Cloud Juice is what happens when a Central Coast winemaker decides that white wine should feel like a cannonball dive into a swimming pool filled with lime Jello. It begins with Verdelho and Albariño grown out in Paso Robles. Then it gets weird. Separating the timid from the deranged. a carbonic fermentation (usually reserved for red wines) using whole clusters where the tank time causes the grapes to ferment from the inside out. The result is a white wine that identifies as well, something new and totally different. It hums. It pops. It threatens to break into song with a left-handed guitar solo.

Richvale Wine Co is the project where winemaker Curt Schalchlin (all-around nice guy from Sans Liege Winery) lets his hair down and kicks at the guardrails. Think Sans Liege’s precision and intensity and adherence to wine chemistry filtered through a neon piñata, letting it all hang out. Like his hair does. Cloud Juice is unapologetically built for pleasure. It refuses to sit quietly in a tasting room while someone swirls and nods and mumbles about structure, collectability, and investment potential. This is the bottle to sneak into the stands for impromptu drag races or for inflatable swans smuggled into the Hearst Castle pool. Days that start with sunscreen and end with glowing cheeks, poison oak and stories you’d be wise not to tell your kids or mother about.

The flavor ride comes first through the nose. tropical and electric. Pineapple core and lime zest. mango skin after a day at the beach. salty spray from a wave that hit harder than expected. Aromatics bounce under the carbonic lift. little puffs of stone fruit and flowers. Then the palate snaps taut. crisp minerality. briny edges. a streak of citrus acidity that slices through the warmth of the day. Verdelho brings the tang. Albariño brings the sea foam.

It drinks like the moment ice hits the back of your neck. Quick. Bright. Violent enough to pass for fun. And it finishes long enough to make you wonder if maybe you should have poured more in the glass. Or brought a bigger glass.

No oak. no pomp. no cathedral hush. It do got a cork though, so it’s klassy. Cloud Juice was born for movement and sunlight. Throw it in the ice chest. watch condensation bead along the label as the afternoon tilts toward something a bit less respectable. It pairs with fish tacos that drip down your arm. Ceviche that dances on the tongue before it drips down your lips. Oysters that taste like the ocean is flirting with you as it squishes in the direction of your upper intestines. It goes with grilled vegetables, fried chicken, sushi, ramen, potato chips, and late decisions on bad ideas. Good stories though, if you can remember them

The bottle itself looks like a dare. art that signals joy before a drop is poured. You can almost hear music the moment the cap comes off. This wine doesn’t ask permission. It’s too busy throwing confetti inside the tank.

Cloud Juice doesn’t have any reviews, nor does it have any ratings. It’s just there, floaty bits and all. As some prophet (or politician, or philosopher, or fortune cookie writer) once said, “It is what is is.” Yep, sure is.