Hybridity is a trendy concept these days—any class in post-colonial English literature will prove that much—and wine that walks the line is no exception. With the arrival of a sun that warms rather than deceives, it’s now chic to whip out a glass of pink.
Though red and white wines are named for their colour, pink wines are not often dubbed as such. Rather, a host of other descriptors are used, namely “rosé” and “blush.” This exception calls attention to the wine’s dubious past reputation; blushes are associated with White Zinfandel and Mateus, while rosés wear a forced title designed to elevate them above their humble origins. Though the word “pink” seems to carry more playful, less-serious connotations than virginal white or noble red, it also works to convey the true character of a pink wine.
That character is typically dry (sometimes bone dry), with refreshing acidity and pretty aromatics of strawberries, raspberries, flowers, and/or herbs. Though you can still readily find cloyingly sweet White Zinfandel, it’s being pushed to the side by dryer pinks (amen).
Though pink wines are eminently quaffable on their own (especially on a hot day—just try that winter’s night Syrah on a summer day), they have more balls than white wine and can therefore pair up with stronger fare. While they make good companions to salads and other veggie dishes, they also marry well with flavourful, fleshy fish (salmon or tuna) as well as pork, duck, and chicken.
A very useful food-and-wine pairing tip is the rule of origin: wines tend to pair best with foods that come from the same region. The cradle of pink wines is France, specifically the very warm regions of Provence and the southern Rhône. The Mediterranean cuisine of these regions is heavy in garlic, herbs, and strong foods like artichokes—flavours that usually obliterate the palate and make wine taste ghastly—yet a pink Provençal rosé can cut through the most garlicky of aioli. (Also be sure to check out the great pinks from Spain, Australia, South Africa, and the Loire, Languedoc, and Burgundy regions of France.)
The common assumption is that pink wines are made by blending white wine with red. Well, that’s one way of doing it, but it’s the worst one. (It’s also the way most of your run-of-the-mill, cheap, mass-produced pinks use.) Though there are a couple exceptions (this is how pink Champagne is made, the only instance where blending white and red wine is legal in France), blended pinks are best avoided.
A better way of making pink wines is the short maceration (skin contact) method, in which the red grapes are crushed and the juice is left to sit alongside the skins for a short period of time before being drawn off to another vessel to ferment. The longer the maceration, the darker and more flavourful the finished wine will be, as most of the aromas and flavours come from the skins. As such, a good rule of thumb is that the darker the pink, the more aromatic and complex it will taste, and vice versa.
The second process is really just a variation on the skin contact method, but it has a fancier name: “saignée,” or “bleeding” for you non-francophones/non-oenophiles. Here the focus is on making a red, and the pink wine is just a profitable by-product. As with the skin contact method, the juice is left in contact with the skins after the grapes are crushed. However, after a short period of time, some of this juice is “bled” off, leaving the remaining mixture with a higher skin-to-juice ratio. The finished red is therefore more flavourful and intense. While the winemaker could just chuck out the pink juice, it makes more financial sense to ferment, bottle, and sell it, and these saignée pinks are usually the most flavourful of all rosé wines.
