Over twenty years ago (is it possible?) I took four co-workers out for dinner in Philadelphia. This was before I had a credit card so I was entirely dependent on my checking account for payment and during dinner I realized I was going to be short unless I cut back on some things - so I ordered the cheapest bottle of wine, a rosé - and one of my co-workers made a slighting remark about rosé.
Well now rosé is in vogue baby. They are really pushing it all over Manhattan with big displays in most liquor stores.
So I got me this bottle from Aix-en-Provence and I have to say I am loving it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with rosé - this article discusses its rehabilitation.
The gender stereotyping that once ghettoised pink wine as a drink for girls and big girls’ blouses is long gone. Rosé is everywhere. In France, sales have exceeded those of white wine for several years now. Over here, rosé is drunk winter and summer and goes stratospheric every time the sun shines. The colour helps; a glass of rosé or crowd of bottles glowing different hues of pink is attractive. With the rehabilitation of a wine once considered too frivolous and lightweight to be worthy of proper attention has come another phenomenon: the rise of Posh Pink.
Rosé is now a status symbol – an expensive, aspirational, incredibly desirable drink that comes in ego-boosting sizes, not just magnums but also jeroboams, imperials and six-litre methuselahs. As with yachts and Porsches, size is not everything. It is, of course, imperative to have the right sort. Trying to be flash with a glass of sweet, raspberry-coloured Californian blush zinfandel is about as smart as gluing “go faster” stripes to the side of a Ford Mondeo and entering it in the Monaco Grand Prix.
First rule of posh rosé (there are a few derogations, but not many): it must come from Provence.