The French are revolting!
In Provence, at least, a revolution is afoot. The winemakers there are protesting a recent decision by the EU that would allow for the manufacture of rosé by blending red wine into white. This instead of the traditional approach of leaving pressed juice on the skins just long enough to stain them gris.
This is a prime example of the kind of thing that would totally piss me off if I cared about this kind of thing.
Because I don't think the issue is merely semantic. I think the Provencal have a point. I think rosé should mean something (so then perhaps it is merely semantic?). Rosé should mean you've allowed for a brief interval of staining maceration. It should mean you're old-school. It should not mean you've poured a little red wine into a lot of white wine to make it pink. If the point is merely pinkness then let's use drops of Red Dye #2, put an animal on the label and call it day.
But at the Lab were are not calling it a day. We are saying no to blended pinkness.
As a show of solidarity, we're drinking a true rosé, Robert Sinskey's Vin Gris of Pinot Noir, 2008.
(ed note: if you've noticed the last few posts all share a theme of "elaborately justifying what we're drinking at the Lab," well, then, you are paying close attention. Nice work by you.)
The nose on the Sinskey rosé is almost startling. It's fresh and bright, and smells exactly like ripe strawberries at first, then turns more vinous with time in the air. In the mouth, the wine almost floats. This is what liquid rose petals from some exotic bloom might taste like, mixed with Bing cherry essence and hints of pomelo acid. And it's all held aloft by a poignant minerality that lingers achingly on the finish. But the best part of all is the color. It's an elegant, almost coppery, hue of salmon pink. This is stunning wine.
It might be worth fighting for.