Don't Put the Pink Away: A Case for Drinking Rosé in January
Every September, without fail, somebody in the tasting room asks us the same question: "So when do you stop serving the rosé?"
And every September, without fail, we give them the same answer, usually while topping off their glass: "We don't."
Somewhere along the way, America decided rosé was a seasonal beverage — something you sip on a patio in July and then banish from the cellar until the sun comes back. We'd like to respectfully push back on that. Because around here, rosé isn't a summer fling. It's family.
The Wine We Almost Never Made
Here's a confession you won't hear at every winery: Sunnybrook's rosé was nearly an accident that never happened.
A few years back, during one of those harvests where everything that could go sideways did, we ended up with a couple of rows of red grapes that came in earlier than expected. The plan had been a bold, brooding red. What we got was juice that was lighter, brighter, and — after a short time on the skins — a gorgeous pale pink.
Our first instinct was to blend it away. Fix it. Hide it.
Instead, Grandma Jo — who has opinions about most things and strong ones about wine — tasted the tank, paused, and said, "Well, that's just lovely. Don't you dare mess with it."
So we didn't. We bottled it, put a simple label on it, and figured we'd sell through a case or two to curious regulars. It became our fastest-moving wine. It still is some summers. And when we tried pulling it from the lineup one November, folks noticed. Folks complained. Politely, but firmly — the way loyal customers do.
That's when it clicked for us: we'd made a year-round wine and just hadn't admitted it yet.
Why Rosé Works When It's Cold Out
Think about what you actually crave in the colder months. Rich braises. Roast chicken. A cheese board the size of a cutting board. Heavy stuff — and heavy food wants a wine with freshness to cut through it. That's exactly what a dry rosé brings.
A few pairings we stand behind from our own dinner table:
- Thanksgiving and friendsgiving spreads. Rosé handles turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce all at once. Red wine picks a side; rosé shakes hands with everyone.
- Sunday chili. That bright acidity is a welcome counterpoint to a bowl of spicy, slow-simmered beef or bean chili.
- Roast pork with apples. A classic fall plate, and the fruit notes in the wine echo the orchard flavors beautifully.
- Holiday seafood. If your family does the Feast of the Seven Fishes or just loves a shrimp ring at the party, chilled rosé is the move.
- Pizza night. Honestly, any night. Any pizza. We've tested this extensively.
A Mini Tasting Guide for Rosé Newcomers
Never given pink wine a fair shot? Here's how to taste it like you mean it:
1. Look. Pour a glass and hold it to the light. Paler shades usually mean less skin contact — lighter, crisper flavors. Deeper pinks lean toward strawberry and watermelon territory. Neither is better; they're just different moods.
2. Smell. Give it a swirl and take a sniff. You'll often find fresh berries, citrus, melon, sometimes a hint of flowers or herbs. Whatever you pick up is the right answer — noses are personal.
3. Sip. Let it sit on your tongue a second before swallowing. Notice the freshness first, then the fruit, then how clean the finish is. A good dry rosé makes you reach for the next sip almost immediately.
4. Temperature matters. Chilled, yes — but not Arctic. About 45–50°F is the sweet spot. Straight from the fridge, you'll miss half the flavor. Pull it out five or ten minutes before pouring.
Our Candid Take
Part of why rosé gets shoved into a summer corner, we think, is marketing. There's nothing wrong with a sunny poolside image, but it sold the wine short. Rosé is one of the most versatile, food-friendly, honestly hardworking wines we make. It shows up for the cookout in July and the pot roast in February with the same good attitude.
So this year, when the leaves turn and you're stocking up for the holidays, leave a bottle of pink on the counter. We promise it won't look out of place next to the stew pot.
And if you stop by the farm this winter, ask for a taste. Grandma Jo will probably be the one pouring it.
