of community?
People seem to go out less. Instead of meeting friends at a neighborhood wine bar or local pub, many spend their evenings at home, sipping tea or kombucha while streaming another series.
There is nothing wrong with tea or kombucha. But I can't help wondering what we've lost along the way.
Sociologists often talk about the importance of "third places," the places that exist outside our homes and workplaces. They are cafés, neighborhood bars, bookstores, bowling alleys, community centers, and parks where strangers become acquaintances and acquaintances become friends.
Many of those places are disappearing.
Bowling alleys are closing. Shopping malls are fading. Independent cafés struggle. Local gathering places continue to disappear. As these spaces vanish, loneliness and isolation seem to become more common, and with them come growing concerns about mental health.
I'm not suggesting that alcohol is the solution to loneliness.
Far from it.
What I'm suggesting is that, throughout history, wine has often been a vehicle for bringing people together. Sharing a bottle encourages conversation. Meals become longer. Stories get exchanged. Friendships begin. Communities form.
For thousands of years, wine wasn't simply a beverage; it was a social ritual.
During a recent conversation, I joked with a friend that many remarkable historical figures enjoyed wine or other alcoholic beverages: Winston Churchill, Ernest Hemingway, many of America's Founding Fathers, and even Queen Elizabeth II. He was surprised because modern discussions often make it seem as though drinking and living a meaningful life are somehow incompatible.
Of course, alcohol doesn't make someone brilliant, kind, or successful. Nor does abstaining make someone any less interesting. Character has never been determined by what's in your glass.
Perhaps the real question isn't whether people should drink.
Perhaps it's this:
If drinking is disappearing as a social ritual, what will replace the community it once helped create?
As a sommelier, I don't believe wine's greatest value lies in alcohol. I believe its greatest value lies in its ability to bring people around the same table to slow down, share stories, disagree, laugh, and connect.
Maybe that's the conversation we should be having.