This bottle doesn’t just pop. It struts. The second the crown cap hisses you can practically hear a bass guitar riff and see a velvet curtain parting. Bubbles rise like they know they look good, carrying citrus, pear and a flirtatious little funk that winks harder than a man with a gold medallion and questionable intentions.
The first sip is all sparkle and swagger, bright and juicy with a little wildness that tastes like someone put a disco ball inside a grape. It foams, it flirts, it slides across your tongue with the confidence of a man who unbuttons his shirt down to the stomach and calls it fashion. Everything is soft neon and naughty suggestion and you can’t help smiling because it feels like a good time that doesn’t bother pretending to be classy.
Bring snacks that keep the hips moving. Fried chicken, salty chips, oysters if you want to lean into the fantasy. Pour it cold, pour it fast, and let the bubbles hit like a retro soundtrack turning up for no reason other than pleasure.
