A defence of rosé

Rosé isn't just for summer

Nothing says summer like a cold glass of rosé. When you’re sitting outside under the sweltering heat of the British sun (thank you global warming), determined to self-roast just a little longer because “this is nice, isn’t it?”, there is nothing better than to baste oneself in the pale-pink hue of that synonymous wine, preferably one from the south of France. 

So why am I writing about rosé in the frosty depths of November? Well, two reasons: the first is controversial and may require a moment of pause. Deep breath.

There is more to rosé than Provence. 

While you clutch your bottle of Whispering Angel or Miravel in horror, let me explain. There is nothing bad or wrong with Provence wines (or their imitators from various southern French regions); many are delicate, thoughtfully made and do the job on days sitting outside in that aforementioned summer.  

But like red and white wines which span not just Bordeaux and Burgundy, but also Rioja; Clare Valley; Stellenbosch; Marlborough et cetera, rosé also transcends the confines of franco-centric winemaking. Just think of the slightly saline bardolino chiaretto from the south-eastern coast of Lake Garda in Italy or garnacha rosado that originates from Nevarra in northern Spain but is grown around the world and famed for its perfumed red fruit flavours.

Even within France, there are gorgeously deep and tannic rosé blends from Rhône and Bordeaux, as well as lighter styles that could convert even the most devoted of the Provençal cult – sancerre rosé, made from pinot noir in the revered Loire Valley, for example. 

This argument is all well and good, but it still doesn’t explain why I’m ranting about rosé against the dissonant backdrop of dark evenings and unremitting Christmas songs. The second reason essentially builds on the first: since rosé isn’t confined to a specific style or region, then nor does it need to be restrained by weather or season.

Admittedly, fresher styles such as Provence, English rosés and most Spanish rosados should be enjoyed within a few months, if not weeks, of release so this tends to mean that these wines are best drunk before the arrival of winter. However, many have the ability to age for anywhere from three to up to ten years – take bolder wines with more tannins, such as syrahs from Rhône or Australia, or high-quality wines, such as those from prestigious châteaux in Bordeaux and champagne rosé. 

Another great example is the Bandol region in Provence (yes, this is an exception to my initial argument) which uses a high concentration of mourvèdre, a grape that is big and bold, and therefore a perfect candidate for ageing. Some wineries from Rioja, such as Lopez de Heredia, are also producing age-worthy rosés.These mature wines tend to be more complex and fuller in body, so they can stand up to the richer foods we tend to eat around the festive season. 

Take for instance roast duck, which is traditionally paired with pinot noir; the cheek-sucking acidity and concentrated berry notes of its pink sibling would easily cut through the succulent fat and hold its weight against the meat, although if you wanted something with a bit more of a darker streak (especially if the duck was served with, say, a red wine jus or gravy), then perhaps look to a rosé syrah, malbec or cabernet sauvignon. 

In a similar vein, take roast turkey which is often served with a chilled white wine like chablis or sauvignon blanc. Now take roast turkey and cranberry. Cranberry – one of the founding flavours of most grenache/garnacha and cinsault. If you’re adding fatty pigs-in-blankets, sweet parsnips, or fruit-studded nut roast into the mix, a dry rosé is a no-brainer.

So before dismissing summer’s pink drink as a seasonal one-trick pony, perhaps it’s time to give rosé another chance. Or just crack open the chablis because it’s Christmas. Some things are just tried and tested.