Hey everyone!

How’s it going? I'm la Madda, founder of Feral. Yep, with "the" in front, just like we do where I come from. Like la Bea, el Bepi, la Cri. That kind of vibe.

For now, you can picture me as a tiny hyperactive creature from Trentino —that magical land where Milanese folks think we ski to work, survive on mountain pine, and talk to marmots. Spoiler: we do have shoes. Although yes, sushi is still considered wildly exotic around here.

This diary will be about:

• Feral moments, like when you scream “that’s it, I quit!”... and then wake up at 6am to do spreadsheets.
• Feral people, our true heroes with actual superpowers.
• Feral botanicals, who occasionally decide whether to ferment or rebel—all on their own.

A lot of people ask us: “What’s startup life REALLY like?” Truth is… you never feel ready to tell that story. You wait to feel a bit more “legit,” you know? Like, at least have a plaque on the office door with your name on it (we’re still rocking the name of the previous tenant—if you come visit, trust your instincts, it’s basically a treasure hunt). You wait until your fifth recipe is the one (it will be, we swear), or until the team is bigger, or until your bank account stops glaring at you in silent judgment. (By the way, the other four are already ready and you can find them here).

Then you realize—no one actually cares about the glossy startup-on-a-Forbes-cover story. What people really want to know is whether you’ve ever cried over a failed batch of fermented product. (Yes.) Whether you’ve ever screamed “enough already!” while hand-labeling 3000 bottles on Christmas Eve. (Also yes.) (Note to the Feral team: if you’re reading this—know that I love you. Even if we often feel like a traveling theatre company having a collective identity crisis.)

In this diary I’ll share:

• How did it all start?
• How long did it take to build our Fermentery?
• Who were the first brave souls to believe in the project (canonized immediately, in our opinion).

This whole adventure feels like an ultratrail in the mountains: you need heart, legs, recklessness, a good therapist, a refined palate, and a neck massage every other week. Which, of course, we can’t afford. (Good thing my sister’s a physiotherapist—just sayin’.)

I think that’s enough for today. Next chapter? “The Birth of a Feral Idea.”

Oh! We’re thinking of turning this diary into a monthly thing. Like a little series.

If you have questions, advice, jokes, or just feel like sending us a photo of your cat — email us at hello@feral-drinks.com. We read everything. Even the “xjiwjdjxksajxioscx” ones. Happens to me all the time when I forget to lock my phone in my pocket.

Hugs, La Madda