I watch you, knowing exactly what you want. There’s no need to rush—pleasure is best savoured, drawn out like a slow sip that coats your tongue before slipping down, leaving you aching for more.
I pour the glass, and the perfume rises—ripe white peaches, lemon zest, and a whisper of wild herbs. The first taste is supple, golden, just the right amount of weight pressing against your lips. Grenache Gris and Roussanne melt together, silky but never heavy, a teasing balance of tension and ease. You follow the pull of its bright acidity, the way it lingers at the edges, lifting you higher before settling into something deeper, rounder, utterly satisfying.
I lean in, letting the moment stretch, watching your anticipation grow. The finish lingers, like fingertips tracing the skin, like the slow sigh that escapes when restraint finally gives way.
Oysters on ice, saffron-infused risotto, or a wedge of bloomy-rind cheese melting into warm bread—each bite another reason to stay a little longer, to let the night unravel, one slow pleasure at a time.
Area: France, Corbières Grapes: Grenache Gris, Roussanne
