On the nose: burnt rosemary, wet asphalt, and the ghost of a cigarette someone smoked an hour ago in a locked car.
Serve slightly chilled — not because it's correct, but because you don't deserve warmth. vino zimbra
The cork doesn't pop. It sighs.
Salud.
First sip? Liar's honey. Sweet upfront, but the finish is all tannin and regret. It doesn't open up with air. It closes tighter, like a fist unlearning how to unclench. On the nose: burnt rosemary, wet asphalt, and