Rossese is sensitive, delicate, and subtle. Its color is as transparent as contact lenses and paler than blood. After a few years, it shifts into a rust-colored orange. It ages poorly, oxidizes far too quickly, and is high-maintenance. So the fact that there are only about 80 hectares planted in total is entirely understandable. That it still manages to yield some of the—if not the best, then certainly the most elegant—red wines in Italy definitely warrants some explanation.
The 80 hectares of Rossese vineyards—allegedly 600–700 hectares just after the war—are found exclusively on the steep slopes of western Liguria, near the French border. The sea is always within sight, but, ironically, Rossese doesn’t like the sea or its climate. It prefers alpine conditions—or more precisely, subalpine. Anything above 600 meters makes it dizzy, anything below 300 is too hot. But between 300 and 599 meters, it thrives. And if that altitude range is met andthe soil is a well-drained mix of limestone and sand, things start to get really interesting.
That’s when you can gradually immerse yourself in a world that blends salt and stone—and in good moments adds notes of roses, lingonberries, strawberries, and Mediterranean herbs. The tannins are generally soft, the acidity is not. But it’s not unpleasant; rather, it’s just present enough to give the wine its very own character. Those reminded of a good Pinot Noir shouldn’t be embarrassed.
Rossese is ancient. Some sources claim it was planted by the Greeks. Others credit the Etruscans. No one knows for sure. To complicate things further, ampelographers discovered a few years ago that Rossese shares its DNA with the Provençal grape Tibouren.
So, it might have actually migrated from France.
There is at least a bit more certainty around Rossese’s historical fanbase. Andrea Doria—the legendary Genoese admiral after whom Italy’s version of the Titanic was named—used it to boost his troops’ morale. Pope Paul III claimed it sweetened his final days. Napoleon even sent a few barrels to his favorite taverns in Paris. Some of those same taverns have once again quietly stocked up.
Rossese may be genetically identical to Tibouren, but not all Rossese is created equal. The diva we’ve been talking about is Rossese di Dolceacqua, but there’s also Rossese di Campochiesa, which differs significantly in both morphology and flavor—and can’t hold a candle to Dolceacqua. Fittingly, there’s even a white version called Rossese Bianco (“the white red”), a mutation and a charming oxymoron of which, unfortunately, we have no firsthand tasting notes.
If you want to drink truly great—arguably the best—Rossese, seek out Antonio Perrino’s interpretation. Rossese di Dolceacqua may not be a one-man band, but Antonio sets the benchmark all other Ligurian winemakers are still chasing. He brings 65 years of experience in some of Liguria’s steepest vineyards—and you can taste it. Salt and stone, stone and salt, with layers of pepper, thyme, red berries, a vibrant yet extraordinarily fine and delicate texture, effortless drinkability, and stunning length. Don’t decant it—unusually, too much air can do more harm than good.
