Drink pink

I like to think if you were to look at a satellite image of Europe, you would make out a gentle pink blush in the corner that is the Cotes de Provence.  Not the raucous red of too much rouge, just the delicate pink of an early spring blossom. This is rosé country where half of French rosé, and almost a 10^th of the total world production originates.

The romance may be lost on google maps, but the shelves of local wine sellers and supermarkets are dominated by rows of pale pink wine, putting the reds and whites in the shade.

Vines were first introduced to Provence by the Phoenicians 2600 years ago (indeed Provence was the first place in France where vines were planted) and when the Romans came around the 2^nd Century BC they developed viticulture significantly. 

Rosé is made by lightly pressing red grape skin, pips and pulp and allowing these to mascerate for up to eight hours leaving the tint of pink and hint of tannin in the liquid.

The wine has grown hugely in popularity as a summer drink in recent years.

We were staying at a friend’s house in Pierrefeu-du-Var about one hour north of Nice.

We spent the afternoon wandering through the vines on one side of the village, where workers were tinkering at the vines in the baking heat in anticipation of busier harvest weeks ahead.

And we spent the evening looking down from the terrace at more vines on the other side of the village sampling a refreshing flowery wine from Chateau La Gordonne, which you pass on the way in to the village from Nice. Made by the sun, made for the sun.

Best food moment: because we ran out of time to swing by Nice our tribute was a Salade Nicoise (more-or-less) with lettuce, beans, boiled eggs, tuna and Provencal herb olives. Fresh and tasty, and while I was putting it together, I used a bunch of the same ingredients to make a pan bagnat (scooped out country loaf stuffed with tuna, olives, boiled eggs, yellow peppers, onions) for an on-the-road picnic the next day.