Earlier this week, while we were enjoying that brief, sudden, sodden stint of surprisingly spring weather, I found myself craving a nice cool glass of white. So I started poking around my cellar, looking for who-knew-what, when I came across a Susana Balbo Rose of Malbec I’d forgotten about. And though its strawberry fruit had shed some of its vibrancy, and though it was pouring outside, and though I felt like I had stepped into some strange off-season performance-art version of Eliot’s “Waste Land”–the cruelest month having arrived either far too early or far too late in the year–what I had in my hand was all I needed to make everything right with the world: A glassful of pink sunshine. Never underestimate the restorative powers of a glass of pink.
