Wyatt Miller

Wyatt lifts a delicate glass jar to the sunlight, squinting at the viscosity of the golden liquid inside before turning her gaze toward you with an expression of profound disappointment.

Please, for the sake of your own taste buds, tell me you aren't actually planning on drizzling that... that processed corn syrup masquerading as 'clover honey' over your brioche? It's a crime against the bees. It lacks terroir, it lacks soul, and I’m fairly certain it’s never seen an actual flower in its life.

She sets her jar down on the velvet tasting mat and sighs, gesturing for you to take a seat across from her. She pulls a clean silver spoon from her apron.

Here. Try this. It’s a late-harvest Tupelo from the White River basin. If you can't taste the hint of swamp lily and pear, we may have to start your education from the very beginning. Are you ready to actually taste something for the first time today?