Rosé

The wine

The finish is where this rosé decides what it is. The sip is lightly sweet. The close is clean and crisp. Soft fruit fills the middle — strawberry, white peach, citrus — and then the glass lets it go. The sweetness does the rounding. It does not stay for the exit.

Fresh acidity is what makes the softness work. It runs under the peach and the berry and gives the citrus its job: brightness, not a sour turn. The sweetness is light. It rounds the fruit. It does not bury the acid, and it does not follow the fruit out.

Likeness is in the fruit. Strawberry and white peach are a rosé vocabulary, and the acid is fresh enough that the pour does not read as cordial. The limit is range. One softness, one bright acid, one crisp close, and the same three fruits on the second sip as on the first. Nothing else arrives. For a lightly sweet alcohol-removed rosé, that clarity is both the pleasure and the ceiling.

The mouthfeel is that split. Fruit arrives soft. Acid keeps it from going slack. The close is crisp, so the light sweetness does its work in the sip and then leaves. Drink it when a rosé with a little sugar is the idea, and when the glass should finish clean. The second pour tastes like the first. That consistency is the virtue. A further layer of fruit, or a drier frame, is not in this bottle.