Don’t bring your manners. I’ll tear through them. You thought I’d be elegant—because I’m Champagne, because I sparkle. But I don’t twinkle. I bare my teeth.
I open with bruised red fruit, black cherry still dripping, apple flesh turning gold in the sun. Then I hit you with steel, acid, and that slow, sharp mousse that climbs your throat like claws.
You flinch. Good. That means you feel it.
I’m zero dosage—unsweetened, unsoftened, unafraid. You don’t tame me. You submit. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you drink again.
Pair me with raw meat, sharp cheese, or anything still warm from the kill. Don't be gentle. I won’t.
Region: Vallée de la Marne, Champagne, France Grapes: Pinot Noir
