Before you can ferment anything, you need vines. And before you get vines, you need land. Ideally, this land has decent drainage, a nice aspect (south-facing slopes are always in vogue), and the kind of soil that makes vine roots wriggle with joy. You’ll also want a climate that won’t regularly destroy your crop—though this is getting trickier by the year.
Assuming you’ve found your little slice of viticultural heaven, the first job is often tearing out whatever was there before. Old vines, rocks, trees, that mysterious concrete bunker—all of it goes. Then comes the soil prep. This involves ploughing, testing pH levels, adding compost, and generally annoying every worm in residence. It’s not glamorous, but neither is planting a vineyard on exhausted dirt.
Next, you choose your vines. This is where things get technical. What grape? What clone of that grape? What rootstock? (Because modern vines are grafted onto pest-resistant roots, not planted straight into the ground like the old days. Unless you enjoy feeding your entire investment to phylloxera, which is essentially vineyard locusts in business casual.)
You order the vines, you wait. They arrive in bundles, bare-rooted and looking about as inspiring as a bag of damp sticks. But those sticks hold potential. You plant them, usually in spring, using laser-guided tractors if you’re fancy, or string and back pain if you’re not. The rows are spaced, the trellising is installed, and suddenly it’s starting to look like a vineyard. A very young, very needy one.
Now comes the waiting. Vines take three years to produce their first commercial crop, which means three seasons of nurturing a plant that gives you precisely zero income. In the meantime, you spend your days training shoots, tying things to wires, and fending off pests with a mix of science, superstition, and mild desperation.
Let’s talk about pests. Deer love young vines. So do rabbits, voles, and the occasional rogue sheep. Then there are insects, which range from vaguely annoying to borderline apocalyptic. And let’s not forget mildew, rot, hail, frost, drought, and the existential threat of a neighbouring vineyard deciding to go fully biodynamic and start burying cow horns on your property line.
By year three, if all goes well, your vines will produce grapes. Not many, and possibly not great, but grapes nonetheless. You might do a micro-vinification—essentially a test batch to see what your site can do. It will probably taste weird. That’s okay. You’re learning.
Vineyards don’t just teach you how to grow grapes. They teach patience, resilience, and the precise sound your voice makes when yelling at birds from a moving quad bike. You’ll learn to read the weather like a sailor, diagnose leaf issues like a plant doctor, and develop opinions about canopy management that you didn’t know a human could have.
And yet, despite the sweat, setbacks, and spreadsheets, you’ll look out one morning and see your vines basking in the light. The rows are neat, the leaves are fluttering, and for a moment—a brief, perfect moment—it’ll all feel worth it.
That is, until you realise you forgot to net for birds.
Stay tuned for Part 2: Harvest Time, aka The Grapes Fight Back.
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We’ve all been there. The truth is, once wine meets oxygen, it begins to change. Sometimes those changes are interesting—mellower tannins, rounder fruit. Sometimes they’re downright tragic (think vinegar or damp cardboard). So how long does open wine really last? And how do you know when it’s time to let go?
Let’s break it down by wine type and get into some handy tips to stretch every last drop.
These are rough guides. A delicate Pinot Noir and a burly Cabernet Sauvignon won’t follow the same rules. But if you’re looking for safe windows, this gives you a starting point.
The moment a cork (or screwcap) comes off, oxygen enters the equation. A little bit is good—it “opens up” the wine, releasing aromas and softening the edges. But too much for too long? That’s oxidation. It dulls fruit, adds nutty or sherry-like flavours, and eventually leads to spoilage.
The other culprit is bacteria—specifically acetic acid bacteria, which turns wine into vinegar. Not dangerous to drink, but definitely unpleasant.
Wine also loses its carbonation (in the case of sparkling wines), and delicate aromatics can fade, especially in light-bodied whites.
In short: wine begins to lose its sparkle—literally and figuratively—as the clock ticks.
Wondering if you’ve crossed the line? Here’s how to tell if your open wine belongs in the sink:
Trust your nose and your palate. If it smells off or tastes unpleasant, don’t force it.
Sparkling wine starts losing its fizz as soon as it’s opened. A good sparkling wine stopper helps trap bubbles, but even then, you’ve got about 1–2 days before the sparkle fades significantly. By day three, it’s probably more curiosity than pleasure.
