Before It Was Cool: Clos Cibonne and the Power of Tibouren

We told ourselves it would be a good idea to write about wine on this space every now and then, and so for days we twisted our brains trying to decide which wine to write about, which producer to talk about—us, with twenty years of wine under our belts.

A great Champagne to kick things off? An old Spanish vintage? A hyped Italian natural wine everyone’s chasing? Nah. Let’s take the last wine we drank and cut the Gordian knot.

Clos Cibonne? Clos Cibonne. 2023, Cuvée Caroline.

If years ago someone had told us the first wine we’d ever write about would be a rosé, we would’ve laughed. Young, blinded by bubbles, oxidative notes, and the old tannins of Nebbiolo. And yet this wine has crossed our path more than once: a 2007 in a beat-up wine shop on the outskirts of Florence—too young we were, too good it was. Another time, the 2020 in Bangkok, in a luxury restaurant, where it got a little lost in the information overload of a tasting menu.

One thing’s for sure: the label doesn’t go unnoticed. Classic, detailed, and yet unmistakably contemporary. If you see it on the shelf of a wine shop, chances are that’s a damn good wine shop.

So this wine—so unique, almost revolutionary, having bet on an awkward, unfashionable grape like Tibouren long before it was cool to bet on awkward varieties—what’s it actually like?

This time, finally, the tasting conditions were perfect. No plates, no snacks, no distractions. The right temperature, just a bit of music. And who said that to drink a “gastronomic rosé” you have to be eating?

And anyway, what the fuck does “gastronomic rosé” even mean? Come on.

On this winter evening by the sea, orange reflections mingle with subtle notes of vanilla and wood. Ah, Tibouren—what a sacred surprise. A wine in motion, sometimes dense, drifting somewhere between Tahiti and Burgundy. A powerful palate, with notes of rose and hibiscus, carrying us across the Mediterranean in search of its ideal companion at the table—this wine calls for spice. You know what? Let’s throw on a chicken curry.

I think we’ve just figured out what “gastronomic rosé” actually means.

Johnny Cash whispers through the Bluetooth speaker of our Airbnb.

The taste of love is sweet
When hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
Oh, but the fire went wild

There it is—he summed it all up.

This wine is sweet and wild, love and fire. Thanks, Johnny.