You open the bottle like you're opening a record sleeve—slowly, reverently, one finger tracing the edge. There’s a little hiss, a little foam, and suddenly you’re transported: shag carpet underfoot, peach wallpaper, and someone in bell-bottoms handing you a glass with a wink.
The wine fizzes in the mouth like moaning into a rotary phone. Tangy apricot, bruised apple, bergamot peel, and a whisper of dried herbs—wrapped in a fuzzy vinyl texture from the skin contact and those wild vine leaves thrown in during maceration like a backstage pass. The bubbles are soft, the acidity teasing, and there's just enough grip to keep you wanting more.
It’s the kind of Pet-Nat that doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It just slips into the conversation like someone who’s been at the party for hours, already dancing, already sweating. Serve it with fried sage and pecorino chips, harissa-roasted carrots, or a hot mess of cinnamon-dusted peach cobbler. Bonus points if you're shirtless.