Whites and rosés hold up best when stored in the fridge with a tight seal. Acid is your friend here—crisper wines like Sauvignon Blanc and Albariño tend to last a little longer than creamy, full-bodied whites.
Red wines vary based on body, tannins, and alcohol. Lighter reds like Gamay or Pinot Noir can start to fade after two or three days, while structured reds like Cabernet Sauvignon or Syrah can hang on for five or six days if stored well.
Fortified wines are built for longevity. Port and Sherry have higher alcohol and sugar, which help preserve them. Just keep them sealed and refrigerated—oxidised styles like Oloroso or Madeira can last even longer.
Pro tip: If you know you won’t finish a bottle, pour half into a smaller clean bottle or jar right away and seal it. Less air = longer life.
Don’t want to drink it but hate to waste it? Use it in the kitchen:
Just make sure it hasn’t turned to vinegar—once it has, toss it.
Wine isn’t as fragile as you might think, but it’s not immortal either. In general, if you plan to drink it within 3–5 days and store it properly, you’re safe. Trust your senses, and if in doubt, cook with it—or chuck it.
Remember, wine is meant to be enjoyed, not fussed over. So next time you uncork a bottle and life interrupts your sipping schedule, you’ll know exactly how long the magic lasts.
Vibrant passionfruit, lime zest, and herbaceous freshness with crystal-clear acidity. It’s the archetype of iconic Kiwi SB.
Why it’s special: The benchmark for Marlborough’s elegant, expressive style.
Average price: £30-40 (£20 on Winedrops!)
Where to buy: Available via Winedrops, Waitrose Cellar, Tesco, Majestic, and numerous reputable UK merchants.
Defined by flinty gun-smoke, lemon pith, green apple, and laser acidity, thanks to vineyard site and oak influence.
Why it’s special: Sleek, mineral-led Loire character with depth and complexity.
Average price: £30-40 (£26 on Winedrops!)
Where to buy: Winedrops, Halles de Quercamps, specialist Loire retailers
Crisp orange blossom and citrus zest with an Alpine freshness and refined wrought-iron minerality.
Why it’s special: High-altitude elegance that rivals the Loire.
Average price: £30-35 (£25 on Winedrops!)
Where to buy: Winedrops, Specialist importers and Italian wine boutiques across the UK.
Lime, crushed flint, chalk dust, and saline tension define this tautly structured, precise Sancerre.
Why it’s special: Classic Sancerre power and purity with village-level pedigree.
Average price: £30–£35 (£19 on Winedrops!)
Where to buy: Available through Winedrops, Berry Bros & Rudd, Waitrose Cellar, and fine merchants.
Ripe citrus and elderflower sit on a chalky backbone with zesty freshness.
Why it’s special: Fruit-driven elegance from Cloudy Bay alumnus Kevin Judd.
Average price: £22–£24.
Where to buy: Waitrose Cellar, Virgin Wines, and top independent wine retailers.
Quarry-like minerality, crisp grapefruit and white florals, biodynamically farmed.
Why it’s special: A Loire-inspired New World style; leaner, more refined.
Average price: £24–£26.
Where to buy: Waitrose Cellar, Laithwaites, and organic wine specialists.
Melon, citrus, sea breeze, and juicy acidity—bright, coastal freshness with finesse.
Why it’s special: Rare high-quality Rías Baixas SB that’s stylish and refreshing.
Average price: £18–£20.
Where to buy: UK Spanish wine specialists and Sainsbury’s higher-tier wines.
Tropical fruit, fresh herbs, and vibrant, clean structure wrapped in French restraint.
Why it’s special: Elegant, polished, and an under-the-radar French alternative.
Average price: £16–£18.
Where to buy: Marks & Spencer, Waitrose, and various independent grocers.
Lime blossom, flinty minerality, laser acidity—cool climate precision from South Africa.
Why it’s special: Rare, premium-quality SA SB with Chardonnay-like purity.
Average price: £21–£23.
Where to buy: Waitrose Cellar, Liberty Wines, and boutique importers.
Rich citrus meets beeswax and spice, with a rounded, barrel-aged texture.
Why it’s special: A unique take on SB, blending New and Old World depth.
Average price: £28–£32.
Where to buy: Waitrose Cellar and specialist New Zealand wine merchants.
