Veuve Clicquot has been celebrating the bicentenary of its first blended rosé, and last week I had the pleasure of participating in the festivities in Champagne.

Rosé champagne had never been my first choice. My main concern now is how to make up for lost time: my eyes have truly been opened to the deliciousness, the complexity and the seriousness of fine pink fizz.

Despite having tasted some blissful rosés, both still and sparkling (Dom Ruinart 2002 springs to mind), I’d somehow never taken them seriously. I think I’d felt that pink wine relies on assistance to complete the jigsaw: the blissful Provençal view; the spray of majolica roses; bare shoulders and 22 in the shade. I now realise I may have been suffering from a lack of imagination. Or just prejudice. I am not the only one.

Madame Clicquot, one of Champagne’s famed pioneering widows, suffered from no such shortcomings. In 1818 she had the bright idea of mixing red wine made from pinot noir grown at her prized Bouzy vineyards with her still white base wines. In doing so, she engendered a new champagne category and gave the marketing men the Valentine’s Day gift that keeps on giving; but the most hardened cynic couldn’t fail to have been moved by the wines I tasted last week.   

Our day in Reims began with a playful blending exercise at the wonderful private Hôtel du Marc in which chef de caves Dominique Demarville and his team invited us to consider the impact of vineyard provenance and varying proportions of red wines in Veuve Clicquot’s rosés. Next came apéros and lunch, hosted by CEO Jean-Marc Gallot and cooked by Joel Robuchon, accompanied by Veuve rosés, including vintage 2008, and a rare 1955 Bouzy red in magnum. All the wines and courses were exceptional (I tasted the best artichoke dish of my life and some stunning truffled blanquette de veau), but the main take-away for me was the multi-layered fascination of La Grande Dame Rosé 2006.

That evening, at the Manoir de Verzy, we were treated to music, dinner and Jeroboams of La Grande Dame of different vintages including my favourite, 1990. There was a surprise, in the form of an exquisite violet-scented 2009 Clos des Lambrays. But perhaps the day’s biggest privilege came in the form of a vertical tasting of Veuve Clicquot Cave Privée Rosé from 1990, 1989, 1985, 1979, 1978, 1961 and 1947, with guidance from Dominique and master sommelier Enrico Bernardo. The 1990, 1985 and 1947 were all sublime, but it was the 1978 that really got the synapses firing. The harvest that year, we were told, was late and ripe and the yield very low. But was that marmalade? Malt extract? Apricot kernel? Chestnut honey? All of the above, and more. This is why we taste wine: no other drink has such potential to tell a story, express its origins, and then confound all known facts with a stroke of magic. There is no objective correlative for an end product like this. 

Pink may have been all the rage in the fashion and lifestyle worlds last year, when Millennial Pink made big waves; but the colour has always been in style, and it always will be. It’s frivolous, sweet, charming, universally flattering – but tweak the CMYK proportions ever so little and it can be serious, strident and loud. It can be reticent or, as demonstrated by Mme Schiaparelli, it can shock. It can simper or it can shout (indeed, Veuve Clicquot have created a gift box for their NV rosé in the shape of a pink megaphone). It signals submission, but it also signals power. Now, so they say, we’ve moved on to lilac. But I believe that Pantone Ultra Violet will be a flash in the pan. Lilac simply does not give the same paradoxical thrill. It’s pretty, sure; it can even be mysterious – but powerful? Non. Give me pink – in my wardrobe, and in my glass.