Drops of God

(A Food Guru Review)

When a series stops being background noise and becomes a sensory experience

I don’t usually watch much TV. And when I do, it’s almost always in the background. Episodic shows humming along while I’m writing, designing living air-plant sculptures, testing a new recipe, or sketching out the shape of a story. I like sound in the room, not distraction.

So when Drops of God surfaced as a suggested watch on AppleTV over the weekend, I nearly passed it by. Then a few words caught my eye. Wine. Death. Inheritance. That pause was all it took. Because really, who can resist a well-told story rooted in wine?

What I didn’t expect was how completely it would pull me in.

Rather than rushing the plot, the series takes its time, letting tension build through memory, observation, and silence. Relationships unfold slowly. Power shifts subtly. Nothing is handed to the viewer, and that restraint is part of what makes it so compelling.

Somewhere in the middle of the first season, I realized I wasn’t just watching wine being tasted. I was tasting it myself. Citrus and stone. Smoke and soil. The weight of the glass. The pause before the sip. The stillness afterward. The show understands that wine is sensory first, intellectual second, and it never confuses the two.

Even while my hands were busy, my senses were fully engaged.

The cultural layering adds quiet depth. French and Japanese characters move through the story with equal gravity, reflecting a broader reality in today’s fine wine and spirits world. Japanese influence at the high end is no longer peripheral. It is precise, disciplined, and deeply intentional. The series doesn’t explain this shift. It simply lets it live on screen, woven naturally into character and craft.

By the end of season one, I surprised myself. I was clapping. Alone. A small tear making its way down my cheek. The good kind. The kind that comes when something finishes exactly where it should. Complete. Earned. I sat there for a moment, satisfied, letting it linger.

And then season two appeared.

Like being offered another pour when you were sure the bottle was empty.

So far, season two (with one episode released as of 1/22/2026) doesn’t try to top what came before. It deepens it. The urgency softens into consequence. Identity matters more than proof. The sensory language grows richer, and the questions turn inward. What do you carry forward once you know what you’re capable of? How do you honor inheritance without being defined by it?

What stayed with me most was how seamlessly the series slipped into my own creative rhythms. I noticed myself slowing down in the kitchen. Letting flavors speak before adjusting them. Giving stories more space to breathe. Drops of God is a reminder that mastery, whether in wine, food, art, or writing, is rarely loud. It lives in attention.    

This wasn’t just a series about wine. It was about presence. About memory. About trusting your senses and allowing place, flavor, and history to speak before you do.

For someone who usually lets television simmer quietly in the background, Drops of God demanded a seat at the table. And earned it.

Looking forward to season two. Bravo Apple TV, you’ve done it again.

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Drops of God is an Apple TV+ original series adapted from the Japanese manga Drops of God. This article reflects personal viewing impressions and cultural commentary.

From my kitchen to yours, With room to wander. Happy creating!