July 15, 2008

“A Glass of Rosé"

Oil on museum quality, archival ampersand gessobord™ panel - 6” x 8”

Summer is finally here and once again it is socially permissible to drink rosé.  Like not wearing white shoes after labor day, etiquette dictates that we wait until warm weather to enjoy rosé.  I’m not talking about the stuff we that we cut our teeth on back in college either - Mateus, Lancer's, et al., that cloyingly sweet pink wine that we all thought was the perfect drink, whatever the season.  Come on, admit it, you had a drip candle in a Mateus bottle on your wire spool table in your first apartment.  I can almost hear “Stairway to Heaven” playing on the phonograph and  smell the mixed aroma of incense and pot.  Times have changed, we’ve matured (well, some of us) and thank God, so have our palates (and our palettes). I suppose white zin has its place, but give me a lovely French rosé on a hot summer evening and I am a happy guy.  Now where did I put my white bucks?

“And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven”


Diana Moses Botkin said...

I guess I'm going to have to revisit that Mateus wine. I don't remember it as sweet, at all, but more full-bodied. I didn't care for it much (or Led Zeppelin... sorry!). I confess I was not much of a wine drinker back then.

I just googled Mateus and it's supposed to be a blush wine. Funny I remember it as very dark red. Was there more than one type of Mateus?

Lovely painting, by the way! I especially like the way that last bit of wine in the glass catches the light and glows.

Mark Adams said...

To be fair, Mateus rose was what we considered the "good stuff", as opposed to Lancer's or Yago Sangria, to say nothing of Boone's Farm Strawberrie Hill. If memory serves, there were gallons of Carlo Rossi Pink Chablis consumed back then, too.

Among other less flattering reviews on line, here is the gest of what people are saying about Mateus -

"This rosé from Portugal caught my eye first with its flask-shaped bottle, and then with the cheap price tag: 4 bucks! The bottle wasn’t pretty, but just as we shouldn’t be judging wine by the price, we also don’t need to be judging a book by the cover, or in this case, a wine by the bottle. We’re all equal-opportunity alcohol consumers, right? Overall, this wine is fantastic. Check out the fizzy bubbles: Served very cold (recommended), this wine had a delightful pink tone, a clean, crisp taste, and a very pleasant bubbly texture. This cheap, sweet, refreshing wine really hit the spot tonight."

Nicolas Feuillatte Brut Rosé Palmes d’Or 2000 it ain't.

Oh, and thank you for the comment about the painting. The light grabbed me,too.

Anonymous said...

I was a serious drinker of wine in the "...stairway" era -- not so much in quality, but outrageous quantities. Mateus was considered our dress-up wine. Boone's Farm was our vin ordinaire. One could buy a case of BF for about a buck a bottle, whereas the Mateus was something like $3?

But the blog as medium gives us a way to quickly get away from the beautiful little painting as topic. Again Mark has done a magnificient job in a small space.


Mark Adams said...

Cheers, Fran!

kaycrain said...

This one's a BEWDY, Mark! You got a perfect elipses on the top of the glass.
And oh, the Boones Farm Strawberry Hill that was consumed by all my friends. I was the goody two shoes suck up designated driver...go figure.
But, I totally had the drip candle in the Mateuse bottle...and we don't ever pass a Wire spool on the roadside without saying, "HeY!! Coffee Table!"

Mark Adams said...

Thanks, Kay.
Wait until you see tonight's painting, talk about a lot of ellipses. My eyeballs hurt. I don't know how Jelaine does it.

Diane said...

I vaguely remember those rosé days... but I will remember these blossoms.