The world tilts when the blindfold slips into place—just enough to keep you guessing. You’re standing in the centre of an endless white plain, air vibrating with a mineral hum. A soft rope winds around your wrists, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you can’t forget it’s there.
The scent comes first—like being told to kneel and breathe in. Lemon oil drips slowly over golden apple slices, the sharp tang of green plum snapping in the air. Somewhere, rain hits warm stone, steam rising like a warning you can’t quite decipher.
When it touches your tongue, there’s no hesitation. Acidity lashes forward, quick and clean, before wrapping itself in a slow, weighty cloak of lees. The flavour is layered: bright citrus and pear pressed against a backbone of salt and crushed limestone. It holds you there, in that tension between sting and release, until you’re not sure which you crave more.
You think of the foods that could keep pace with this: scallops seared until their edges caramelise and threaten to burn, a wedge of young Comté breaking under the knife, fennel shaved into ribbons so thin they disappear when kissed with citrus. The blindfold stays on. You don’t need to see—every detail is already mapped on your tongue.
Region: Südsteiermark (Southern Styria), Styria, Austria Grapes: Morillon (Chardonnay)