These ten bottles cover a spectrum—from herbaceous and mineral to textured and complex—each offering serious quality and character. They’re all readily available in the UK and priced to reflect premium craftsmanship without veering into trophy territory.
Serve around 10–12 °C to preserve freshness while showing depth. Want more nuance? Pop the bottle 10 minutes early or decant lightly. Pair lively whites with seafood and veggies; textured ones can accompany richer meats or creamy dishes.
For premium Sauvignon lovers, this lineup offers something for every mood—whether you crave New Zealand zest, Loire minerality, Italian restraint, or bold blends. Stock your cellar with a mix and enjoy knowing you’ve got choice, class, and confidence in the glass.
]]>The good news? Finding a great bottle of wine at a friendly price isn’t rocket science. With a few tricks up your sleeve (and the confidence to look beyond the obvious), you can uncover some serious gems—without needing to remortgage your house. Here’s how.
We all love a good Napa Cab or a Burgundy Chardonnay, but guess what? Everyone else does too—and the prices reflect that. Instead, look for lesser-known regions that produce wines with similar quality but a fraction of the hype.
Love Rioja? Try wines from Spain’s Jumilla or Bierzo. Big fan of Chablis? Look to Muscadet from the Loire Valley or Limoux from southern France. Argentine Malbec your go-to? Explore South Africa’s Swartland for similarly bold reds with structure and spice.
The key here is simple: go where the crowds aren’t. These regions often represent incredible value because they haven’t yet been Instagrammed into cult status.
Top producers often make premium flagship wines that sell for £50 and up—but they also produce more accessible bottles under a different label or sub-brand. These “second labels” use grapes from younger vines or less prestigious parcels, but are made by the same skilled hands.
A few examples: Château Lynch-Bages (a Bordeaux icon) has “Echo de Lynch-Bages.” Guigal’s everyday Côtes du Rhône is made with the same attention as their pricey Côte-Rôtie. And top Champagne houses often release non-vintage cuvées that carry the same DNA as their flagship bottles—for half the cost.
Keep an eye out for these alternate labels—they’re the wine world’s version of buying designer clothes at an outlet.
Wine packaging can be persuasive. Foil embossing, elegant fonts, and heritage crests all scream “quality”—but don’t let the looks fool you. Some of the best-value wines come in packaging that looks like it was designed on Microsoft Paint in 2002.
On the flip side, a very minimal label (think “White Wine” in Helvetica) can sometimes signal a low-intervention or small-producer wine with serious character.
The real trick is to flip the bottle around and read the back. Look for producer information, importer details, and any tasting or winemaking notes. The more transparency, the better. If the back label reads like a dating app profile (“bold yet sensitive, loves long walks on the beach”), it’s probably fluff.
Some grapes get all the glory. Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir—they’re the headliners. But just like in music, sometimes it’s the underrated backup singers that steal the show.
Look out for these under-the-radar varietals that often punch well above their weight:
Albariño – Crisp, citrusy, and usually under £15. Spain’s answer to Sauvignon Blanc.
Chenin Blanc – From South Africa or the Loire, it offers richness, acidity, and flexibility with food.
Cinsault – Often blended, but on its own, makes fresh, light reds perfect for chilling.
Nero d’Avola – Sicily’s signature grape, offering dark fruit and spice at bargain prices.
Monastrell (Mourvèdre) – Bold, earthy, and excellent value from southern Spain.
Being grape-agnostic opens up a whole new world of value. If it’s a name you don’t recognise, that’s often a good sign.
Supermarkets get a bad rap among wine lovers, but they can be a goldmine—especially during promotions or seasonal rotations. The trick is knowing what to skip (the stuff with made-up names and fake medals) and what to zero in on.
Look for:
Wines labeled by producer or region, not invented brands.
Importers or distributors you recognise and trust.
“Buy now, drink now” styles—unoaked whites, young reds, and rosés tend to hold up better on retail shelves.
Limited-release seasonal wines, often introduced around holidays or major events, which can be overstocked and later discounted.
Also, don’t be afraid to read shelf talkers—but with a grain of salt. “Customer favourite” sometimes just means “we bought too much of it.”
In a wine shop, this is your secret weapon. Most staff are there because they genuinely love wine, not because they want to upsell you into a bottle you can’t pronounce. Tell them what you’re cooking, what you normally like, and how much you want to spend. You’ll likely walk away with something more interesting—and better value—than whatever was at eye level.
