Like someone walking into a bar in a sundress and no underwear—this wine is loose, cheeky, and knows exactly what it’s doing. One sip in and you’re not asking questions. You’re leaning closer.
It pours hazy gold, unfiltered and slightly fizzy, like it got dressed in the dark and still walked out looking hotter than everyone else. The nose is ripe lemon, fuzzy white peach, bruised herbs, and something slightly floral—like the perfume on someone else’s collar.
The palate? Soft, juicy chaos. Melon rind, lemon curd, green apple, maybe some almond skin, all wrapped in texture that clings just long enough to feel deliberate. There’s a salty, slightly funky finish that tastes like sweat and mischief in equal measure. It doesn’t care if it drips a little. In fact, that’s the point.
Serve it cold, but not too cold. Let it warm up and get weird. Pair it with greasy late-night dumplings, crispy grilled cheese with mustard, or leftover pasta eaten standing up. Or don’t pair it at all. Just drink it with someone you probably shouldn’t be texting right now.
It’s not subtle. It’s not sorry. It’s the best mistake you’ll make this week.
