- April 23, 2024
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Bob Goldstein, owner of Flagler Beach Wine & Cheese, didn’t know that he was going to be in the paper this week. And that’s what made him such a great interview.
See, I went undercover on Wednesday. Flew off the journalistic radar. Went rogue.
After plans fell through after work, Mallorie and I ended up at Goldstein’s shop. It was early, so inside was empty, aside from the racks of bottles and glass cases full of cheddar wheels. Then Bob walked in from the deck, said something about the weather then asked how he could help.
I didn’t introduce myself or say what I did for a living. This wasn’t a work call. I wasn’t there for that. But after talking wine with him for a while (and when I say “talking wine,” I mean quietly nodding like a connoisseur as Bob talked wine), I realized there was something newsy here.
People talk to you differently when you’re just some guy off the street, instead of some guy from the paper. The formalities go out the window. There’s no pressure to play parts — either of the scrappy entrepreneur or the ever-curious journalist.
Things are simpler. And, a lot of times, they’re more honest.
“If you like reds, this is a great one,” Bob said, grabbing a bottle from the wall and handing it over. “Big alcohol. Big fruit.”
And he did this for a while, scanning the racks and explaining the flavors of each. He took his time.
“If you’re looking for something bold, I’d say this is the best of— Oh!” Then he’d stop himself and reach for another down the row. “I forgot about this one,” he’d say.
You could just tell, by the way he talked about grapes and described wines as getting “seasick” on shipping boats and explained the different topographies of vineyards in Washington and California and overseas — the guy loved wine. Plain and simple. And he wanted us to love it, too.
Turned out, Bob used to be a distribution rep for big liquor labels, like Jack Daniels. He finally gave it up to pursue his dreams of owning a house on the beach and running a business in walking distance from it.
After buying a fixer-upper, he opened his wine shop about a 15 months ago, which he crams full of jazz and niche varietals, from companies that maybe only produce 500 or so barrels a year.
Wearing shorts at work and tan from hours spent on the courtyard, he told us that almost his entire inventory comes from wineries that most people have never even heard of.
“And that’s how I like it,” he said.
The whole thing got me thinking about my own endgame. I’m 25 and have still never been out of the country. I’ve never eaten real Italian food or been to a World Series or fired a potato gun. What did I want to accomplish before I was Bob’s age?
What’s my beach house and wine shop? I wondered. And that’s what Mal and I talked about, as we refilled our glasses and watched the waves.
It didn’t hit me until afterward that all this was a business story. Sometimes, all it takes to be newsworthy is being passionate, or going out of your way to be friendly to some out-of-his-element customer who’ll probably only end up spending a couple bucks at your shop, anyway.
In this economy, every startup has a story, usually something about struggle and adversity. Something about finally going for it, even though the market sucks and it’s far more practical to stay put and play it safe.
But people like Bob don’t do that. And that’s what makes their stories worth writing.
“I finally got it,” Bob told us, about his beach house and wine store. Then he checked out the reflections off the water and joked, “I may not make any money here, but hey, I got it.”
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