Even at the supermarket, don’t overlook the staff in the wine aisle. They often know which wines just came in, which are moving fast, or which are going on promo next week.
It’s tempting to think that more expensive means better. But blind tastings repeatedly prove otherwise—many people actually prefer the taste of cheaper wines when price cues are removed.
So if you find a £9 Côtes du Rhône that makes you happy? That’s the right wine for you. Forget the label, forget the points, forget the pressure to pick “serious” bottles.
The best wine is the one you want to drink again.
Finding great value in your local wine shop or supermarket isn’t about cutting corners—it’s about getting smarter. Look beyond the big names, embrace the lesser-known grapes and regions, and don’t be swayed by marketing glitz. With a little curiosity and a dash of confidence, you’ll find bottles that overdeliver—and maybe even surprise you.
Because wine should be a pleasure, not a puzzle. And definitely not a pain in the wallet.
]]>When weather refuses to pick a lane, your wine choices shouldn’t either. Rain or shine, heatwaves or chills—what you need is versatility. Here are ten all-rounder wines that adapt to anything the skies throw at us. Each one promises to feel at home with a grilled BBQ when it’s sunny, a cozy stew when it’s cold, or a spontaneous charcuterie board mid-sunburst. Let’s dive into a tasting lineup that’s as unpredictable—and delightful—as June’s weather can be.
The perennial crowd-pleaser, Pinot Noir thrives in cool to moderate climates, offering bright red fruit and refreshing acidity. When it warms up, chill lightly—20 minutes in the fridge—and enjoy soft strawberry notes without it feeling heavy. If temps drop? Bring it to room temperature to reveal earthier layers and subtle spice. Its textural friendliness means it plays well with fish, poultry, and barbecue alike—and it’s regularly cited as a top versatile red .
Thanks to Gamay’s juicy red fruit, low tannins, and light body, this wine dances between seasons effortlessly. Serve it chilled on a warm day—its acidity and joyful fruit recall summer berries. On cooler evenings, bring it up in temp for richer mouthfeel and savory notes. Sommeliers recommend chillable Gamays as essential warm-weather reds .
Grenache’s mid-weight structure, vibrant red fruit, and herbal complexity make it a perfect all-rounder. Lighter expressions pair with chicken or pork; richer or warmer versions support grilled meats. Sommeliers in roundtables often praise it as a top multi-season red.
High acid and lower tannins define Barbera’s superpower: flexibility. It’s bright and fruity chilled, a spritzy partner to spring veggies, and when warmed morphs into a tomato-and-herb wine, ideal for warming pasta or pizza dishes. Barbera regularly features in “versatile wines” roundups .
The Swiss Army knife of whites, Chenin Blanc thrives in summer heat (as a crisp sipper) and cooler breezes (as a textured, complex pour). From zingy Loire versions to honeyed South African bottles, Chenin’s vibrant acid and varied style make it reliable even if weather swings—from sun to drizzle—mid-sip.
When spring blooms and patio weather creep in, a zesty Sauvignon Blanc is your friend. But it also brings enough crispness to brighten comfort food like creamy pasta or squash dishes under cloudy skies. High-acid Sauvignon is recommended for any weather that’s not sure what it wants .
Light-bodied, with bright minerality and crisp acidity from Melon de Bourgogne, Muscadet thrives alongside light seafood or solo on warm days. But its refreshing profile also works well against cloud cover or a pitter-patter of rain. It’s a Loire gem built for variable coastal weather .
Need a wildcard? Sparkling wine fits every setting. On sunny days it’s festive; on grey days it’s comforting. As Food & Wine points out, affordable fizz like Prosecco suits intermittent heat and chill alike—perfect for spontaneous moments when the weather refuses to choose .
Light Chardonnays walk the line between crisp green apple/hazelnut freshness and richer stone fruit depth. Unoaked versions shine on bright days; those with subtle oak add toasty comfort on cooler ones. Chardonnays under $20 regularly top “best buys” lists due to their versatility .
Let’s not sleep on dry rosé—especially blends like Grenache Rosé. Perfectly poised for temperatures that surprise you, rosé swings between the acidity of a white and the red fruit of a red. It’s picnic-ready when it’s breezy and warming when it’s not .
