Meet Liza

Welcome to Window Papers, a look into the lives of the creatives who’ve found their way to CLBHUIS.

I biked to Egelantiersstraat 77 to meet Liza at Rebel Wines.
Say Egelantiersstraat three times really quick.
Yeah, I couldn't do it either. 

I met Liza with a handshake. Lera, her friend and business partner, also greeted me as I walked into the cozy wooden room. Liza’s ties to clbhuis are peripheral, but we are both building communities in Amsterdam, both eyeing each other, waiting for opportunities to connect.

We sat down at the vintage table situated on a platform standing a step above the rest of the shop. Liza and Lera set down a table cloth, some vintage plates (seemingly picked straight out of a pinterest board), a plate of cheese, and a block of sand (back to that later). They asked me if I'd like anything to drink.

My choices were wine or wine, fitting for the occasion I thought, and I was fine with either. Liza chose a natural orange wine. A nice pairing for the mild, blue-skied day. A little sweetness to settle the sun into evening.

I explained to her what this discussion was, and what it was not. "This interview is about you, Liza, not Rebel Wines." She nodded in understanding. My body shifted toward her, away from Lera. Liza is from Odesa, Ukraine. 'More beautiful than Paris' she reminisced. I told her my father was from Dnipro, Ukraine. A sigh came from both the ladies, as they confessed how close it was to the front lines.
I told them I wanted to visit.
They recommended I wait.

I wanted to understand how she got here, to this point, of running a wine shop in Amsterdam with her friends.
She took me back to school.

Odesa is a seaport city, most professional and educational paths pointed to the sea. She started her studies in seaport engineering, a curriculum heavy with math, physics, and management. But one semester in, she walked the plank, and her focus shifted to philosophy. A degree that didn't have a clear job title waiting at the end, but it felt like an irresistible choice after sparking her interest.

She continued to complete a master's. Stumbling into project management at an IT firm after graduation, not thanks to her degree, but to her good English.
Her passion wasn’t found in IT. (She wasn’t surprised, neither was I).

She arrived in Amsterdam with Lera but during their trip, the war at home broke out. So, they stayed and started working at the Moco Museum, as a host.

For those of you that don't know, the Moco Museum is one of the few private museums in the Netherlands. Privately owned, but open to the public (for a fee of course). They have some great art: Basquiat, Banksy, Marina Abramović, but their commercialized and popular approach to art eats into the raw magic of the works they exhibit. She moved onto a hospitality job at Bar Piff. Over time, she took on more managerial responsibilities, gaining more traction in the business. When the owners decided to sell, she and another friend looked to Lera and they decided to buy its sister wine store: Rebel Wines. A turn key business for them to pick up, as the previous owners put it down. This led them to, say it with me, Egelantiersstraat.

As Liza told me about her story, I sipped the orange wine like a child sips apple juice: way too quickly. I asked her to teach me how to really savor it, like my oma does. She reached for her glass and her nose slowly entered inside it.
I followed (into my own glass of course), as she instructed me to close my eyes. I did.
She described the smell for me. Fruity and slight oak. I nodded. She took a sip, making a whisper with pursed lips. I tried the same, and to my surprise the liquid didn't plop out. This pursing slurping action opened the wine up to every corner of my mouth. I felt like I finally tasted it for the first time. Like Remy from Ratatouille, fully immersed in that first bite of lightning-roasted mushroom, with jazz and colors rushing into my mind.

A few glasses in, I smiled and that same color rushed into my cheeks, “wow, I didn't know wine could taste like that”. They laughed.
We stepped outside for a cigarette.

On our way outside Lera pointed to a Rothko book sitting on the wooden bar. It was gifted to her recently. Rothko changed his name from Rothkowitz and moved from eastern Europe to America to escape blatant antisemitism in the brutal Russian regime. We agreed that Ukrainians feel a particular pull toward him. I knew my father did. And I do too. 

Sitting on the wooden bench attached to the store, Lera and I looked up to Liza as she stood. We spoke about relationships. Mine, theirs. Slowly breaking the interview to interviewee walls that were set when I first met them.
Somewhere between the smoke, the wine, and the quiet calm of the street, we started to feel like friends.

I snagged a piece of the crumbling, sand-like snack sitting on the plate, as we took our positions back at the table. I asked Liza again, "what is this?" She told me it was Halva, a Ukrainian delicacy made from sunflowers and nuts.
I put a piece in my mouth and it crumbled under the light pressure from my tongue.
"Sweet," I thought, as I joyfully washed it down with my “apple juice” (orange wine).

As I finished off my Halva, a couple from Nashville entered the store, it was still opening hours. They cited ChatGPT as their recommender. I gave them my hand to shake as a fellow American abroad. Liza got up from the table, and greeted them in front of the library of wines. “What are you looking for?” she asked. They mentioned their liking for small wineries, natural wines from obscure places. I thought to myself, ChatGPT recommended well.
Liza got to work, pulling two bottles from the wall with precision and conviction. She described them each as playful, colorful, light, noisy, but with depth. Listening along, she convinced me that she knew what she was talking about. She seemingly convinced them too, because they bought both.

Drinking with Liza and Lera, I saw what they meant when they told me they didn't see wine as a means to an end, or in layman's terms, getting drunk. They saw it as an experience within itself. To explore tastes and feelings with other people. Each wine has its own personality. Every time you open a new bottle, there is a possibility of discovery.

Throughout the evening I looked to Lera, her eyes full of pride and understanding as she nodded along, seeing herself in Liza's narrative, but also just appreciating the steps Liza had climbed to get to this point. Their bond brought them here, and it will take them much further.
Of that I'm sure.

By the end of our discussion, I realized my glass never reached an empty point, Liza masterfully (and subtly) filled my glass every time it descended toward emptiness. I'll admit I was more tipsy than I'd normally be for an interview.
She was generous, and I was in no position to turn her generosity away.
I labeled it as nice, and she corrected me: “it’s Ukrainian hospitality”.

I met Liza with a handshake.
But left with a hug.