For years, any mention of rosé wine conjured images of Sunset Blush from a box which, in turn, led to dry heaving. Then my friend Katie, ever adventurous, offered me a glass of Sofia Blanc de Blancs at my bridal shower. I only accepted it because I loved The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation, so I reasoned that a wine named after their director would be good, too.
On my honeymoon in Argentina, I tried more pink wines, and even bought some Crios de Susana de Balbo Rosé when I got back to the US. Now that warmer weather is upon us and my bias is almost gone (though I still will secretly judge you if you put ice cubes in your white zin), I might actually be into this pink wine thing.
Last week, while my friend Laura and I were poring over our novel manuscripts, she served me a glass of Incanto rosé. It was bone dry, a tiny bit effervescent, and delightfully refreshing. And quite affordable from the local Trader Joe’s. Suddenly my manuscript didn’t look so bad. Rose-colored glasses, anyone?