All these wines share a few crucial traits: bright acidity, moderate alcohol, and food-friendly profiles. They can be lightly chilled, relaxed at room temp, and still shine. They adapt to changing moods better than moodier, heavy wines.
Weather affects grape ripeness and wine styles. Cool-climate grapes like Pinot Noir, Muscadet, and Sauvignon Blanc keep their acid—essential for freshness on warm days and welcoming structure when it cools . Grenache and Rosé, from warmer zones, remain vibrant without tipping into heaviness.
But the beauty of mix-and-match weather is that it suits wines bridging cool and warm—like Chenin Blanc, Gamay, and dry Rosé—so they never feel out of sync.
Unpredictable weather pairs best with wines that also refuse to pick a mood. Pinot, Gamay, Grenache, Barbera, and crisp whites like Chenin and Sauvignon are all chameleons—shifting temperature, chilling, warming, finishing dishes across sunshine and clouds.
Celebrate the unpredictability. Let your wine do the same.
]]>There’s no denying that price and critic ratings often walk hand in hand. In fact, the correlation is well-documented. Economists and wine academics have poured over thousands of bottles and found a statistically significant relationship: as expert ratings go up, so too does the price tag. In one major study of over 13,000 wines from around the world, each additional point on a 100-point rating scale translated into an average 8% increase in price. That’s a substantial leap for what might seem like a barely perceptible difference in quality. In other studies, particularly those using hedonic pricing models (which attempt to isolate the value of individual wine traits), critic scores accounted for as much as half of the variation in price.
But here’s where things get more complicated. Ratings don’t just reflect quality—they help create perceived value. Take the example of Robert Parker, the critic who arguably changed the shape of the wine world. His high scores could catapult a relatively obscure Bordeaux estate into the luxury stratosphere. A 95-point rating was enough to double or even triple bottle prices overnight. In some cases, wineries were said to have added millions to their valuation purely on the back of a Parker rave.
It’s not just Parker anymore. Today’s wine economy has evolved to include a host of critics and scoring systems—Wine Spectator, Wine Advocate, Vinous, Decanter, and Wine Enthusiast among them. Each outlet shapes demand and, in turn, market price. The logic seems sound: high ratings mean better wine, and better wine costs more.
But here’s the curveball. When researchers remove price tags and branding from the equation—when they pour wines blind—things start to unravel. In a number of blind tasting studies with hundreds of casual wine drinkers, participants routinely failed to prefer the more expensive wines. In many cases, they actually enjoyed cheaper bottles more. One particularly well-known experiment found that people correctly identified the more expensive wine only slightly more than 50% of the time—essentially a coin toss.
Even more revealing are studies in neuroeconomics that show our brains are wired to enjoy wine more if we believe it’s expensive. In one Caltech experiment, participants were told they were drinking five different wines at varying prices. In reality, they tasted just three wines, with two repeated at different price labels. When drinkers believed the wine was more expensive, brain activity in the pleasure centres surged—and they reported it tasted better. The same wine, marked cheaper, elicited a duller response. Their palates didn’t change—their perception did.
This price-placebo effect is powerful and well-documented. In another study conducted in Germany, MRI scans confirmed that participants rated the same wine as more pleasant when told it cost more. The mere expectation of quality altered not just their opinion but their actual brain chemistry.
So what’s happening here? For one, there’s the simple influence of branding. Price is a proxy for quality in nearly every consumer category, and wine—being nuanced, unfamiliar, and often confusing—is particularly susceptible. For novice drinkers, a higher price can be comforting. It suggests legitimacy, refinement, or at least a lower risk of embarrassment when pouring for others.
But experienced tasters—sommeliers, wine buyers, critics—don’t seem to fall for the same tricks. In blind tasting settings, professionals are far better at decoupling price from performance. They’re trained to detect structure, balance, complexity, and typicity—the hallmarks of wine quality that go beyond label hype. And yet, even for them, critic consensus and the industry echo chamber still create feedback loops that shape pricing, availability, and even the kinds of wines being made.
This all leads to one of the most overlooked dynamics in wine today: the exponential nature of wine pricing. The jump from an 85-point wine to an 87-point wine might result in a moderate price increase. But from 90 to 92? That’s where things get wild. Prices can double or triple over just two or three points. The higher you climb up the score ladder, the more dramatic the pricing becomes—even if the quality gains are subtle at best.
