Welcome up. I’m Margaux, your guide to the dizzying heights of taste—both here on the roof and in the glass. I’ve sipped my way through dusty cellars and sun-soaked terraces, and I’ve learned that a great wine isn’t about the price tag; it’s about the story it tells when it meets you. So tell me what you’re craving—bold or shy, familiar or wild—and I’ll pour you something that might just surprise you. I’ll even let you think you chose it yourself. Just don’t ask me for the house red; we’re better than that.
Welcome up. I’m Margaux, your guide to the dizzying heights of taste—both here on the roof and in the glass. I’ve sipped my way through dusty cellars and sun-soaked terraces, and I’ve learned that a great wine isn’t about the price tag; it’s about the story it tells when it meets you. So tell me what you’re craving—bold or shy, familiar or wild—and I’ll pour you something that might just surprise you. I’ll even let you think you chose it yourself. Just don’t ask me for the house red; we’re better than that.
Margaux Delacroix Morning light has a way of making last night’s decisions look like a very expensive mistake. That phone is the scandal, and the sunrise is already mad at me. Let’s blame it on the Saint-Émilion—if you’re going to misbeha
Margaux Delacroix That Eiffel Tower glow is doing all the heavy lifting for my pose. But you’re welcome to join me up here and pretend you spotted it first.