I have a bottle of rose chilling in the refrigerator. That, to me, means summer. Never mind the official date. Never mind the fact that the thermometer just topped 80. It’s the prospect of popping a wine that looks as crisp and cheerful as it tastes that marks the change of season to me.

I became a rose convert in France over a decade ago (ironically, in early January). I was having dinner at a little restaurant on the square in Haute de Cagnes, an inland hill town between Nice and Cannes, and had just ordered a plate of salt and chile roasted shrimp. The proprietor, a man from the area who clearly knew how to cook, suggested a rose to go with my dish. I flatly refused. To me, pink wine meant cloying and sweet, and at that point my taste had moved beyond that. But he insisted. And when he arrived at my table with a platter of hissing shrimp, he was carrying a glass of pale pink wine and wouldn’t leave until I took a bite and a sip.

To say it was a great pairing would be cheapening it. The wine was crisp and dry and yet somehow full of flavor. Against the spice of the shrimp it felt like jumping into a cool, refreshing ocean and then licking your lips. It was heavenly.

But then I came back to the States and the pinks were still sugar-bombs. Not so any more. In the past few years, I’ve been delighted to see a new breed of American roses coming out that are giving that Haute de Cagnes rose a run for its money. Several from right here in Sonoma County.

Today, while I still enjoy a crisp rose with salt and chile shrimp, rose to me now means leisurely dinners with people I love, lingering on the porch or nibbling from the grill, when conversations linger as long as the sunsets. If you haven’t already, check out some roses this season. While it isn’t an exact replica of that first fabulous rose pairing (I’ll work on that recipe though), this recipe should do the trick. Enjoy — and join me in a toast to the promise of summer!