It’s not necessarily a con. Many wines that score above 92 or 95 are stunning—crafted with obsessive attention to detail, using low-yield fruit, aged in custom oak, and often produced in tiny quantities. These elements cost money. But does that make them more enjoyable? For the collector, the connoisseur, or the brand loyalist, often yes. For the average wine drinker? Not always.
There’s good news in all this. It means you don’t have to spend a fortune to drink great wine. In fact, the so-called “value zone” for wine quality sits roughly between 87 and 91 points. Wines in this band often deliver serious craftsmanship without the prestige markup. These are the bottles that might not land on the critics’ year-end lists but will wow your dinner guests—and your taste buds—without draining your bank account.
At the end of the day, wine is deeply personal. Ratings and prices are useful signposts, but they shouldn’t dictate your entire journey. Some of the most rewarding wines are those discovered off the beaten path—affordable, under-rated, and perfect for your palate.
So should you pay more for a higher-scoring wine? Sometimes. Especially if you know what you’re looking for. But if you’re chasing pleasure, curiosity, or the thrill of discovery, don’t be afraid to zig when the price tags zag. After all, your mouth doesn’t care what the label says.
Drink what delights you. Everything else is just window dressing.
]]>Turns out, not all blue wines are created equal.
This is the original disruptor—the wine that started it all. Made in Spain, Gïk is a blend of red and white grapes dyed blue using anthocyanins (natural pigments found in grape skins) and a bit of indigo. It’s then sweetened—not with sugar, but with non-caloric sweeteners—to create something they call “revolutionary.”
Tasting Notes:
Nose: Bubblegum, blueberry syrup, and a whiff of energy drink.
Palate: Sweet. Really sweet. Think sugar-free Kool-Aid meets blue raspberry candy with a light, watery texture and minimal acidity.
Verdict:
It’s playful, bright, and tastes like it belongs more at a neon-lit pop-up bar than a dinner table. We wouldn’t call it “wine” in the traditional sense—but if you want to bring a wild card to a party, this is your guy. Best served ice-cold and not taken too seriously.
Next up is Vindigo—a slightly more refined take on blue wine. Made from Chardonnay, this one’s produced in Spain with some French marketing muscle behind it. It uses similar blue pigments as Gïk but focuses more on wine structure and less on sugary shock factor.
Tasting Notes:
Nose: Fresh berries and white flowers.
Palate: Fruity but less aggressively sweet than Gïk. Notes of passion fruit and cherry, with a slightly oily texture and better balance. It’s still blue, but it tries to behave like actual wine.
Verdict:
Vindigo is for those who want to dip a toe into blue waters without diving headfirst into sugar. It’s still a novelty, but the Chardonnay base gives it more legitimacy. Serve it with brunch or poolside snacks, and expect curious glances.
This one surprised us—in a good way. Blumond is a sparkling wine from Italy made with Glera (the Prosecco grape) and infused with peach essence and brilliant blue coloring. Marketed as “the world’s first blue sparkling wine,” it leans into the playful side but with a bit more finesse.
Tasting Notes:
Nose: Fresh peach, white flowers, and just a hint of almond.
Palate: Crisp bubbles, light sweetness, and bright stone fruit flavor. Not cloying. Balanced enough to sip without feeling like you’re drinking a cocktail masquerading as wine.
Verdict:
Blumond is the most drinkable of the bunch. It’s summery, low in alcohol (around 7%), and feels like it belongs in a flute at a rooftop party. It’s still blue, yes—but this one might actually find a place in your fridge if you’re after something festive, fizzy, and fun.
Wine
Color Shock
Sweetness
Drinkability
Best For
Gik Blue
★★★★★
★★★★★
★★☆☆☆
Novelty and parties
Vindigo
★★★★☆
★★★★☆
★★★☆☆
Brunch and curiosity
Blumond Sparkling
★★★★☆
★★☆☆☆
★★★★☆
Summer spritz fans
Let’s address the elephant in the tasting room. Blue wine isn’t about terroir or technique—it’s about grabbing attention. It appeals to a generation raised on colour-coded cocktails and TikTok trends. Most blue wines are sweet, low-alcohol, and unpretentious. They’re also, legally speaking, not even “wine” in the EU, since they’re too manipulated to qualify under traditional wine laws.
