Tasting Notes

Curtain up. Sage Rat’s rich, ripe-peachy, bubblegum-y pét-nat is not a sweet sparkling rosé. Don’t call it cute. It’s strong and meaty and gruff. A bitter bad boy that can stand up to spaghetti and meatballs better than old man Chianti. It rolls into town, flicks a lone cigarette into the wind, and starts a Wild West-style standoff between all the other rosés.

 “Hey, hey. Easy, man. It’s cool. Rosé all day,” exclaims a magnum of Summer Water, desperately trying to keep the peace while simultaneously sweating beads of condensation. 

“F*ck you,” replies the pét-nat, kicking over a display of Miraval as glass shatters all over the street in glittering shards. A bottle of Whispering Angel gasps. Naive and feeble, she signed up for the fame, for the job security, for the Sugarfina gummy bear deal. Not for this sh*t. 

A highball of frosé emerges from beneath the shadows of a cocktail umbrella, interjecting with a shivering rasp in her voice. “And I thought I was cold.” She runs away with the pét-nat, hitting open road, leaving behind a broken past and a lot of mediocre mass-produced pink wine in their dust. End scene.