Weekday, Party, Fancy.

Somewhere during Sunday's bleary-eyed doom scroll I stumbled across Drop Shop, a new bottle shop that recently opened in Melbourne's Brunswick East.

Another bottle shop in Melbourne?! Groundbreaking, I know. Except this one skips the grapes and regions entirely. Instead, the wines are sorted into three simple categories: Weekday, Party, Fancy.

Finally, I sighed, somebody gets it.

Last week, as I stood brooding in my local bottle shop, I thought primarily about the weather. I also pondered how long a cheese could realisticly fester in the fridge whilst still remaining edible, and whether tonight was a "carefree and fabulous, extra $10 on the good anchovies" kind of night, or a "drink from a tumbler while finally watching Heated Rivalry, maybe a pizza" night. Then I bought accordingly. Not just what I liked, but what I needed in that specific moment. Mood first, grape second.

A couple more for good measure…

When I want to feel fancy and bougie for a fraction of the cost.

This is the version of me that overstuffs a long-suffering LV holdall because she wants to roll through the airport like a Kardashian but refuses to pay for extra baggage, then drags it all the way to seat 72E. We’re talking Barolo-adjacent Piedmont reds aka bottles that suggest Barolo without asking for Barolo money. Remember: Barolo fruit that doesn’t make it into a Barolo is still Barolo fruit. Vietti Langhe Nebbiolo (Perbacco) is the perfect example. All the bones, none of the ceremony. Delicious in every sense of the word.

When I need to survive a Sauvignon Blanc dinner.

Despite my thinly veiled disdain, many people still love a crisp glass of Sauvignon Blanc. There is no winning this one. There will be moments in life where you are handed a Marlborough Sav the second you walk into a room and you will say “yum” because you are a guest and guests lie, and also because you were raised properly. The move here is not rebellion, it’s subterfuge. Bring Assyrtiko. It’s bright, fresh and citrusy enough to not raise the alarm, but brings a saltier, more savoury kind of pleasure. Everyone wins, but mostly you.

When I want to feel like I’m 23 again and nothing matters.

This is the tastes-like-Ribena, Hakuna Matata category. Chilled, juicy, unnervingly refreshing. The kind of wine that drinks itself (especially on a hot summers day) until you suddenly realise you’ve gone a bit too far and now you’re emotionally invested in takeaway. Lambrusco sits here. So does entry-level Beaujolais. Also the majority of natty “red blends”, but for me this category always screams Konpira Maru.

When I’m tired and don’t feel like thinking.

Safe, but never boring. Dependable. Delicious. Won't do me wrong. This is the land of Pinot Noir: Mornington Peninsula, Central Otago, but Tassie Pinot specifically. Pooley if it's been a week, Sailor Seeks Horse if it's been a month. This is wine for tracksuit pants and reheated leftovers eaten standing at the bench. Lovely.

When I want to taste my ancestors.

There is something in the fermented, funky, sour, faintly dank end of orange wine that tastes like home. A welcome salve for a palate raised on sauerkraut, gherkins and pickled herring, when feeling homesick in a city of crisp coastal whites. Smells like pickled onions? Count me in. Radikon if it’s a treat-yourself moment. Otherwise anything Georgian will do: Do Re Mi Khikhvi, Pheasant’s Tears Rkatsiteli..

As with the mood swings, the list goes on…