Why Barefoot Wine Is The Last Rosé You Should Settle For
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Tasting Table ranked 25 brands of rosé, and the rosé by Barefoot wine came in last place. Allow us to explain ourselves. This penny-pinching former career bartender drank enough of it during English undergrad (shocking) to kill a small horse, and it wasn't worth it. However, it did only set me back like $50 total.
For starters, Barefoot rosé tastes like a hangover. Forget the drunk. It's straight to the headache zone with Barefoot, and no matter how fancy it sounds, the brand's rosé offering is no exception. Speaking the word "rosé" feels better coming out of your mouth than Barefoot wine feels going into it. Barefoot is the Busch Light of grocery store wine brands. It's unremarkable, largely forgettable, and the taste leaves much to be desired — which is to say, it doesn't really taste like anything. Aside from "hangover," the top tasting note in Barefoot rosé is "pink." It's white wine with a frosted cupcake undertone, and like a cupcake, it should probably also come in a box. The cherries and citrus mentioned on the bottle's label are probably somewhere in the mix, too.
Quality critiques aside, the biggest sin committed by Barefoot rosé is that it perpetuates naysayers' criticisms of the rosé category as a whole. It's guilty of exactly the offense I lamented in an earlier piece about the best wine to pair with a fancy-pants lamb chop dinner (surprise, it's rosé).
Barefoot rosé proves elitist rosé-haters right
Whereas new(ish)comers on the scene like orange wine and pét-nats have been accepted into the infamously snobbish "wine world" with no problem, rosé gets dogged for its undeserved super-sweet reputation. Too often, rosé draws the same nose-wrinkling reaction from Bordeaux lovers that an iced vanilla caramel macchiato (which isn't a real macchiato, btw) might elicit from a self-professed black coffee drinker.
Don't get it twisted. Many rosés are dry, complex, and not at all sweet. The sparkling Figuière Atmosphere Extra Brut rosé from Côtes de Provence in the South of France, for instance, runs for $25.99 via Wine.com, presenting formidable dimensionality that doesn't have to break the bank. This is not the case with Barefoot's rosé.
Still, it would be wrong to deny Barefoot its due credit. Chances are that you're probably not going to find Figuière in your local supermarket. If you're in it for utility, Barefoot rosé not only gets the job done, but it's honestly probably the best candidate of all of 'em available to thirsty patrons cruising grocery store aisles. When the sweet, syrupy siren of a budget-friendly buzz comes wafting through your open window, there's nothing like a bottle of Barefoot rosé to answer the call. At a Target in New York, 750 ml runs for just $5.99 — less than a beer and a shot at most Manhattan dive bars (including the Bowery). But, you get what you pay for.