I didn’t get into wine because I loved it. I got into wine because my gut was wrecked from keto, beer made me bloat like a corpse, and I needed a vice that didn’t taste like regret. So I reached for the thing with the cork. Fell into the rabbit hole headfirst.

At first, I was like everybody else. Faked my way through tastings. Nodded solemnly when someone said “secondary fermentation” like it was scripture. Bought the $28 bottle because it had a French word on it and the label was textured.

Eventually, I figured out the game.

And it is a game — rigged and stupid and kind of beautiful underneath the bullshit. Because for every overpriced bottle peddled by a guy in a vest who says “terroir” like he owns a chateau, there’s a winemaker somewhere busting their ass to make something real. Something alive.

But those wines? The good ones? They don’t always make it to the shelf. The system doesn’t want them there. Distributors bury them. Retailers ignore them. And sommeliers gatekeep them like they’re protecting national secrets.

I started Bruno to blow all that up.

We don’t chase hype. We chase juice. We work with winemakers who care more about fermentation temps than follower counts. We buy bottles you’re not supposed to get — some of them under NDA, some of them smuggled in the back of vans. We drink weird grapes from the wrong regions and clean natty wine that won’t make you question your life choices.

This isn’t about flexing.

It’s not about curation.

It’s about cutting through the noise to get to the good stuff — then passing it straight to you.

Bruno’s not a wine club.

It’s a whistleblower operation with better glassware.

Welcome in.