The palest faded pink rose petal to look at, lucid and brilliant (clarete does mean ‘the clear one’, after all). There’s a delicate crackle of limestone soil energy apparent throughout, just nestled under gorgeous vegetal pink smells in between rose (Cécile Brünner, perhaps) and geranium, with an oyster shell edge. It’s fragrant in the most beautiful way, without anything heady or cloying. While it’s all Garnacha pink to smell, the palate’s where you see the skin contact maturity and subtle power of properly elaborated white. Dry, but gently rich, cut through by stoney and nutty elements, it’s a wine of texture, evenly spread, gently tooled, savoury, seamless, graceful.