You say Rosado, I say Rosato (is what we would argue if we were Spanish or Italian). Instead, we say Rosé (following in suit with the French), unless you embarrassingly ask the waiter for a rose (like the long-stem which grants you another week on the Bachelor).
Some 17,000km away from the rosé homeland is Canberra, producing some notable pink juice of their own. In my experience the lifespan of rosé in the home is shorter than a dozen roses, however I believe these five shades of pink are even more special than the symbolic history of a classic rose. I firmly believe the goddess of love drinks rosé as water.
If you don’t receive roses on Valentine’s Day, treat yourself to one (or all) of these local rosés.