Cue the saxophone. You're sitting on shag carpet in a mustard corduroy jumpsuit, and the wine hits the glass with a sound that says, “Let’s take it slow, baby.”
At first it's subtle—some citrus, a whiff of stone, a little funk like corduroy in the rain. But then the acid struts in. Tight, crisp, all lemon peel and bare ankles. It doesn’t try to impress. It knows it's hot. It just leans against the doorframe, sipping itself, waiting for you to notice.
And you do. Oh, you do. Because it’s low alcohol, high vibe, and ready for that long, slow night with the lights dimmed and the fondue bubbling.
Best enjoyed with tabbouleh, smoked trout, or records that crackle louder than your inhibitions.
