A Taste of Hope: How One Night at Bohanan’s Served More Than Dinner
Editor & Photographer: Torry Sledge
Sommelier David Reuss presiding over A Taste of Hope
Guests converse on the Bohanan’s patio
There are dinners you remember for the food. And then there are nights like this—when every bite carries weight, and every glass lifted feels like a gesture of grace. On May 20, beneath a web of twinkling lights in the heart of downtown San Antonio, Bohanan’s Prime Steaks and Seafood transformed its courtyard into a sanctuary of taste and purpose.
The evening was cool—the kind of rare spring breeze that allowed cocktail dresses to breathe and tux jackets to stay on. Humidity clung in the air, just enough to remind guests they were still in Texas, but gentle enough to entertain in. The sound of harp strings threaded through the courtyard, soft and cinematic. At the far end, nestled beside a fountain, an elderly harpist drew notes like silk from his strings. No announcement. No spotlight. Just presence—an atmospheric grace note to begin the evening.
The event, titled A Taste of Hope, was a five-course wine dinner hosted in partnership with the San Antonio Food Bank. Each $500 ticket was more than a seat—it was a promise. One hundred percent of proceeds went toward hunger relief across Southwest Texas, where every dollar raised converts into seven meals for families in need.
The first course arrived like an amuse-bouche for the soul: watermelon manicotti, a playful stack of mint, feta, and olive oil wrapped in chilled sweetness. Paired with Intrada Sauvignon Blanc—sourced exclusively for this dinner by Jackson Family Wines—it offered a zesty introduction. Advanced sommelier David Reuss moved from table to table, entertaining guests with tasting notes and stories from his wine travels. Guests leaned in, some hoping to impress with their own wine anecdotes. He met them with equal curiosity.
As the sun dipped below the buildings, the second course made its entrance—roasted and grilled quail, plated with fermented black garlic and Italian sausage. Reuss introduced not one but two pairings, both from the Jackson Family portfolio: Zena Crown Pinot Noir and Caladan Cabernet Franc. “Pinot brings silk,” he said with a grin. “Cab Franc brings ballet.” The room chuckled, but the wines were no joke. Guests debated at their tables, some favoring the Pinot’s earthy smoothness, others wooed by the Cabernet Franc’s elegance and structure.
By the time the third course arrived, conversation had deepened. Plates of grilled baby artichoke Caesar were placed before each guest, layered with parmesan, duck fat croutons, and slivers of prosciutto. The pairing? W.S. Keys Chardonnay—crisp, golden, and radiant in the glass. Reuss introduced the wine simply: “If you don’t like this wine, I can’t help you.” The laughter that followed was instant and full-bodied.
As the tenderloin course came to life, Reuss offered a moment of instruction. Holding his glass just above the table, he demonstrated the swirl. “Let the wine stretch its legs,” he said. “It’s to wake the wine up—to let it speak.” Guests followed suit, watching how the wine clung to the glass, how the aromas lifted with motion. With each swirl, each sip, the night continued to unfold like a well-paced novel.
Creative dishes paired with thoughtfully curated drinks
Later, Reuss gathered the room for a final sommelier lesson: a blind test. Standing beneath the string-lit trees, he guided a guest through identifying a wine by sight, smell, and taste. “Let’s see what we’ve learned,” he said. The guest lifted the glass with care. Reuss posed the questions. The room leaned in. This wasn’t just an exercise in tasting—it was a moment of shared reverence, the closing chapter of an intimate study in experience.
As the final course was served—St. Andres Brie cheesecake with a pistachio crust and wine-poached apricots—the night softened into something slower, more reflective. It was paired with the Paperplane, a cocktail built on Jackson Family’s debut bourbon. Guests lingered with their spoons, savoring both bite and memory.
The harp had faded. The plates had cleared. But the courtyard still pulsed with presence. One guest folded a napkin across their lap and whispered, “It’s rare to feel full in more ways than one.”
In the end, A Taste of Hope wasn’t just a fundraising dinner. It was a reminder of what happens when elegance meets empathy. And San Antonio, with wine in its glass and purpose in its heart, showed just how much one evening can nourish.
