Like every one of Chanteleuserie’s wines, this Bourgueil rosé, from the heart of the Loire Valley, is an overachiever. Creamy, round, and zesty, it bursts with red berries and blood orange. Reserve a place in your next picnic basket for this sunset-hued Cab Franc.

While Bandol may be the French appellation most committed to and closely associated with Mourvèdre, the rugged grape variety can reach spectacular heights all across the south. There are few better examples of this than Mas Champart’s Saint-Chinian rosé, originating one hundred kilometers west of Montpellier. Featuring roughly two parts Mourvèdre, one part Cinsault, and a splash of Syrah, this exquisite cuvée achieves its incredible finesse through an uncommon blend of practices. Mas Champart picks the grapes early to capture as much of the wine’s aromas of fresh red berries, peaches, and assorted citrus as possible. This benchmark domaine also allows its rosé to complete the naturally occurring malolactic fermentation, a traditional but increasingly rare practice that gives the wine more weight and depth and preserves its soulful, spicy Mourvèdre character. Zesty and floral with a touch of spice, this bottling will sing alongside many dishes and in every season. For a pairing that marries the south of France with the southern United States, don’t miss Tanya Holland’s “bayoubaisse.”

You can find Tanya Holland’s recipe here.

If certain bottles are emblematic of KLWM’s early history—Tempier’s Bandols and Joguet’s Chinons, to name just two—Anne Amalric’s rosé “gris” is one of the essential cuvées that have come to define the second half of our five decades in business. Kermit discovered it about fifteen years ago over lunch at the base of Corsica’s Monte Grosso, in a corner of the island so rural and rugged that cows grazed in the restaurant’s parking lot. It didn’t take long for it to become one of the wines that causes a stir among the staff when it lands in Berkeley.
      For starters, it performs a mesmerizing kind of trompe l’œuil: two red grapes, Sciaccarellu and a splash of Syrah, have produced a white wine? No, it’s a rosé, all right, but it has a nearly transparent hue because pressing the grapes very gently draws only the faintest hint of color. I haven’t tasted another vin gris that is so simultaneously weightless, ethereal, and full of character. A gentle wave of peach, melon, and spring flowers rolls over the palate and lingers long past your last sip. As is true every year, it’s a strong contender for Wine of the Summer.