Frogtown has only one wine merchant, and it’s one that I don’t trust. I’ve never actually purchased an extraordinary bottle of wine from them, and the wines they’ve recommended to me I’m usually disappointed by. There is also the shop keeper issue. A man in his mid 40s, he is withdrawn, quiet, and seems to lack enthusiasm for his job and the wine in his shop. This is not something the inspires me to want to drink the wine. And every time I enter I feel his eyes lurking on me, wondering what this young foreign girl is doing in there staring at his wine, and why she knows so much about it. Actually I don’t think he cares why I know about wine, as I tried to talk to him about it and he seemed to indicate “buy your wine and leave my store.” Despite all of this, I always go back because their selection is  more diverse than the super markets that sell wine, and I’m always hoping the next time will be different. This time it was, though not in the way I expected.

Wanting to find another rosé to review I popped in the shop to purchase a bottle because I knew for a fact they had at least one extraordinary rosé: Jean Maurice Raffault 2008 Chinon. An extraordinary and affordable rosé with beautiful minerality, hints of white pepper, and the subtlest background of wild raspberry. I used to have a glass of this wine for my shift drink every night after work over the summer, that is until we ran out. However I didn’t want to try a wine I already knew, so despite the risk I tried something new. As I walked into the shop I noticed the shop keeper was helping another lady. Relief! I won’t get harassed today. I made a bee-line for the rosé section when suddenly someone walked up to offer his sage wine advice. It wasn’t however the shop keeper. It was his son. His son is 16. No joke. 16. I don’t think I really need to point out the absurdity of someone recommending wine who won’t even be legal to drink said wine for another 5 years in my country! Granted, we are not in my country, we are in France, but still…

Wanting to help him make dad proud, I accepted his services. “Can I help you with your selection?” he asked in French. “Sure,” I replied doubtfully, “I want to buy a rosé.” “Are you looking for something completely dry or more fruity?” he asked. Well, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but I catch your drift, so “dry and minerally” I replied. He pointed out a 3,75 euro Corsican rosé. I’ve haven’t yet had a Corsican rosé – and I will soon – but not one quite so cheap. “Maybe something a little more expensive,” I told him. He scanned the bottles insecurely with his fingers and landed on a very pale rosé. It’s only name was “Gris Blanc.” I decided to put him to the test, “What varietals does it have?” “Uhhh…” he picked up the bottle to look.  Grenache noir and grenache gris. “Okay, I’ll try it. Why not?”  I said.

The real reason I agreed to try it was because it was the palest rosé I’d ever seen, and more so because I wanted to say I’d bought wine from a 16 year old. For 6,75 it cost less than I had intended to spend, but it was rosé, what did I have to lose?

I walked home and put the Gérard Bertrand Vin de Pays d’Oc 2008 Gris Blanc on the exterior of my window sill for instant chilling while I made myself dinner. So how did the wine hold up to the 16 year olds recommendation? Exactly what you would expect from a 16 year old I suppose. He was on the notch with it being dry, though it wasn’t exactly minerally.

Appearance: The wine is almost white and at first I questioned if I can even count it as a rosé since it calls itself a “gris blanc” which translates to “white grey.” (Okay technically grey white, but in this case the grey is functioning as a noun which… never mind. French grammar lesson will come another day.)  Some French rosés are called vin gris (grey wine) – in Corsica for example – so I’ll assume it’s emulating that style in the palest way possible. And it is after all made in the classic French rosé tradition of using red grapes to make rosé rather than blending red and white grapes (which is illegal in the EU now, except in Champagne). Anyways, the wine is pale. The color is so pale it makes me think of finishing a glass of red wine and then pouring in a glass of white wine without a rinse in between. Not that anyone should do that, or that I ever have of course… It also reminded me of Jamie Ivey’s book about seeking out the palest rosé in France. This would have to have been one of the contenders.

So anyways. The wine. Here are my notes:

Nose: Super herbaceous and a little woody. Smells like the south of France in a big fat garrigue way. Doesn’t offer much in the way of fruit, but that is what I was hoping for. There is however the slightest hint of under ripe white peaches. Notes of ocean air. It actually smells a lot like prosecco, which took me awhile to recognize. Maybe candle wax? lanolin?

Mouth: Very dry with minerality and a mouth coating texture and a tart acid metallic finish. It’s so unctuous it verges on slippery.  There is nothing special about this wine what so ever, aside from all the subtleties on the nose.  It is extremely different from  the Tavel I last wrote about. It’s okay, but not something I would buy again. I like my roses with a slight bit more color, a little more fruit, and a more self assured character. This feels lost, uncertain of its character, where it comes from, or who it is. Perhaps it’s because it’s a vin de pays d’Oc which tells me it is probably from a bit of everywhere. On the bright side, this wine makes me nostalgic as it reminds me very much a Provencal white wine I drank over the summer with my boyfriend in Portland. Similar rustic woodiness that I can only attribute to garrigueness that I don’t actually know is a note associated with whites or rosés in the South.

Music: The Police. Why? Because you’re drinking mass produced mediocre rosé. Food: Scallops. The sea breeze notes begs for seafood, and the texture is telling me scallops.