Rosé. Review and update.

I was a Rosé enthusiast long before I first promoted them it in a 2001 article.  In the mid/late 1990s, when White Zinfandel was cashing in big, and Portuguese imports, Lancers and Mateus, were delivering a similar sugary profile, my wife Helga and I made trips to Germany, France and Italy. We were taken aback by Germany’s Weissherbst, France’s Vin Gris, and Italy’s Rosato. The surprise?  They were Dry. Bone dry. And not sweet, like the aforementioned. 

 

The recognition of what authentic Rosé was really like, motivated me, initially, to start nagging my friends, and secondarily, to pontificate to those who stumbled upon my articles.  In dinner gatherings, so as not to see what I was pouring, I pleaded with them to close their eyes, taste and evaluate, and then take a look at what they enjoyed.  One friend offered, “Yea, it tastes fine, but I just can’t see myself holding a glass of pink wine.”

 

In the 2001 article, (the first of many), I preached that while Rosés in the USA were the disrespected Rodney Dangerfield of Wines, the residents of Southern France, Italy and Spain “have been enjoying the juice—forever it seems—as their standard summertime quaff.  Their Rosés are bone dry and have much more character and complexity.  Can’t we learn something from them?”

 

In subsequent articles, I decided rather than preaching, that informing/educating might be more effective in convincing readers of Rosé’s merits.  I explained they were not the product of blending “characterless whites with mediocre reds.”  No, with a few exceptions, they were made from quality red grapes, much like red wine was made, except the length of time the skins were macerating was hours, rather than days or weeks. These were wines of intent, not fermentation accidents.

 

The defining moment for Rosés occurred when they finally achieved national attention and recognition with the very splashy front page (and articles) of the Wine Spectator May 31, 2007 issue. Imagining that I actually had something to do with this breakthrough, I wrote, “My flaming haired girlfriend of Summer is on the frontpage of a national magazine!” The days of Rosé’s mistaken identity were over.  No, they were not sweet, and White Zin drinkers were not being misled about them.  I crowed, “Put away your Riedel stemware for the Summer and go for the Pink stuff.  Tumblers will do.”

 

As cool weather cycled in, I next encouraged readers not to ignore or abandon Rosé in Winter.  They were not meant to simply be summertime alfresco pours.  If one can drink and enjoy white wines in wintertime, why not Rosé as well?   Also, Wine Spectator continued to publish tastings of releases from around the globe as did the San Francisco Chronicle.  Sales of Rosé continued to surge.

 

But even though my flaming haired girlfriend finally received the respect that I was hoping for, I got a bit grumpy that competitive tastings were being advertised.  Why?  I never considered Rosé as a “cerebral wine,” one that needed its structural aspects to be dissected and discussed.  It was always background music to the food and context of the moment.  Enjoy it, don’t analyze it.

 

However, and lastly, as I continue to sample and enjoy the ever-increasing number of choices in the marketplace, I have come to accept they are no longer just simple, quaffable pours.  Rosé, Pink, Light Reds, or however they might be described and/or categorized, are in fact far more extensive in style. structure and complexity than I originally experienced and wrote about.  And guess what, even though I thought this might be my last article on Rosé, it appears I may have a few more keystrokes left on this topic.  Cheers!