Rosé. Oh rosé. You make me feel like a kid again… A drunk kid! In some ways rosé is the adult Capri Sun.  That is Capri Sun without the high fructose corn syrup, the unrecyclable packaging, the “added” vitamins, and of course there is the bonus of alcohol. It is fun, summery, and hard not to drink the whole thing in one sip. Fruity, chewy, delicious. I love rosé! Yet it’s not just the youthful and juicy quality of rosé that I love. It’s the diversity of flavors, of appearances. Sometimes my rosé is light and crisp with touches of mineral and wild strawberries. Sometimes it is dark and robust with notes of cherry Jolly Ranchers and fresh raspberry. And then there are the rosés with hints of mint and melon.  Rosé also comes from all nooks and crannies of the world. From Australia to Greece, from Oregon to Argentina, rosé appears everywhere that wine does (even if as a small production after thought made to concentrate reds. But more on that later.) Perhaps I will add an accent to my middle name and become Jessica Rosé! (That was the worst joke ever, and yet I’m laughing to myself alone in my room in the middle of a snow storm. It must be the that fun rosé in my glass!)

See, I truly love wine.  Really really love it. A lot. And while rosé doesn’t offer the complexity or fine bouquet (or price tag, thankfully) of  an aged Burgundy (red or white!) or Bordeaux, it offers a pleasure all of its own. Some reserve drinking rosé for a summer evening with friends and a bbq because it’s refreshing and delicious, and while I often associate it with summer frolicking as well, I’ve come to believe that any time is rosé time. For starters, it pairs magically with just about everything you eat. That salad you’re having for lunch? Have a rosé! Asparagus quiche? Rosé! Breakfast cereal? Rosé! (disclaimer: I haven’t actually verified this last pairing claim, but I will just as soon I purchase some breakfast cereal). Rosé also has a celebratory quality to it, probably because it’s pink. While I would never suggest foregoing fine bubbly (perhaps another future passion-blog project because I really really love sparkling wine too), rosé offers a fine alternative for those bubble-abstainers dotting the globe (and such people do exist, I’ve seen them in person). And if you say a rosé is unfit for the cold austere weather of a winter snow storm, well then I say drink a bottle and get back to me on how warm and cozy you feel! (Please write while under the influence, I am not a fan of sober fan letters. Thank you.)

Because of my love for rosé I’ve decided to dedicate myself just a little more to it. I’ve decided to write about every bottle I drink while I spend my remaining three and half months in roséland (France). I should have started doing this three and half months ago when I arrived because I’ve consumed a fair number of rosés since then. Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks of frequent rosé consumption is acute memory loss and thus I don’t actually remember all of them. Had I been more meticulous I would have taken notes, but my disposition tends to shy away from such structure and organization. I prefer to drink, not to note.

So here I am. Blogging my rosé.

To get the show started we begin with somewhat of a freakshow, aka an uber cheap Tavel, which is what I’m currently sipping.  I had originally thought to purchase a local rosé, but given the only red grape we produce near Frogtown is Pinot Noir, and that this isn’t really a star wine region, I wasn’t in the mood for disappointment. So Tavel it was. Tavel is a special wine. It is an AOC region of southern France (Rhone region to be specific, if you’re a real wine nerd like me), and based on my recent 130km per hour freeway drive by, it is a very beautiful, dry, rocky region. Driving through in winter, Tavel has a rosé appearance because of the red clay in the soil. And more importantly Tavel only produces rosé. Yes you heard me, only rosé. No red, no white, no bubble sparkle fun, only rosé.  If anyone is certain they make a damn good rosé, it must be Tavel. Not to mention, Tavel was the preferred wine of the famous 19^th century French writer Honoré de Balzac, meaning it is the “literary rosé.” To me that says erudite, and I like erudite.

My current Tavel rosé is La Closeraie 2008, purchased at the nearest French supermarket I could make it to after 8pm (late in Frogtown) in below freezing temperatures and a snow storm.  At 6,59 euros a bottle it is an entirely mediocre rosé and a very cheap Tavel, and yet it is still satisfyingly enjoyable and delicious.  Such is the magic of rosé. Even the most mediocre of them can be a delight! To translate the back label of the bottle it states, “Produced on the right bank of the Rhone, Tavel is considered the ‘premiere of French Rosé.’  Very fruity, fresh, and balanced, with raspberry on the nose, Tavel’s ‘La Closeraie’ will please wine amateurs.” Oh what honesty France! You admit right on the label that this is no wine for sophisticates. The label is utterly tacky, but then many wine labels are, and the bottle is engraved with Tavel’s insignia.  It contains 13,5% alcohol, and has no warning to pregnant women or alcoholics. As Tavel is known for, this rosé is a deep colored one. The color reminds me of a vodka cranberry that has sat on melting ice for too long, with a tinge of orange coloring. The nose reminds me of sitting near a cool lake on a warm day with a cherry Jolly Rancher in my mouth.  There is something breezy and refreshing in it that is balanced by a hit (yes wine snob, hit not hint) of candied sweetness. I also am getting wild raspberries and the slightest tinge of anise. The mouth is full bodied for a rosé – as many Tavels are – with zingy acidity and a touch of under ripe strawberries. The finish is surprisingly long for a cheap Tavel, but none too complex. Definitely tart, made without the grace of a master vintner, but since Tavel is usually higher on the rosé pay scale, and this is a cheapy, I’m happy.

Music: David Bowie

Food: spicy Portuguese sardines on pasta in green olives, raw garlic, and warm tomatoes.