Would you believe they make wine in the lagoon of Venice? On the tiny island of Mazzorbo, behind the walls of a centuries-old garden, a few rows of Dorona vines grow in saline, tidal soil. The grape — once nearly extinct — is tended by hand, its roots brushed by sea air and mist. The wine ferments on its skins, then rests in amphora and glass, preserving both texture and the quiet salt of the lagoon. It’s dry and firm, with citrus peel, quince, and a faint mineral edge — a precise, grounded expression of a place that shouldn’t make sense, but does.