Rosé for winter? Groundbreaking.

I don’t like rosé.

There, I’ve said it. Can’t lie, feels good.

I’ve been tiptoeing around it for years, diplomatically “not really in the mood for pink today” to avoid the kind of social fallout that gets you uninvited from things that involve friends + sun. But the truth is, unless of course it’s fizzed (I’m not a complete monster), it’s never done anything for me. Not even in summer. Especially not in summer. I’m sorry, but I'd rather have a Chablis. I will always rather have a Chablis.

So imagine my surprise. Sydney autumn in full flex, sky the colour of the pavement, pouring down. We’re safely cocooned at the bar at our favourite restaurant, doing what we do best, which is lose track of time entirely whilst ordering undoubtedly embarrassing volumes of food.

There's a brief interlude while we gather our wits and attempt to digest enough pasta to make space for two desserts. Across the pass, the barman pours us a little cheeky taster while we deliberate over the next glass. As always, everything is going swimmingly.

Then I hear the word rosé.

I quickly arrange my face into something that I hope looks equal parts grateful and excited. Poor barman.

Then I see the glass.

Oh boy. This rosé is not pale pink. It’s not even Californian “blush” (which is scary in itself). This wine is the colour of a sunset. It is a deep, dense, pinky-orange. I steel myself. The left eye twitches. I take a sip anyway because, well, what choice do I have.

Oh.

OH.

It has me in a chokehold from the first sip. It is freaking delicious. Strawberry. Fresh and juicy. But not the super sweet sickly kind. Not the stuff you squeeze from a bottle onto a sundae. I’m talking a real self-respecting strawberry, from the ground, the kind that sits very smugly on a tart in a patisserie window in Paris. This wine is bright and fresh, but (and this is the important bit) it also has this earthy, dank minerality that gives it a dark and brooding edge (the sort of structure I froth on in a funky amber).

Sure, we’d shared a delightful bottle of Arpepe prior which probably helped open my mind shall we say, but honestly this felt like an epiphany. It might have been wet and windy outside, but I felt ALIVE. Is drinking rosé the answer to the winter blues?

The wine (because I know you’re bursting to find out) was Cataldo Calabretta Cirò Rosato 2024 made from 100% Gaglioppo (don’t worry I’d never heard of it either). Turns out Gaglioppo is a sibling to Sicily’s Nerello Mascalese (aka the mighty Etna Rosso, aka my favourite grape). Go figure.

Fun fact for my fellow nerds: Cirò sits on the Ionian coast of Calabria — the part of the Italian boot that faces Greece. The ancient Greeks colonised this stretch of coastline in the 8th century BC and promptly named the whole region Oenotria aka land of wine.