When the sun begins to heat the stones and you don’t turn on the air conditioning yet because it is too early, it means that spring is here. Time to taste wines, surprising like April storms or fresh like May dusks. It is not just that heat marks the structure of the wine, a certain primitive asthenia also forces us to avoid excessive impacts to our senses and inclines us to immaterial enjoyments.

We will flee from overloading our noses with the pomposity of apples and red plums and we will espouse prunes and arbutus cherries. We will set aside in the wine fridge vintage wines, whose aging takes longer than a speech by Fidel Castro, and look for tropical fruits directly from the headdress of Carmen Miranda. We will rediscover our wonderful sparkling wines and, breaking promises from past mornings after, we will become again faithful to their psychedelic bubbles


And the rosé wines?

That’s another cup of tea. Just over the French border, these wines are absolute stars on the terraces from March to October as soon as the sun shows its head. Instead, we have forgotten about them. Maybe it’s about time that we give them a chance to offer us the tastes of strawberry-cream toffee and blood oranges.

Do not let the rosé wines die. They need us!

Then summer will come, but that is another story …