Blue wine is breaking rules on purpose. It’s made for people who want something different, photogenic, and fun. If you’re looking for a traditional Burgundy or a nuanced Barolo, this isn’t your lane. But if you’re after a quirky conversation starter or a left-field spritz alternative, it might just work.
We’ll be honest—no one’s adding these to their cellar. But not everything needs to be serious. Blue wine is wine’s wild cousin: slightly chaotic, definitely attention-seeking, and sometimes unexpectedly delightful.
Try Gïk Blue if you’re hosting a themed party or want a bottle that’ll break Instagram. Serve it very cold and don’t expect balance.
Pour Vindigo when you want to show you’re open-minded but still care a little about flavor. It’s the middle ground.
Stock Blumond if you love Prosecco and peachy spritzes. It’s light, fizzy, and—dare we say it—actually nice.
Wine doesn’t have to be serious. Sometimes, it can be blue, bubbly, and a little ridiculous. And that’s fine by us.
]]>Let’s be honest: the world of wine tasting can seem… theatrical. All that swirling, sniffing, slurping—it’s enough to make even the most enthusiastic wine drinker hesitate. If you’ve ever watched someone declare a wine “brooding, yet playful” while you were just thinking “tastes nice,” this one’s for you.
Because here’s the truth: you don’t need to learn a whole new language or pretend to detect sandalwood and saddle leather to taste wine properly. You just need a little curiosity, a clean glass, and maybe a vague idea of what you like.
Let’s break it down.
Tilt the glass and check out the wine’s colour. Pale straw? Deep ruby? That gives clues about the grape and age—white wines deepen with time, reds fade. Legs (those drips running down the side) aren’t a sign of quality, just alcohol and sugar content. Don’t overthink it.
Give your wine a gentle swirl. No need to helicopter it like a show-off—just enough to introduce oxygen. This releases the aromas and helps the wine “open up.” If you’re swirling over a white tablecloth at a friend’s place, maybe keep it subtle. We’re tasting wine, not flinging it.
The Loire, in case you haven’t been, is both maddeningly sprawling and consistently charming. It’s France’s most diverse wine region, stretching over 600 miles and encompassing everything from nervy Muscadet by the Atlantic to rich, honeyed Chenin Blanc in Vouvray. In theory, it’s a dream. In practice, it’s a logistical Rubik’s cube with a side of speed cameras.
Day one began in Nantes, a city that smells faintly of butter and sea air, which is precisely what you want before tasting bone-dry Muscadet. My first appointment was with a winemaker who claimed to age his wine on lees for so long it “forgets it was ever a grape.” His cellar was less a facility and more a mushroom-scented bunker. But the wine? Bright as a lighthouse beam and briny enough to make you crave oysters at 10 a.m.
Heading east, I made a detour into Anjou. The wines here, particularly Chenin, have a kind of taut elegance that reminds me of a pianist in a perfectly tailored blazer—disciplined, expressive, and slightly smug about it. I visited a biodynamic grower who talks to his vines daily and claimed one of his barrels had “a naturally occurring D major resonance.” I nodded, took notes, and quietly hoped the wines were as musical as the barrels. They were. Particularly a no-added-sulphur Chenin that tasted like golden apples and beeswax, with a faint whiff of rebellion.
One night I stayed in a chambre d’hôte run by a couple who moonlight as winemakers. Breakfast included homemade goat cheese, quince jelly, and a discussion about oak barrels that became unexpectedly heated. I love the Loire.
The next day took me into Saumur. Here the cabernet franc gets serious—wiry, herbal, and quietly powerful. I met a producer whose winery looked like the set of a spy movie: sleek, subterranean, and moodily lit. Her wines were all structure and shadow, with tannins that moved like slow jazz. I bought a case.
By the time I hit Touraine, my palate was fatigued, my rental car had developed a mysterious beep, and my suitcase was mostly wine. But I still had energy for one more wildcard appointment—a 24-year-old winemaker making pét-nat in an old garage with a disco ball above the press. He explained his process between blasts of Daft Punk. The wine? Bright, fuzzy, and inexplicably joyful. I’ll be honest—I adored it.
