A bottle doesn’t tell you when it’s ready. Someone has to decide, and then wait a little longer than they’d like.
Ours rest below street level, a few meters from the well this place was built around. Cool, dark, undisturbed. Fifteen years is enough time for the tannins to soften, for the fruit to stop shouting and start speaking. We don’t do anything to it in the cellar. Time does the work, we just don’t get in its way.
Most restaurants turn a bottle in a season. We turn ours in a decade, sometimes longer, and the price on the list reflects that. We don’t apologize for it and we don’t dress it up. It costs what patience costs.
By the time a glass reaches the table, next to a cut that’s already had its own three weeks, the wine has already done its waiting. Yours is the easy part.
