Drink - Victoria Moore gets cross if the rose is below par
Published 30 June 2003
After lazing all day in the sun, I find I am quite cross if the rose is below par
It is hard work being on holiday. Every day one faces a series of difficult decisions. In the morning by the pool, there is the question of whether to lie on one's stomach or one's back. In the afternoon, one faces the issue of which paperback to start on next. And, in the evening, one is confronted by the most perturbing dilemma of all: what to drink.
In some places, the matter is taken out of your hands. Just try not having rum punch in the Caribbean (actually do try not to: rum and tonic, or rum, lime and soda is much to be preferred) or a daiquiri in Cuba. In most other places, a gin and tonic or a cold lager is the only serious solution.
In the Mediterranean, however, you had better take care to get this right. At the moment my feeling is that a drink mixed with more or less equal parts of Campari, orange juice and tonic (perhaps with an extra splash of tonic, for the fizz) and plenty of ice is perfect to sip while nibbling olives and inhaling great lungfuls of hot, dry air scented with wild thyme, rosemary, gorse and pine.
But then again, I am in Provence, so it is also tempting to begin with a glass of local rose, bright and clear-coloured, and with just the faintest hint of rosy pink.
For many people, rose is the ultimate holiday drink, consumed with gusto for two weeks a year, and then forgotten about until a southern sun draws salty sweat from their skin once again. In the Cotes de Provence, rose accounts for 80 per cent of wine production - and tourists and locals alike neck it as if there's no tomorrow. This sort of indiscriminate drinking keeps the market afloat and is often blamed for the lazy, slightly dismal quality of most Provencal wine.
Being one of the knock-it-back types, I've never had much of a problem with any rose that was dry, light and wet. But perhaps I am growing snooty: the other day, four bottles of the stuff that I had taken the trouble to carry from Boulogne to London went down the kitchen sink one after another.
Here, too, even after a day stretched out in the Provencal sun, I find I am quite cross if the rose is below par. I cannot contemplate ordering a simple pitcher, for fear of disappointment.
In case you are also heading to this part of Provence, of all the wines local to the village of Seillans tasted so far, the Val d'Iris rose has found favour with us. We also like the Domaine Rabiega rose, made just west of Draguignan, which is deeper coloured and richer in red fruit than most Provencal types.
If you are stuck at home for the summer, hard luck. I confess to being at a loss for a pale Provencal rose sold in the UK to recommend. However, you might try the raspberry-coloured Chateau de Sours, 2002. It is very good.
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