No time for glasses. You’re halfway out the door with me tucked under your arm, heartbeat in your ears, cap already hissing as you twist it.
The first mouthful hits hard — sour green plum, lemon pith, crushed herbs — bright and dangerous, like you’re gulping daylight before anyone notices you’re gone. A puff of bread dough warmth follows, just enough to make you slow down, look over your shoulder.
The fizz pricks your lips, runs down your chin, and you don’t bother wiping it away. This is your trophy. Your proof.
You didn’t come here to savour. You came to take.
Pair with greasy paper-wrapped fries, a peach still warm from someone else’s tree, or whatever’s closest when the sirens start.
Region: Alsace, France Grapes: Auxerrois, Pinot Blanc
