Bring on the rosé — it's time to drink pink

I have a confession to make: I adore rosé.

Normally, I'm not a particularly feminine drinker. In fact, my friends tease me that I'm the old man of the group. The Negroni is my go-to cocktail. And whiskey with one rock and a dash of bitters is my favorite indulgence.

But put me in front of a cold, frosty, oh-so-pink glass of rosé?

Suddenly I'm weak in the knees.

I remember discovering the joys of drinking spiked pink grape juice a decade ago in Boston, when I was working as a waitress and bartender in Newbury Street cafes. Until then, my only reference point was the sickly sweet blush wines and white zinfandels that long graced the menus of every corporate American restaurant — intended for drinkers who, deep down, really wanted Kool-Aid.

But here was something different: a sophisticated option with a sophisticated French accent — and that same gorgeous pink tint.

Outside of those old rosé impostors, there aren't many salmon-colored varieties that won't tempt me.

Yes, please.

I'm not the only one who's tickled pink. Rosé sales have surged dramatically in recent years with drier, premium varieties hitting the U.S. market, terms such as "brosé" — that's men who drink pink — going viral and cocktail options (frosé, aka frozen rosé) increasing the appeal. The wine, which varies in its depth of shade according to how long the juice has been in contact with the grape skins, can be made with anything from cabernet to syrah, and can boast flavors from citrus to rhubarb to melon or strawberries.

It's incredibly versatile and can assume more of the characteristics of a white wine or a red, depending on the grape and method used in its creation.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but this case seems pretty objectively clear-cut to me.

Ta da, I thought, that grand day of discovery in Boston, my new perfect picnic companion. In the years since, I've also taken bottles of it to parties, on boats and — covertly — on long train rides along with baguette sandwiches stuffed with Parma ham and arugula.

And it has the power to reverse a bad day, instantly. A bartender recently told me there is nothing a glass of pink bubbles can't fix. I'm pretty sure that's scientific.

The name of the wine actually rhymes with the word "yay!" Coincidence or fate? I'm going with the latter.

This time of year, I find myself thinking about rosé even more.

While I can see the allure of drinking rosé in winter — as a liquid transport to warmer days — pink wine is a rite of spring, along with the return of robins.

Every year, there's that first weekend when I stroll into a liquor store, stocking cap pulled down past my eyebrows, and — BAM! — I'm met by an entire rack of those glorious blushing bottled beauties, stacked in shades of deep plum and pale grapefruit and everything in between.

Here in Minnesota, we're likely due for a few more dreary days before the skies open up to that stark blue and usher in more boat-and-picnic moments.

Until then, in between occasions for whiskey or Negronis, you can find me sitting at a window-side table, watching the trees outside bloom.

I'll be drinking rosé.

Serves 1.

Note: from Bon Appétit magazine.

• 4 dashes Peychaud's bitters

• 1/2 oz. (1 tbsp.) St. Germain (or other elderflower liqueur)

• 4 oz. (1/2 c.) sparkling rosé

Directions