We approached this 10.5% blanc (or ‘bianco’ for all you connoisseurs out there) with trepidation. Not only was this our introduction to the “wild side” of the bottom shelf, but the sheer ferocity of the wolf monogram promised a truly bacchanalian evening ahead. Strap in, friends, and get your Nectar cards out, because you’re going to need them.

An enigma of the steppes, a bouquet of forgotten flowers, a mixture of orphaned varietals, Wild Valley is a forlorn blend of Spanish extraction that comes with no vintage date, no details about grape or viticulture, and no origin – other than, of course, the fraught vacance of a bottom shelf in a Sainsbury’s (or indeed a Sainsbury’s Local, for all you convenience lovers).

“But what’s the verdict?!” we hear you shout, practically foaming for enlightenment.

Discerning readers, have patience.

The thing you have to remember about Wild Valley is that its taste is its temperature. It practically bounds out of the fridge, lupine and eager, but howls into vacuous acridity with every moment it sits on the table. It urges haste in its consumption, and demands that we un-learn our oenophile’s instinct to savour and contemplate.

Indeed, after the first few glasses, this becomes a wine where “fight or flight” really articulates itself – as it inched even closer to the temperature of the room (21.5ºC for all you cozy critters), our mental faculties began to soar away into the feverish night, returning us to primordial states. Momentarily distracted once again by all the delights of nature that are conjured by the irresistible wolf picture, it was some time before we returned to the wine itself.

And sadly it was at this point that the lurking shortcomings of Wild Valley began to present themselves. The Iberian mongrel might be initially inoffensive, but serves up a nasty aftertaste that lingers and lingers. That is to say, Wild Valley offers an amicable fanfare, but somewhat outstays its welcome. It arrives with a bark, and leaves with a bite.

With so much character, it seems interesting to us that the label is keen to position itself as no more than a “staple for the wine rack.” No bells, no whistles, Wild Valley is comfortable as the latest in a long tradition of family staples (e.g. our favourites like bread, rice, potatoes, and little metal things that stick paper together). The label’s anonymous scribe – our veiled sommelier – is constantly apologising for its simplicity and understating its lurid effervescence: for food pairings, they recommend the minimalism of nothing more than “fish”. We dutifully obliged (pictured below).

Curiously, the label also advises that the wine be consumed “within a year”. It is not yet clear whether this means a year after sale or, indeed, a year after opening. Either way, for those of you who like to take things a little slow on a night out (or a night in, for all you old souls), Wild Valley offers itself up as a beverage to take your time with, whether you’re a lone wolf, or the leader of the pack. Just make sure to keep it cold. Oh, and try to ignore the trenchant miasma of sulphites, toxins and … particulates(?) that, as midnight passes and dawn approaches, come home to roost on the palate.