You feel it before you taste it — the cool grip of blue marl, pressed against bare skin. Terres Bleues moves slowly, like toes sinking into clay, like that first step outside after rain. The Savagnin is taut, mineral, and deliberate — citrus pith, green almond, a salty lick of lees — but there’s a softness to it too. Like walking a path worn down by devotion.
It’s not showing off. It’s remembering every inch of ground it came from. Every step held in balance. Every touch precise. The finish lingers, dusty and pure, like soil still stuck between your toes.
Pair it with fresh goat cheese, grilled fennel, or anything eaten with your feet dangling off the table.
