by PHILIP WHITE
There's an inventive resurgence of fine rosé underway in Oz this summer. Over the holiday, I saw impressive, thoughtfully-built wines from many who've moved on from the simple raspberry cordial sweeties often made from straight Grenache. Which is a waste of good Grenache. Unless you design a beauty like my landlord's Yangarra, which was grown to be rosé, and made to maximise those many parts of Grenache which aren't like raspberry cordial, ending up with a delightfully viscous dry whit-ish biodynamic wine made in big egg-shaped ceramic fermenters.
Paracombe released a beauty made from Tempranillo and Malbec, and of course that crusty old master Castagna came up with another exquisite Genesis, always made biodynamically from Shiraz. There's your king.
Other memorables? Of the Grenache school, but venturing one textural step away from the lollypop stuff into drier adult territory came Sevenhill Inigo, Pauletts and La Bise (with Tempranillo).
Changes in approach go well beyond testing new varieties. The making methods are venturing well beyond the old squash em and leave em on skins overnight sort of thing. The old factory rosés made from run-off removed to concentrate other, bigger reds, not to mention whitish wines stained pink by the admixture of a dash of bigger red are now joined by lovelies made with wild yeasts and barrels, and maybe the odd ceramic egg fermenter.
The wines are no longer side products.
Given my prejudices, the Yangarra and Castagna wines are exemplary, but they've been joined by a new beauty at the front of the Casa Blanca fridge: Jericho Adelaide Hills Rosé 2017 ($27; 13.5% alcohol; screw cap), a fitting new addition to the popular Jericho suite. It's a delicious blend of Pinot noir, Pinot gris and the rare (for Oz) Pinot meunier, which I suspect has given the wine much of its glorious feeling, as it does in champagnes like Krug.
First, there are no really overt cordial raspberries. I mean the fragrances surround raspberry, but they leave a void there where you'd expect it to be. I see insinuations of pale cherry, red currant, forest strawberry, pink grapefruit, blood orange, jackfruit - even a thought of passionfruit. Then there's that dry reek of burlap superphosphate sack adding a grain of piqancy to the top note, just to ensure those nostrils are properly open. It's a glorious sensual wallow: a long long way past raspberries. It even brings a hint of crème caramel.
And that texture's everything I suspected it could be given its ingredients, especially that fleshy, meaty meunier. It has a certain viscous grace that's slightly sneaky, which is an olfactory descriptor I don't recall ever before using on a glass of wine. I mean solicitous, in a courtly sort of way. As if it needed any help getting into you. It may seem obvious but smoked salmon is the gear. With those very tiny capers. Join the chaise.
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