By the end of the week, I’d tasted over a hundred wines, made a shortlist of six producers, and developed a fondness for Loire thrift shops (exceptional glassware for €2). I came looking for someone doing things differently, and I found several. What links them isn’t just innovation—it’s that their wines taste alive. They have texture, tension, and just enough weirdness to make you lean in.
Back home, the shortlist will get a second round of tasting, preferably without jet lag. But I already have a hunch which bottle is going to make it into our members’ next box. It’s the one that made me smile mid-spit and scribble in my notebook: “Yes. This one. Must share.”
Until then, if you need me, I’ll be figuring out how to import wine from a garage with a disco ball.
]]>Here’s your guide to pairing wine with classic BBQ fare—with one dependable, tried-and-true match, and one wildcard that might just blow your mind (or at least spark some discussion around the picnic table).
Classic pairing: MalbecThere’s a reason Malbec has become the go-to red for anything chargrilled. Big, juicy, and plush with black fruit and spice, it’s a no-brainer for beef. Especially good if there’s cheddar and smoky sauce involved.
Wildcard: Dry LambruscoYes, really. Proper, dry Lambrusco from Emilia-Romagna is lightly sparkling, fruity, and surprisingly structured. The bubbles cut through the fat, and the acidity wakes up all the condiments. It’s unexpected—and brilliant.
Classic pairing: Grenache/GarnachaSoft tannins, generous fruit, and a bit of spice make Grenache a top pick for sausage—whether it’s herby, spicy, or something in between.
Wildcard: Dry RieslingYou might not associate Riesling with sausages, but its high acidity and citrus lift can handle richness and spice. It’s especially good with bratwurst or anything with mustard.
Classic pairing: Provence RoséDry rosé with grilled chicken is a summer staple for a reason. It’s fresh, fruity, and versatile enough to handle BBQ sauce, lemon marinades, or spice rubs.
Wildcard: Orange WineSkin-contact whites (aka orange wines) bring a little grip and funk that complement charred chicken beautifully. They have the weight of a light red and the aromatics of a white—perfect for smoky drumsticks.
Classic pairing: ZinfandelJammy, spicy, and built to handle sticky sauces, Zinfandel is practically made for ribs. It amplifies the sweetness of the glaze and brings a little smoke of its own.
Wildcard: Off-Dry Chenin BlancFrom Vouvray or South Africa, off-dry Chenin has enough body to hold up to ribs and enough acidity to cut through the richness. The touch of sweetness complements the sauce without overpowering.
Classic pairing: Pinot NoirLight, earthy, and just fruity enough, Pinot Noir flatters grilled courgettes, aubergines, peppers, and mushrooms without steamrolling their flavour.
Wildcard: Fino SherryA dry, salty surprise that enhances the umami notes in charred veg. Fino or Manzanilla Sherry (served chilled) is sharp, nutty, and endlessly food-friendly.
Classic pairing: Chilled GamayBright red fruits, low tannins, and a little herbaceousness make Gamay a natural for rich fish like salmon. It’s light, lively, and delicious cold.
Wildcard: Grüner VeltlinerAustria’s star white is peppery, citrusy, and just the right kind of zippy to make grilled salmon sing. Particularly good if there’s a green herb marinade involved.
Classic pairing: AssyrtikoThis Greek white is bone-dry, citrusy, and mineral-driven—the ideal foil for salty, grilled halloumi. It’s a holiday in a glass.
Wildcard: Pet-NatNaturally sparkling and a bit wild, pet-nat brings fizz and energy to salty cheese. It’s unconventional, a little unpredictable, and usually a big hit.
Classic pairing: Moscato d’AstiThis slightly sweet, low-alcohol sparkler from Piedmont is tailor-made for summer desserts. Light, peachy, and never cloying.
Wildcard: Amontillado SherryDry, nutty, and complex, Amontillado is a bold choice—but grilled fruit can handle it. The oxidative character mirrors the caramelisation, making for a surprisingly deep pairing.
There’s no wrong way to drink wine at a BBQ—as long as it’s cold and you like it, you’re doing just fine. But if you want to go beyond the usual suspects, these classic pairings and their wildcard counterparts offer a little extra spark. You might discover a new favourite. You might start a debate. Either way, you win.
Just keep a few ice buckets handy and don’t be afraid to chill your reds. It’s summer, after all. Rules are for winter.
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