
I was in a funk. All my winter “dates” with wine and the cold weather had me feeling like a bear in hibernation; I wasn’t much inspired to cook, drink or blog.
But with the onset of warmer, sunnier days it occurred to me: what better way to come out of hibernation than to share some lovely Rosé with some close friends? “You are cordially invited to a Rosé drink down,” the subject line of my e-mail invitation read. There would be some home-made food as well, but I decided to not put too much thought into pairing since I selected four Rosés each with very different qualities:
Corte Gardoni Rosé Bardolino Chiaretto
Proprieta Sperino Rosa del Rosa
Chateau Calissanne Cuvee du Chateau
Dominique Roger’s Domaine du Carrou Sancerre Rosé.
At the gathering I ask my friends (before we dig into the food and get rip-roaring drunk), to let me pour the wines for them to taste one by one. I’ve been a little frustrated with my ability to “sell” wine, which at Moore Brothers simply involves talking about the wine. Sounds easy enough, but there is a lot to know and that can be said about the wine, and I sometimes find myself getting brain-freeze (which may, or may not, have to do with the store’s temperature of 56 degrees).
Although I well know that a wine is so much more than its grapes, at the very least I try to memorize the grapes that make up the wine, the region/country which the wine is from, and what it generally tastes like (light/heavy bodied, smooth/rough tannin, etc.). These are the things it seems the “average” customer likes to know. (I often hesitate with describing what a wine tastes like because it can be so subjective and is often relative).
Back to the drink down…
I start with the Bardolino: “This is an Italian Rosé from the Veneto region. It’s a blend of three grapes: corvina, rhondinella and molinera.” We drink. A bunch of mmms are murmured. “It tastes so different than it smells” one friend comments. I explain how that’s often the case; the aroma of a wine is not always indicative of the taste. I also mention how some wines can have slightly off-putting aromas (barn-yardy old Burgundies, petroleumy old Rieslings) but then on the palate, it’s a completely different experience.
Next the Calisanne: “This is a French Rosé from Provence. It’s made up of Grenache, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Syrah.” One friend asks, “Cabernet Sauvignon is a grape? All this time I never knew. Sorry if that’s a stupid question.” I tell my friend no one is born knowing all these things, so there are no stupid questions. We taste. More mmms fill the air.
Next the Sperino: “This is an Italian Rosé from Piedmont. It’s mostly Nebbiolo with some Vespolina.” At this point, the mmms reach a climax. (We’ve had this wine open at the store’s tasting table for the past few weeks and I’ve lost count of how many anti-Rosé converts we’ve had because of it.)
Last the Sancerre: “This is French Rosé from Sancerre, in the Loire Valley. It’s 100% Pinot Noir.” As we taste, I realize I’ve made a mistake in the ordering of the flights. I can’t taste a thing. My palate is overwhelmed by the Sperino. The Sperino is the biggest-bodied, most textured wine of the four and, therefore, should have best tasted last. The Sancerre Rosé, being very delicate, should have been tasted first.
I’m not sure if my friends notice, or care for that matter, because at this point we’re deep in laughter and talking about much more scandalous topics than wine. There’s a sense of tipsiness among us as well – and, I firmly believe, not solely from the alcohol in the wine but from their beauty. This is part of the romance of wine: how good wine can be so uplifting, and is often made better when shared with special friends.









