For today’s rosé purchase I spotted a wine I didn’t want to buy but couldn’t resist: the first 2009 on the shelf. Why you ask did I not want to buy it? The label. You see, I’m a bit of a label snob and find that many affordable (read: cheap) French wines have labels so god awful it’s almost painful to look at them. Bad labels are not encouraging for perspective impulse shoppers. However, the fact that it was a 2009 vintage beat out the fact that the label made me want to barf, beat up an old lady, and burn down French country homes all at the same time. The label is predominantly white and pink with the quintessential French chateau beautifully perched over a river with an ancient bridge crossing it. Below that is a horrendous lineup of a pink roses. At the bottom of the label is the wine makers name set in gold over a bright pink strip. It’s the kind of label you would find framed at goodwill. It’s the kind of label that looks like a terrible prom corsage mistake. It’s the kind of label that makes me wonder why France is even a country.

Label aside, I purchased this 2009 Cabernet d’Anjou from Les Maitres Goustiers (the name itself should have made me steer clear, damn). I’ve never had a vin de primeur rosé, and probably not even a non Beaujolais vin de primeur.  For those of you who don’t understand my fancy French wine lexicon a vin de primeur is essentially the French term for premature wine. It’s kind of like giving birth to a 6 month old (or in this wine’s case a 3 month old): they can survive but it’s not really a good idea and it’s generally just better to wait for proper gestation. So I didn’t expect much from my rosé, but was willing to give this preemie a try. However, it wasn’t until I returned home that I noticed it was only 11.5% alcohol. You see, in the world of wine 11.5% just isn’t a good sign (for me at least, I like alcohol!) with a few exceptions. 11.5% tells me under ripe grapes or more likely residual sugar, neither of which I want unless I’m intentionally seeking it out. And that’s when I knew it, I’d just bought a slightly sweet rosé. Turns out had my wine geekdom been a little more fine tuned I would have known that Cabernet d’Anjou is a sweeter rosé style. Damn Loire valley and all their sweet wines. Nothing is wrong with a little residual sugar, but when you’re expecting dry and sassy, sweet and pretty are not really welcome characteristics.

So how did this 2009 youngin’ do? Well, let’s just say if I were a 16 year old girl and wanted to get drunk this would be perfect. In fact, I may give this to some of my sophomore students and encourage them to mix it with sparkling water: it would make a delicious wine spritzer. (This is a joke. I would never encourage a minor to drink. Even though they do anyways.) What I might do is save the bottle until I have sparkling water myself and make my own afternoon teenage aperitif.  I must clarify that the wine is not terrible, but my problem with it can be explained by the same reason I drink martinis instead of lemon drops: I just don’t like sugary booze.  (Unless I’m intentionally pairing it with something. Or it’s a ridiculously priced Alsace wine that you can’t help but swoon over. And tawny port and chocolate cake will never lose a special place in my heart. But back to my point…) So the wine is sweet. Not too sweet, but sweet. Its color is a pretty rose pink with salmon tinges. The nose is reminiscent of raspberries and lychees with a touch of nice limestone minerality. The mouth is, as I’ve mentioned, sweet but not by any means cloying. If you’re a wine nut (or German) think halbtrocken and you’ll be about there. It has a mouth coating richness and a nice acid backbone to balance out the sugar. It’s actually decent, but falls flat. Good wine sings in my mouth, and this wine just babbles. However, it would be much improved by a nice spicy meal. Maybe I’ll go eat a jalapeno.

For this wine I give you two pairing options:

1. The 16 year old

Music: whatever the kids are into these days

Food: none. 16 year old girls don’t eat. Mix it with bubbly water and drink until you giggle.

2. The Food Savvy Hipster

Music: Deerhoof

Food: Thai or Chinese food that is spicy enough to make your eyes water and authentic enough to not be entirely certain what you’re eating.

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.

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.