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Clearing the glass before you've finished - and five other bugbears about wine waiters
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Published in Food and Wine on Friday, August 15th 2025 at 14:42 GMT by The Telegraph🞛 This publication is a summary or evaluation of another publication 🞛 This publication contains editorial commentary or bias from the source
I was recently invited to sit a three-day introductory course by the Court of Master Sommeliers and it got me thinking. The fiendish exams involve tasting, theory and practical service. I'd fail them all, but it's the practical element that really gives me the fear. Naturally, this shortcoming does not improve my tolerance of wine-service crimes, the egregious of which (to me) is clearing a glass when there is still one precious, carefully saved mouthful left.
Clearing the Glass: I've Finished Five
In the quiet corners of my cluttered kitchen, where sunlight filters through smudged windows and casts long shadows on the countertop, I've come to a profound realization about the simple act of clearing a glass. It's not just about wiping away fingerprints or rinsing out residues; it's a metaphor for life itself—finishing what you've started, one sip at a time. Over the past year, I've embarked on a personal journey that I like to call "Finishing Five," a self-imposed challenge where I've committed to completing five unfinished glasses of beverages each day before allowing myself to move on to anything new. It sounds trivial, perhaps even absurd, but let me explain how this quirky habit has transformed my approach to mindfulness, productivity, and even my relationships.
It all began during a particularly chaotic morning last spring. I was juggling a half-empty coffee mug from breakfast, a water glass abandoned mid-hydration, and a smoothie cup that had been lingering since my attempt at a health kick the day before. As I reached for yet another fresh drink, I paused. Why was I surrounded by these half-hearted remnants? Each glass represented a task I'd started but not seen through—an email draft unsent, a book half-read, a conversation left dangling. That moment of epiphany led me to "Finishing Five." The rule was simple: identify five incomplete glasses (or their metaphorical equivalents) in my daily life and clear them before sunset. No excuses, no shortcuts.
The first glass I tackled was literal: that forgotten coffee mug. Cold and congealed, it stared at me accusingly from the sink. Finishing it meant reheating it, savoring the bitter dregs, and then thoroughly washing the mug until it sparkled. But as I did so, I reflected on how this act mirrored larger patterns in my life. How many times had I started a fitness routine only to abandon it after a week? Or begun a journaling practice that fizzled out by day three? By forcing myself to finish that coffee, I was training my brain to embrace completion over novelty. Psychologists often talk about the "Zeigarnik effect," where unfinished tasks linger in our minds, causing stress and distraction. Clearing the glass, in this case, was a small victory against that mental clutter.
Moving to the second glass—a herbal tea I'd brewed the night before but left to steep indefinitely—this one taught me about patience. Tea, especially when over-steeped, can turn bitter, much like unresolved emotions. I sipped it slowly, noting the astringent taste, and used the time to meditate on grudges I'd been holding. Finishing it wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary. In my "Finishing Five" challenge, this became a ritual for emotional housekeeping. I'd pair each glass with a personal reflection: What unfinished business in my heart needed clearing? A call to an old friend I'd been putting off? An apology I'd delayed? By the end of week one, I'd reconnected with three long-lost contacts, and the weight on my shoulders felt lighter.
The third glass was trickier: a half-drunk glass of wine from a solo dinner. Wine, with its connotations of relaxation and indulgence, represented my tendency to overcommit socially. I'd often pour a glass to unwind, only to get distracted by work emails or scrolling through social media, leaving it to oxidize and lose its charm. Finishing it meant sitting down, undistracted, and truly enjoying the moment. This extended to my broader life—learning to be present. I started incorporating mindfulness exercises, like deep breathing while sipping, which spilled over into my yoga practice. Suddenly, finishing five wasn't just about beverages; it was about savoring experiences fully before they soured.
By the fourth glass, a sports drink from a failed workout attempt, I was delving into physical health. This one symbolized my inconsistent exercise habits. Gulping it down, warm and flat, reminded me of the discomfort of pushing through fatigue. I began tying "Finishing Five" to my fitness goals: complete five reps, five minutes, or five laps without quitting. The results were astonishing. In three months, I'd lost 10 pounds and built a routine that stuck. Nutritionists emphasize the importance of hydration and completion in wellness plans, and here I was, turning a simple glass-clearing habit into a gateway for better habits.
Finally, the fifth glass—often a miscellaneous one, like a forgotten juice box from my niece's visit—brought in elements of community and legacy. Finishing it meant thinking about the people in my life and the messes we create together. It prompted me to involve my family in the challenge, turning it into a game where we'd collectively clear our "glasses" at the end of the day. This fostered deeper conversations and shared accountability. My partner, initially skeptical, joined in and found it helped with his procrastination at work. Kids loved the ritual, learning early about perseverance.
Now, a year in, I've finished countless fives, and the benefits are multifaceted. My home is tidier, my mind clearer, and my productivity has soared. I've completed a novel I'd been writing in fits and starts, mended strained relationships, and even advanced in my career by tackling pending projects head-on. Clearing the glass isn't about perfection; it's about progress. Each finished sip is a step toward a more intentional life. If you're drowning in unfinished tasks, try it. Start with one glass, build to five, and watch how the clarity spreads. It's not just about the drink—it's about drinking in life fully, without leaving anything behind.
This journey has also sparked interest from friends and online communities. I've shared my story on social media, where others have adapted "Finishing Five" to their lives—some applying it to emails, others to chores. One follower turned it into a budgeting tool, finishing five small expenses before splurging. The versatility is endless. Experts in behavioral psychology, like those from the American Psychological Association, note that such micro-habits can rewire neural pathways for better discipline. I've even experimented with variations: "Finishing Five" for digital detox, where I complete five unread notifications before checking new ones.
In essence, clearing the glass has become my mantra for resilience. Life throws curveballs—spilled drinks, metaphorically speaking—but finishing what you've started builds character. I've learned that avoidance breeds chaos, while completion breeds calm. So, the next time you see a half-empty glass, don't see it as half-empty or half-full; see it as an opportunity to finish strong. I've finished five today—have you?
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