Before I met my husband (tee hee), I was not much of a drinker. The most alcohol I’d take in in a night was one or two gin and tonics. Figured since I was already such a hyper person, I didn’t need any further stimulants in my bloodstream to get me to dance on tabletops or the like.

But still, the greatest thing about our relationship was that he opened my horizons to a lot of new experiences. Granted, most of them were vices: beer, wine, tequila body shots, no-limit texas hold’em, and VLT machines; (–to be fair, he’s also showed me europe, golf, football, winnipeg, and lake country) but after 5 years I cannot believe how deep I’ve gotten into the world of beer and wine.

I used to be with beer and wine like how I still am with cars. I could tell colour and make (beer vs wine) easily, and model if and only if it’s printed right on the bottle. But try to get me to understand differences in terms of taste, quality and bouquet, or to identify a drink by taste alone, and I would have been at a loss. Not sure when this changed, since the transition was slow, but now at least I know enough about what I like and dislike to have hates (ice wine, shiraz, “lite” beer) and clear favourites (Guinness, honey brown lagers, soft-tannin blends). It’s disturbing that my blog posts and camera-happinesses are directed at wine bottles, and that I have scoured Google for favourites I cannot find.

Take Provençal rosé, for example.

Ever since our trip to Provence, I have been ga-ga over this type of wine. I had never tried rosé at home before, but my perception of it was that it was akin to the sweet ice wines that I have never really been fond of. Not dry enough for my liking. So how surprised were we when the French rosés were incredibly light, dry, soft, and subtle–perfect for summer lunches on a sunny patio by the Mediterranean. I couldn’t get enough. We bought a single bottle to take home with us, but unfortunately focussed on buying reds for the rest of our wine tours in France. Only too late, we discovered that an overwhelming majority of rosé is consumed in France, with the rest primarily being exported to Europe.

Apparently, California ruined the North American market for the whole lot of us when their rosé creations stereotyped the wine as blah, off-sweet or off-dry “in your face” flavours. We went to our local Okanagan wine store for a free rosé tasting and I was bitterly disappointed–not only in the wines I hoped would be serviceable, but in the response of their sommelier that there are no plans for the region to emulate the rosés from Europe. God damn it!

So in essence, France and Kurt ruined me for rosé, because now nothing short of an authentic Provençal variety will please me. Guess this means that now I am an utter wine snob?