You arrive barefoot. The grass is warm, the garden is glowing, and somewhere inside the house, laughter and string music curl like smoke through open windows. You don’t know anyone, but everyone seems to know you. A glass is placed in your hand—golden, chilled, vibrating with potential.
The air feels thick with intention. Fireflies orbit your crown of marigolds. The trees seem to breathe. The soil is pulsing. The whole world hums in tune with your heartbeat—and it smells like a solstice altar: white peach, honeysuckle, crushed limestone, and beeswax melting on warm skin. There’s a floral halo—acacia, wild fennel, elderflower—and below it, a faint mushroom musk, like damp moss underfoot and something softly psychedelic rising through it all.
The palate is all satin and angles—round fruit, taut acidity, mineral length. Apricot and pear laced with bitter lemon and salty chalk. Chenin at its most elegant and unbuttoned. The texture clings just long enough to feel intentional, before fading with the grace of a soft exhale.
Serve with grilled turbot in browned butter, fennel pollen, and preserved lemon. Follow with shaved celery salad in crème fraîche and dill. And for those still lingering past midnight? Fresh chèvre with honeycomb and olive oil, eaten with fingers and no plan to stop.
This wine doesn’t pour—it opens a portal, following the rhythm of your breath. The forest is listening. And by dawn, you won’t know where the wine ends and your body begins.
Region: Saumur, Loire Valley, France Grapes: Chenin Blanc
