They say in the Valley of Saint Grégoire lives a golden‑haired creature, draped in blossoms, who whispers promises to anyone who dares follow her into the trees. This wine feels like her breath on your neck — warm, fragrant, and impossible to resist.
In the glass it glows with a deep, sun‑kissed gold, flecked with copper light. The air around it fills with ripe orchard fruit — apricot, baked pear, and hazelnut — layered over something finer: wet stone, faint smoke, the perfume of crushed petals underfoot.
The first sip is plush and enveloping, yet firm beneath its curves — fleshy stone fruit laced with quiet minerality, a creamy weight that melts across your tongue. It lingers, coiling itself around your senses like a spell, leaving just the faintest trace of spice in its wake.
This is no fleeting flirtation — it asks for company worthy of its power: terrines and pâtés still glistening on the plate, game in dark sauce, fish dressed richly in butter and herbs.
