It doesn’t flirt. It watches. Waiting. Cold bottle, cloudy gold, resting just within reach like it knows you’ll come crawling. You pop the cap and the hiss is almost smug.
Aromas curl out like smoke: lemon pith, bruised apple, fennel, and something faintly herbal—like someone’s been pressing their thumb into your pulse just to see how fast it’s beating. You take a sip and the bubbles don’t dance—they bite. Tight and focused, cutting through fruit and salt like a blade disguised as a feather.
There’s a bitter streak too—intentional, assertive, sensual in the way danger always is. You pair it with grilled calamari slick with chilli oil, a slice of salted ricotta, and a tangy lemon tart that shocks your palate back to obedience.
By the time the bottle’s empty, you’re not sure who seduced who. But you know one thing: you’ll say yes again.