Your eyes adjust to the candlelit room. No music, no talking. Just the quiet hush of your breath and the bottle—already open, already sweating in anticipation. You raise the glass. Citrus peel. Apple skin. Dried apricot. It’s clean, yes, but there's something unstable beneath it. Like a held breath.
The first sip stings slightly—lime and salinity flashing across your tongue like a nerve test. Then the texture hits: leesy, soft, strangely weightless. You lose track of where one flavour ends and another begins. Is that chamomile? Almond skin? Sun-warmed stones? Your mouth can’t keep up. That’s the point.
You're fed in fragments. Warm gougère with a whisper of Comté. Quince paste on sourdough. A curl of fennel pollen clinging to salted butter. It’s not a meal—it’s a sensory ambush. You blink and everything is sharper: the light, the sounds, the wine dissolving into your bloodstream.
You’re not here to understand. You’re here to feel.
Region: Sud‑Ouest, France Grapes: Colombard, Ugni Blanc
