There’s something about chillable reds that never gets old.

Don’t get me wrong, there will always be an occasion for a big, bold, dumbfounding dumptruck black wine. There’s comfort in the arms of a thick, tar-and-saddle leather Petite Sirah. Dave Phinney has built empires on inky, brutish wines. But I very rarely reach for them these days. They blow out my palette and prevent me from enjoying anything else after laying waste to my unsuspecting gob.

Enter: the “Sylvan” Trousseau from Iruai, Methode Sauvage’s second label.

Full of spice and the kind of acid that makes you salivate like a dog looking at a spoonful of peanut butter, this wine is exactly the kind of red I gravitate towards these days. It’s playful and light, and dances around in your mouth with a few spiky tannins that don’t overstay their welcome.

It’s the kind of wine that most people associate with term “natural.” The nose is slightly barnyard-y, with a touch of licorice and all-spice; the color is a light, cloudy garnet that seems to change drastically in whatever light you hold it in.

When you take your first mouthful, it’s cranberry juice. Tart berries and cherries, a touch of lemon rind, anise.

The type of wine that is acceptable to chug year round. And you’ll want to chug this shit.