Rosés that aren’t from Provence | Wine

I’m not sure if this has been observed by any other wine writers in the past few weeks, but rosé season is here. It’s a wine style that even the most fledgling wine drinker can get behind (though there’s also something to be said about excellent marketing here). When most of us think rosé, we think Provence, and of the big brands. Provence, one of the most ancient (and cleverly marketed) French regions, has managed to make itself totally synonymous with rosé itself, and so successfully that, on my recent book tour, many casual wine drinkers were surprised to learn that the stuff is also made outside Provence.

While there’s certainly nothing wrong with Provençal rosé (there’s a reason it’s captured the hearts and minds of the Instagram generation), drinking rosé from only one region is a bit like owning only one towel, or watching only one episode of The Sopranos. Acceptable, sure, but severely limiting to your quality of life.

After all, rosé can be made in every single winemaking region around the world. Pale-pink Provençal rosé is seen as the standard-bearer for many, however, so there is a tendency to make unfair comparisons with rosé from other countries. For instance, most Provence rosé is made to be drunk pretty much immediately, not least because it’s often sold in clear bottles that are unsuitable for ageing. As a result, many people believe that rosé doesn’t age well, but it can, and it does – Greek winemaker Apostolos Thymiopoulos , for example, puts some of his rosé in dark glass bottles with the express intent of it ageing in the bottle.

There’s also the assumption that any rosé that’s deeper in colour is of poorer quality (though, admittedly, certain brands don’t do much to help that stereotype). But take the darker rosés of Rioja, Bandol, or even the deeper rosé de saignée champagnes, which are darker because the wine spends a period of time in contact with the crushed grape skins, and dyes it a delicious dark pink.

These are things that bear repeating, however. Many wine writers have a (very valid) concern that this means talking down to their readers. That is: “I’ve already explained carbonic maceration once this year, so if I do it again, it’ll come across as patronising.” But certain things really can’t be explained enough, and most readers are patient enough to see that I’m not writing for the wine obsessives alone; I’m also writing for the security guard who rarely gets a night in on the sofa. The would-be sommelier. My social worker mum. Myself 10 years ago ...

Wine writing is an opportunity to invite people into a different world – something that Fiona Beckett did here so effortlessly for 14 years – and there’s no better time to come in. Rosé season is here. Haven’t you heard?

Four good rosés from outside Provence

Specially Selected Bowler & Brolly English Rosé £5.99 (on offer down from £9.99) Aldi, 13%. 100% Pinot noir from Devon. Expect florals, strawberry and raspberry.

G&L Rosé, Kintonis 2023 £8.95 The Wine Society, 12.5%. Crazy good value, considering how prices for good Greek wine continue to skyrocket. A blend of moschofilero, roditis and agiorgitiko.

Pasqua 11 Minutes Rosé IGT Trevenezie £16.95 Jeroboams, 12.5%. Something else the bears repeating: how reliably tasty this pinot grigio rosé is.

Can Sumoi ‘La Rosa’ Rosé 2023 £25 Shrine to the Vine, 12%. An electrifying Catalonian blend of sumoll, parellada and xarel•lo. Think dried herbs and crushed seashells.

• Hannah Crosbie is a wine writer and broadcaster. Her book Corker: A Deeply Unserious Wine Book, is published by Ebury Press at £16.99. To order a copy for £14.95, go to guardianbookshop.com