Cue the music. Something with bass and breath. You’re lounging on a shag rug with nothing but a gold chain and a glass of this dripping from your fingers.
It opens with curves—golden apples, ripe pear, a little sweat behind the knees. Then bam: acid. Zippy, teasing, like a zipper being tugged just… so. The tannins? Barely there, but enough to leave a love bite.
You don’t rush this. You tilt the glass, lick the rim, let it play its game. It’s cheap in the best way—fun, frisky, and totally down for whatever.
Goes down best with crispy-skinned chicken, parmesan-dusted cacio e pepe, or cantaloupe kissed by prosciutto. Nothing serious. Just pleasure, babe.
