June 25, 2025
There’s a moment in every person’s life when they confront their own hypocrisy. Mine showed up as a bottle labeled Sherbert Bomb Pink Moscato—a drink so fun it threatens to obliterate my entire reputation. Despite my professional responsibility to uphold the sanctity of serious, high-end wine, I’d happily throw it out the window for one more delicious glass of liquid nostalgia.
See, when I was a kid, I had a problem; a full-blown addiction to Pink Lemonade. I consumed so much of this aggressively pink, aggressively sugary, vaguely citrusy liquid that it eventually got banned from the house—like I was some kind of eight-year-old liability to myself. In high school, while everyone else was sneaking Smirnoff Ice at prom, I was double-fisting Brisk. (Please don’t tell my mom).
Fast forward to adulthood: I’m supposed to be the guy who sells you Grand Cru Burgundy and brooding Bordeaux with unnecessary details about the soil. I’m supposed to be the guy you trust when I tell you that $100 bottle of Napa Cab is worth it.
But now I’m spiraling because Sherbert Bomb tastes exactly like Pink Lemonade with a Riesling-esque finish, and I don’t want to drink anything else.
That’s the problem. Every time I open one, I think, “This is it.” This is how I lose my credibility. This is how I become the Pink Moscato guy. Honestly, I don’t really care.
Because somewhere along the way, Sommeliers forgot the most basic truth—wine is supposed to taste good. It isn’t supposed to require a Master’s Degree. It doesn’t always have to be the star of the show. Sometimes (honestly, most of the time), you just want to sit by the pool with your friends, drink something pink and delicious, and not hear anyone say words like saignee or terroir.
If you want to drink fermented grape juice without the pretentious bull, come grab a bottle. Your inner child—and your *slightly* irresponsible adult self—will thank you.
Sherbert Bomb Pink Moscato
Available now at BayTowne. Limited supply because I’m drinking most of it.