I should have called this, How I Really Feel About Rosé.
Because it’s a feeling.
I’ve loved rosé for along time, going back to when my husband and I were the only ones at a party with pink in our glass. I’m not claiming rosé, I’m just saying…she’s been my friend for a while and now I see she’s getting popular. A lot of dates, a lot of dinners. She gets photographed a lot.
I’ve followed her around, sure. It might be less than prudent to travel to Provence to keep winemakers busy with my questions. It might be less than prudent to drink rosé in a Midwestern snowstorm. I’ve done these things, and more, in the name of my lady rosé.
Now every time I get online I’m finding rosé. Someone is always writing about her: The Only 8 Things You Need to Know About Rosé, or Top 10 Pics of Rosé on the Beach. I do like seeing pics of rosé, especially sunny ones, and I’m sensing that I’m not the only one. And I wonder: Do they all feel the same way I do?
I’m a wine writer. Not a wine critic, wine reviewer or sommelier. I have hard time picking apart a glass of wine, even to extent that certain tasting notes creep me out because the experience is lost in the data. I heard an interview with writer Jeffery Eugenides (a dude I also follow around, metaphorically of course) during which he was pressed a bit to share his personal opinion, to take a side if you will, on a topic central to one of his novels. He said that he thinks (in my own words) that:
Writers choose to be writers because they prefer to describe rather than decide.
I absolutely get this. And this concept relates to my feelings about a wine I love so much that is has the power to create a nervous-system feeling time and time again. Even though the articles get dry and the same things get said, I still read the words, favorite the pics and follow the links because when I think about rosé, I get the rose feeling. How incredible is that?: Just the thought gives me the feeling. I don’t even (necessarily) have to drink the stuff in order to unravel a sensation that’s been layering for all these years.
People have been made famous by single statements on wine. How many of you can quote Miles when he speaks of the flavors of Pinot Noir in Sideways? The question Why are you so into Pinots? is answered without one reference to AOC, or barrels or technique. Viewers are left nodding their heads in a yeah-man sort of way. We get him. And Pinot Noir got a huge boost because of it. We all wanted that feeling so damn bad, we chased a fictional duo around Cali to find it.
This is what I think is happening now when it comes to rosé. We are simply in need of the rosé feeling.
A genetic memory tells us that once we sat by a pool, 20 years younger and slightly buzzed (or was it the sun) and smiled at friend and she smiled back.
We catch a glimpse of fresh flowers in a vase and we think we once walked past fields and fields of scent that couldn’t be brought home.
Wasn’t there that time when the Volkswagen AC broke and we hiked up our skirts and put our hand out the window, when it was too loud to talk but no one cared?
Wasn’t there that trip to a new place, when our language was thousands of miles away, our money was no good there and it was only the morning before it all began?
Wasn’t there a waiter, once, that sincerely placed our fork just-so before describing to us the catch of the day?
I know there was a sea somewhere, bigger than our regrets, that sparkled and chilled our feet; it was that day we chose gelato over apricot nectar…you know…that day we left our cell phone in the air conditioned hotel? The day we kissed hello to each other instead of whatever we did before we touched?
If you must, get nitty-gritty about rosé. I’ll read your article, I’ll buy your bottle, I’ll get my hands on your book. I will because I’m faithful to the feeling.