You barely make it through the door before they're on you — hands at your belt, breath hot against your neck. No greetings. No games. Just the taste of urgency and salt and something darker underneath.
This wine grabs you the same way. Intense. Ripe. Dirty. Blackberry jam and black olives smashed between clenched fists. Crushed violets and sweat-soaked linen. The kind of tannin that scrapes, just slightly, as it goes down — and you like it.
There’s no candlelight here. No soft jazz. Just the low thud of bass, bare skin pressed against concrete, and the iron tang of blood oranges and want. It finishes slow and smoky, like lips dragging across your chest before they disappear again.
You want meat. Rare. Or manchego with the rind left on. Maybe just a cigarette and a second round. Whatever it is, it better be ready.
Region: Trás-os-Montes, Portugal Grapes: Touriga Nacional, Tinta Roriz, Castelão, Trousseau
