Latvia sits at the northern edge of where wine is even possible. The growing season is short, the winters are brutal, and the grape is always a gamble. But the orchards, the meadows, and the river valleys offer something else entirely — rhubarb with electric acidity, Baltic apples with a tartness no southern fruit can replicate, wild herbs shaped by cold and light.
The makers who work with this material don't pretend to be winemakers. They ferment what the land actually gives them, and build structure from there. The results are sharp, honest, and unmistakably northern.