Sin-so

Some years ago as part of our never-ending search for good value wines, we, well, M. Quaff really, discovered an incredibly cheap red called Les Heretiques. It's been the house red off and on ever since, juicy and lusty and just damn quaffable. Once, as we were standing in front of the bin deciding how many bottles to cart home, another shopper spontaneously started raving about the winemaker Andre Iche and his other productions. Watch, we were told, for anything marked "Chateau D'Oupia." Interestingly, a Swiss publisher with a house in the region, said region being the Languedoc, again completely unprompted, did the same some months later. I did once find a white, which, predictably, I remember rather disliking, as I would, this being a wine from one of the parts of France I know I don't appreciate (see The Curse of the White Rhone). But, roses are a completely different matter in southern France. So imagine my curiosity upon espying Chateau D'Oupia Minervois 2005 rose. Perhaps I should have been slightly worried that Iche's name is on the front of the bottle. Now, I've nothing against a little write-up on the back label; heck describe your wine as trucker-friendly and tell us your star sign if you so please, but the front, that bespeaks, shall we say, a certain self-regard not generally compatible with any of the finer human characteristics. Nonetheless, glasses were poured and the wine's pleasing dark pink tint, almost as deep at Tavel, admired. On the nose, all the delicious strawberry-rhubarb pie one could wish. It was only on the tongue that things went screwy. Now I'm a girl that loves a tart wine more than just about anyone you've ever met. I'll always err on the side of generosity towards a wine that would probably be best mixed into a vinaigrette. But this has almost nothing else going for it besides powerful acidity - the sort that burns the soft palate. A high 13% alcohol doesn't help. Searching in vain for a hint of cranberry, another sip takes the burn to the esophagus. Finally a little fruit is detectable on the very front, but it's just not worth the effort. Maybe it's the Cinsault in the blend; the other grapes make perfectly unexceptionable roses: 52% Syrah, 24% Grenache, 24% Cinsault. Should by weird chance you be even more of a vinegarhound than I -- and I'm someone who has been known to take swigs of malt vinegar for the sheer love of it -- you can pick up a bottle for $10.99. Which is less, really, than some of the cultish infusions I can replace in my salad dressings with this.