The leather is tight around your wrists—not painful, but firm. The tension is deliberate, measured, controlled. You breathe in, adjusting to the restraint, knowing there’s no escape. Not yet. Not until you’ve earned it.
The first sip of Oiseau is the same—gripping, commanding, unapologetic. Carignan, Grenache, and Syrah hold you in their grasp, deep and structured, the dark pulse of ripe blackberries and smoked plums pushing against your tongue. You try to pull away, but there’s no softness here—only power, only the slow tightening of spice and earthy depth.
You surrender to the tannins as they press in, wrapping your senses in something dark and unrelenting. A flicker of black pepper, a trace of wild herbs—the kind of pleasure that borders on pain, teasing, never quite giving in. And then, just when you think you’ve reached your limit, it loosens. The grip fades. The finish stretches out—long, lingering, leaving you aching for more.
Seared lamb, rare and glistening. Aged Manchego, sharp and biting. A pour of this, a bite of that, the tension never fully releasing, the pleasure drawn out until you can’t take it anymore.
Area: France, Corbières Grapes: Carignan, Grenache, Syrah
