All Rosés Lead to Southern France

It’s hot. The Fourth of July witnessed blistering temperatures around California, and this time the Bay Area was no exception. In my last column, I bemoaned the cool temperatures that typically beset the San Francisco metropolitan area in June and July and used the unseasonable chill as an excuse to explore one of the heavier wine regions of France, the syrah-saturated Northern Rhône. But our recent string of 75-plus-and-sunny days shows my pessimism to be ill-advised. Rather than pouring robust Rhônes with pot roast, I’ve been just like everyone else – firing up the grill and guzzling rosé on the sun-drenched deck. Since the weather is warm and the best rosé in the world comes from several of the lesser known wine regions of France (the theme of my column), I’d be remiss to refrain from saying a few words on the subject.

Sun-drenched, in fact, is the word I’d blurt out if one of those ink blots happened to look like a bottle of rosé (not an unlikely scenario, actually, as I’ve had rosé on the brain for the past month or so). This word association is partly explained by the fact that sun-drenched weather makes me salivate for a glass of crisp, cold rosé and the light, summery cuisine with which it pairs so well. But it’s also a result of the climate of the mecca of great rosé: Southern France.

For me, good rosé wine will forever be connected with Provence. It was there that I first became acquainted with what is, in my view, the apotheosis of rosé-ness – its Platonic ideal, the quality of rosé to which all other rosés aspire. I am speaking of none other than Bandol, the tiny terraced wine region abutting the Mediterranean between Marseille and Toulon. But I have written extensively about Bandol elsewhere (too extensively, some of you have gently suggested).