When I was 29, I knew just enough about wine to be obnoxious about it, which was nearly nothing. I was in Australia for a month, supposedly covering the Olympics. But I took a trip to my friend Belinda Luscombe’s parents’ house in Australia’s Blue Mountains, where they served me a wine that struck me as very, very wrong. It was a sparkling red wine. A shiraz, which is what they call syrah there, for reasons that I’m pretty sure have to do with Crocodile Dundee. Belinda’s parents played it off as a backwater local treat, and I made fun of it to Belinda. Like so many new wine drinkers, I was such a dick. Eight years later, I knew enough about another sparkling red, Lambrusco, to serve it to George Clooney when he came over to my house for an interview and some carbonara and undercooked lamb. He approved of the pairing, calling it Italian soda pop and recommending it with pizza. I drink it with pizza fairly often now, paying a little under $20 a bottle. So I was excited when a publicist sent me a bottle of $80 Lambrusco called Saint Enzo. It arrived in a box, which they usually charge $5 for. They also sell it in a velvet-lined leather case, which goes for $220, and looks like something Christian Grey would give you for being a good girl.
Mine also came with a letter, which included Saint Enzo’s slogan: “forever brunch.”
I feel like “forever brunch” occurs any time I go out to brunch and wait an hour for a table, and then an hour for my eggs that I could have made at home. I am perhaps not the demo for Saint Enzo. Which I suspected after looking at their Instagram account, where everyone is getting out of limousines, competing in show jumping in the Saint Enzo National Grand Prix, going to high tea, and being much better looking than I am.
The wine was launched last summer by Myisha and Armon Moore, an American husband-and-wife whose proposal and wedding were well documented on social media. He’d been in charge of design for an Asian spirits company bought by the Bulgari family; she’s done marketing work for Ferrari and Christian Louboutin. And they love brunch.
They only make this one specific Lambrusco, which they buy from Italy and put pretty labels on. It’s how the spirits business works. In fact, part of the Moores’ project was to market Saint Enzo like booze. Instead of focusing on exclusionary elitist markers such as terroir, tannins, and notes of brambleberry, they employ the exclusionary elitist markers such as limousines, show jumping, and high tea. Since I probably won’t go to brunch or an equestrian event until 2033, I brought the box to a dinner party. Pouring it is a lot of fun because it’s really bubbly, like you pumped the keg wrong. The bubbles were small and powerful. As was the wine. It wasn’t at all sweet, like some Lambrusco styles. Apparently, there are a lot of different kinds of Lambrusco, and the style the Moores decided to import from Italy is made from only Grasparossa grapes. It’s dark purple, tannic, and more serious than any Lambrusco I’ve ever had. It was not Italian soda pop. I guess I could drink it with some fatty brunch foods. But the dinner party liked it with fatty dinner foods. But the point of Saint Enzo is only partly how it tastes. It’s also how it makes you feel. It made me feel fancy. Especially since I get to be the kind of wine snob who makes people feel like philistines for not knowing about sparkling reds. You're currently a free subscriber to The Corrupt Wine Writer. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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Friday, February 20, 2026
Corrupt Wine Review: Saint Enzo Lambrusco
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