Cloudy wine, what the funk?

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C loudy wine, what the funk? People still assume clear wine means better wine. Bright, polished, see-through. Cloudy, on the other hand, feels like something went wrong. Like the bottle was mishandled, stored badly, or rushed out before it was ready. That reaction makes sense. We’ve been trained to read clarity as quality. Beer, spirits, even water follow that rule. Wine just quietly inherited it. Most natural wines aren’t filtered or fined before bottling. Filtration is a cosmetic step. It strips out yeast, grape solids, and sediment to make the wine look stable and uniform. Clean lines. No surprises. When that step is skipped, the wine keeps more of what it grew with. What you’re seeing in a cloudy wine isn’t rot or spoilage. It’s usually leftover yeast or fine grape particles that would otherwise be removed. They settle. They move. They shift depending on temperature, travel, and time. That’s why the same bottle can look different every time you open it. The reason this ma...

Laura Lardy Beaujolais Villages Rouge (France) Review | La Cave Noire

Laura Lardy Beaujolais Villages Rouge (France) Review | La Cave Noire



From the hills of Fleurie comes something quietly confident. Laura Lardy’s Beaujolais Villages Rouge feels familiar the moment it hits the glass. The nose carries a soft mix of leather, smoke and oak, grounded and calm, with a hint of something deeper waiting underneath.

Made from 100 percent Gamay grown on granite soil and picked by hand, it is a wine that holds onto its roots. On the palate, dark fruit and spice take the lead, with blackcurrant, pepper, tobacco and that same leathery thread from the nose. It feels more classic than wild, shaped by the land and the touch of someone who knows when to let the fruit speak.


The finish is dry with a whisper of cranberry and light tannins that fade cleanly. It is simple, honest and beautifully made, the kind of bottle that reminds you why Beaujolais never needs to shout to be heard.


Picture it with roast chicken fresh from the oven, the skin just crisp enough to crack. Or a plate of charred peppers, torn baguette and a slab of Comté softening at room temperature. Maybe even a late lunch that somehow stretches into the evening, when the light gets low and conversation starts to slow.


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