Dappled sunshine, joie de vivre holidays, and endless lavender fields are just the tip of Provence's appeal. The other is its world-famous rosé.

Late afternoon in Nice, almost the golden hour when the Mediterranean turns from cobalt blue to Homer's wine-dark sea. Sitting with a friend at a café, I hold up my glass of rosé to the setting sun. Platinum, not a drop of pink. 'Is this actually rosé? Seems like white wine,' I wonder aloud. 'It's made from red grapes—it's rosé. This is how they do it now,' my friend insists. The conversation drifts on as the sea and sky continue to change but the thought remains.