The good news is...I can still drink rose and be a bad ass.
I may not have the bumper sticker, but I'd like to think I can embody the sentiment.
Tonight was the third annual Rose crawl and since I've yet to miss one, I wasn't starting this year.
Instead, I collected Prudence and, like me, she was dressed in the de rigueur pink of rose crawls.
We made our way to C street where we were the first and caught the staff unaware.
They immediately began pouring, a gracious gesture, but an inappropriate one since they'd neither asked what I wanted to drink, nor how much.
I love a staff who's quick to pour, but I also have a budget and a liver to keep in mind.
Once chastised, they gave me the requested half pour of The Seeker Rose, a delicately fruity rose with a label clearly written by a frustrated English major.
This sophisticated wine is ideal with shellfish, salads, and berry-based dishes or enjoyed all on its own amidst dashing deliveries.
I only hope for a day with dashing deliveries, not to mention delightful alliteration.
As the room began to fill with pink-clad strangers and a few familiar faces ("We were just talking about you and saying good things"), we moved on to J Brut Rose (Russian River Valley), a wonderfully smooth and complex glass of bubbles despite its U.S. pedigree.
A tomboy friend came in and we compared pinks; she beat me with glittery pink nails but we tied on the pink underwear.
Pru and I enjoyed discussion with a friend and a newcomer about Glaswegians, weather in Scotland and disdain for the English before packing it in for pinker pastures.
We chose to be part of the first wave leaving for Amour, hoping to establish a beachhead before the masses arrived.
Of course Amour was more than ready for us with pink flowers in vases and a lovely pink menu of wine choices and nibbles.
That we did at the end of the bar and promptly ordered two glasses: Costieres de Nimes Chateau Valcombe and Cotes de Provence Chateau Montaud, the better to go with our smoked trout mousse on cucumber wedges.
The Valcombe paired beautifully with the smoked trout and we settled in for in-depth chats with several in-the-know friends.
If we looked like we were having too much fun, we probably were.
The gossip was flying fast and furiously, so much so that we couldn't resist trying another stellar rose, this time the floral Cotes de Provence L'opale de la Presqu'ile de St. Tropez.
When you're a pink lover, it's hard to know where to stop when the choices are this good.
Just for good measure, we ordered a half glass of the delicately peachy Bandol Domaines Bunan Mas de la Rouviere, just because we could.
I mean, why be on a rose crawl and not take advantage of all the beautiful pink wines you can?
Soon the clarion call came for us to gather our forces and make our way to our final stop, Secco.
The place was mobbed when we arrived, but then, as the organizer of the crawl, no doubt some people had cut right to the chase.
We hovered in the back near a small table and I ordered a glass of Brazilier Pineau d'Aunis Rose and Prudence ordered the Grange Tiphaine, so we could experience the Loire Valley after an evening tasting Provence and the Russian River Valley.
To keep our strength up, we asked for protein, namely Asher, a spicy cow cheese labeled as "cream-kissed southern blue," robiola due latte, an Italian cow and sheep cheese that promised to be silky and bloomy and Olli Bresaola, an intensely flavorful dried beef sausage.
Before it arrived, we spotted a free table and quickly took it over, much to the surprise of the occupants at the adjacent table.
We used our proximity to find out about them, assuming they were on a date but finding out instead that they were five years married.
That led to a philosophical discussion of the importance of dating during marriage and how long to wait for child-rearing (they'd stuck their toe in the water with a dog).
By the time they left, she was thanking us for our input.
Always glad to help, especially after a few glasses of rose.
And speaking of the magical pink elixir, The New York Times did a piece on roses last week.
They'd rated the Bandol we'd had at Amour #2 for its density and complexity and the #1 spot had gone to the Commanderie de Peyrassol, a wine with a history for me.
I'd discovered it a couple of years ago and enthusiastically blogged about it, causing one reader to comment.
Hmmm..Peyrassol..summer is here and I just bought a case. Love your blog, Karen.
It was my first wine blog fan, at least as far as I knew.
Sometimes I wonder if that Peyrassol lover still reads me.
And if he knows I'm still a bad ass despite a love of pink. Hope so.