The time when even staunch red wine drinkers go to extremes and reach for the white is here, long heralded by massive advertising: "The ideal summer wine" or "This is what summer tastes like" or - increasingly often - in English: "Summer in the City". Sounds quite poetic, seductive, even melodious. I remember a song from the late 1960s: "Summer Wine", a love story that does not end harmoniously. A symbol for summer wine?
Some 30 years later, the song has been resurrected. Roland Kaiser and Nancy Sinatra sing the song as a duet. "You drink it slowly and best iced, my summer wine is like love sweet and wild..." I don't really know: sweet and wild? This may be true in love. But in wine?
My wine merchant says: "A good summer wine has to fulfil three conditions. It must be low in alcohol, aromatic, dense and fresh." The heavy red wines that I usually drink are ruled out from the start; even the light red wines have a hard time, if only because of their colour. Love and wine, a beautiful encounter, but its colour should not be red like blood, rather pink. "She stood there like that and asked: Are you alone too? Come and have a glass of summer wine..." Of course I'll come and have a glass of summer wine, even though I already know how the almost-mortem will end. It has been sung to me often enough in recent years, in many variations and with different interpreters: "...Oh - summer wine...".
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My summer wine is, of course, pink, or more charmingly, rosé. Every summer my love is rekindled anew.
Rosé, preferably one from Provence. Is this also a cliché, like that of summer wine? Does it have to be
rosé and does it have to come from
Provence, as if there weren't good summer wines in many wine regions? For example, in
Bordelais the
Clairet, in Spain the
Rosado, in Switzerland the "Oeil de Perdrix" (partridge's eye)... But my favourite - I admit it - slumbers in a bulbous yet elegant bottle from the
Côtes de Provence, from
Château De Seil in Taradeau. "I looked at it [in my case, the bottle] and hoped that more would happen, that maybe tonight it would lose its heart to me..." - (or
vice versa). But the night is far from dawning; evenings are now long, nights have become short. And suddenly I am plagued by a guilty conscience. Is a "light wine" allowed to cost so much? Aren't 39 "Schweizerfränkli" too much for a short summer pleasure? "Strawberries, cherries and the kiss of an angel in spring, these are the ingredients for my summer wine."
"Coeur de Grain" ("Heart of Grain") is the name of my summer wine, so it has something to do with the heart after all: "I'd love to be tender with you tonight, but you keep wanting more of the summer wine." You can already sense your doom. But my wine merchant says: "It's a full-bodied rosé for the whole year." Not just for a balmy summer evening, far too rich in finesse and long, endless on the finish. But in summer the nights are short; too short for a long finish?
"It's best to drink it slowly and not too much, my summer wine often makes me do what I don't want to do." Actually, I don't want to reach for another white now, not a
Riesling or
Chardonnay, the queens of white grapes. It should be something non-committal, yet light, tangy and spicy. I think of citrus fruits. The thought alone is refreshing. A white
Bordeaux, perhaps from
Château du Cros, a Sauvignon. My dealer "pitched" me this wine at some point. It - the wine - is supposed to be racy and dry, just right for a summer evening.
"I said: Hey, I'd like to go now. But when I stood up, I couldn't stand any more." Oh no, I don't want that to happen to me. That's why I put the bottle away and turn to the advertisements that have been landing - unsolicited - in my mailbox every day for the past few weeks. There - almost monotonously - the same characteristics dominate the sensory field again and again: fresh, open, juicy, easy-flowing, fruity, invigorating, aromatic, light, light, light... "She tucked me in and I immediately fell asleep and dreamed of summer wine for a long time. Oh... Summer wine."
The song doesn't end quite as peacefully as the dream would lead one to hope, however. "When I woke up again, the sun was shining in my eyes. My silver spurs were gone and my head felt like it was twice as big.She had stolen my silver spurs, a dollar and my last dime, and she left me with my craving for more summer wine," according to the original version. In later versions, this stanza was omitted or altered. Understandable. A summer wine should not be a disappointing adventure. But in many cases it is, unfortunately... The consolation of the mysterious lady (also only in the original version): "Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time, then you'll also get some of my summer wine."
Sincerely
Yours/Yours
