You pop the bottle, and things get real frothy, real fast.
This wine doesn’t pour—it struts into the glass, cloudy, unfiltered, a little unpredictable, like a man named Ron with an open shirt and too much chest hair. The first sip is pure disco fever—juicy red berries, a swirl of citrus, and an unmistakable yeasty funk that clings like a polyester jumpsuit in a sweaty club.
Then the bubbles hit—soft, teasing, just enough to make you bite your lip. The texture? Thick, hazy, just a little dirty. You know this is a natural wine, but let’s be real—nothing about it feels natural. The finish lingers, like the bassline of a song you don’t remember dancing to but definitely left a mark.
Pair it with greasy pizza, funky cheese, or whatever’s within arm’s reach after you wake up in someone else’s apartment.
