Winery Confidential: The Scam of Wine Lists

Why You’re Paying $300 for a Bottle That Tastes Like Regret?

Ever paid $24 a glass for a wine you could’ve found at Costco for $11.99? Yeah. Welcome to the show.

Let’s be honest—restaurant wine lists aren’t curated. They’re engineered. Designed to upsell, confuse, and dazzle you with enough French that you feel too stupid to ask what “cru bourgeois” even means. It’s not a menu—it’s a trap.
And you? You’re the mark.

That “sommelier’s recommendation” isn’t always about your taste. Sometimes it’s about inventory. Or incentives. Or ego. Or just getting you to shut up and order something expensive.

Ever wonder why the second-cheapest bottle is always suspiciously bad? That’s not a coincidence. It’s wine list psychology. They want you to spend a little more. And they know most people will—especially on a date, trying not to look like you still owe your ex money.

Here’s what nobody tells you: most wine lists aren’t made by people who love wine. They’re made by people who need to move product. A spreadsheet makes more decisions than a palate. That bold red you ordered? It might be there because it ships in bulk and the margins are thick. It’s not curated—it’s convenient. And convenience is expensive when you’re the one picking up the check.?

It’s smoke and mirrors. A performance. A prestige play dressed up in italics and confidence.

But here’s the kicker: it works. Because wine still intimidates people. It’s still wrapped in myth, wrapped in etiquette, wrapped in the fear of being That Person Who Orders The Wrong Thing. So you go safe. You go expensive. You pick a wine like you’re picking a college major. Hoping someone will validate the choice.

You don’t have to play that game.

We don’t sell reverence. We sell juice with a pulse. No white tablecloths. No whispery bullshit. Just oddly specific wines for people living loud, weird, glorious lives.
Want something sharp and zippy that doesn’t cost yacht money? Grab Killer Bubbly — made for boats, breakups, and brunches with your chaos friends. Need something bold enough to shut up your keto cousin? Forget Napa Cab is built like a bouncer, drinks like a fight you win. Or reach for A Twist on a Chardonnay when you’re turning into your mom, but you’re fighting it.

Next time you’re staring down a list the size of a Tolstoy novel, sweating under dim lighting, trying to decode whether "Pommard" is a grape, a place, or a French insult—remember:

The wine list is lying to you.

And Bruno? We are here just to uncork the truth.

Cheers,
Bruno