The Barossa and other areas of Sourthern Australia have done such a bang up job branding themselves, they’ve kinda screwed their bottom left corner countrymen. The Parkerized reds some call “big” and I call ridiculous are exactly what most consumers think of when they see a bottle of down under juice, but that’s not the M.O. in W.A.

It was a bitch trying to sell beautiful, and dry Riesling from the Clare Valley, and it was IMPOSSIBLE to get my buyers of French or Italian wines to try an elegant Margaret River red from Western Australia. “From Australia?” they always said incredulously. I think I would have had an easier time selling them Boone’s Farm.

But Western Australia is a gem of micro-climates, and balanced wines abound. Take for instance this Fonty’s Pool rosé–clean, lean and everything I hoped it would be when I saw its baby pink color. There’s nothing worse than a hot pink, new world rosé–the definition of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. No wait, pigs are cute, and their ears are delicious. But you get the cliché. This bottle of Fonty’s Pool has the smell of a ripe melon and strawberry fruit salad with the lightest, most refreshing citrusy character.

It was my favorite wine at the Western Australia tasting last week. Not the best wine, but my favorite, the one I’d buy. You get what I mean, right? Sometimes the “best wine” is technically superior in every way, but it isn’t the one we’d pop open on the deck with friends. Too often we get caught up in the pageantry of wine and forget the ever important judging category of drinkability (Miss Congeniality?).

Wines get points with me for fitting in with my good time. Because if people make a bigger deal about the wine at my house, more than they do about the food, conversation or company… I’ve royally fucked up somehow.