Under the Leaves, Memory
It all begins in Sologne, in an old hunting lodge nestled in the heart of the red forests. There, Sundays don't tick by: they are dressed in wool and fire, with muffled footsteps in the dead leaves, joyful barking in the distance, and doors slamming with children's laughter. Returning from a walk, we leave our boots at the entrance and slip into a big wool sweater, the one that still smells of the fireplace, before wrapping ourselves in a cashmere blanket in an aged, forest-colored tartan. Tea is already waiting, steaming, in a porcelain teapot placed on a checkered tablecloth.
A Heritage Woven from Fragments
Every year, when autumn arrived, Andrea, the creator of this tea, returned to these familiar lands like opening an old book that you know by heart. He found there the subdued light of misty mornings, the mixed smell of fireplace and damp undergrowth, and the hushed silence that only autumn can weave.
Inside the house, the rain sang softly against the living room tiles, while aromas drifted from the kitchen: that of a still-warm fig tart, quince preserves simmering slowly, lined up in jars like treasures on a shelf weathered by time. Bunches of grapes languished near a wicker basket, overflowing with hazelnuts and chestnuts forgotten on the steps, silent remnants of a shared harvest.
It is from this need to freeze the moment, to preserve the emotion, that was bornAutumn Blend: a liqueur like an infused memory. Into each cup, Andrea has slipped the crackling of the fire, the frothy freshness of the woods, the melting sugar of candied fruit, and that sweet, elusive substance we call memory. An oblique light is reflected, a full silence settles there, a suspended autumn, which never fades.