This is not easy to admit. I am of a generation in which a man should no more pour something pink into his glass than he should slip a work by Liberace onto the turntable. I remember ordering a glass of rosé in an English bar some time ago. "You want peanuts with that," asked a friend, "or candyfloss?" Today such idiocy has disappeared (except, obviously, wherever men gather) but sneers remain. They come now from wine buffs who are reluctant to admit that rosé wines can be serious wines.