The Adige: Wine-Based Prohibition-Era Cocktail
Veins and Vines: A Historical Perspective of Winemaking in the Sierra Foothills
Part 3: Plagues! Phylloxera and the Prohibition
Though the Civil War had been something of a boon to wine consumers of the dusty, rusty Sierra Foothills of the mid 19th-century, the late 19th century and early 20th century would bring two disasters-one small and one irrefutably enormous. One plague was real: the phylloxera louse which, though it did far more damage to vineyards outside of the Foothills, still took its toll on wine growers. The second event, the passing of the dreaded Volstead act, laid waste to the Sierra Foothills as a wine growing region. The Foothills would not recover until the late 1960s.
Fate dealt a crippling blow to winegrowers worldwide in the mid 19th Century. A plague was to be loosed upon the vines of Victorian England, France, Italy, and the western United States that would lead to devastation. A pair of botanists returned to their native England after a short furlong on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States, carrying with them a number of grapevines. A small root louse known as phylloxera (a pale, almost microscopic sap-sucking insect native to North America that feeds on the roots and leaves of almost all grapevines) was transported with those vines, and made short work of the few vineyards that Victorian England had by the mid 1860s. By 1863, vines in the southern Rhone region of France began to deteriorate rapidly. Soon, most of France succumbed, including the Loire Valley, Champagne and Bordeaux. By the end of the 1870s and into the 1880s, the pest had consumed thousands of acres in Germany, Italy and Spain. By 1875 wine production had plummeted to a quarter of the previous decade’s output. By 1889, the whole of the French wine industry had collapsed, and some estimate that some nine-tenths of the world’s vineyards were destroyed. And the lousy pest was about to ravage the California wine market as well.
The North Eastern phylloxera louse, ineffable, inexhaustible and seemingly inextinguishable, either was transported west from eastern wine merchants, or ironically, arrived in a full-circle fashion. Italian and French wine producers traveled westward, bringing good vines but with the bad vibes of pestilence in the form of the phylloxera louse. In 1873, the root louse was found carousing in the vineyards of Sonoma, and by 1880, it had laid waste to much of Napa, Sonoma, and the Livermore Valley. By 1893, 244 of Napa’s 577 vineyards were destroyed by the phylloxera louse
By the mid 1880s, it had even encroached on the vineyards of the Sierra Foothills. George Blanchard, the State Viticultural Commissioner of the Sierra Foothills, stratospherically (and enigmatically) announced that the phylloxera blight was due to the large amount of magnetism which had been thrown out by the sun through the solar system for the two years past.” Though the little creature did not nearly affect the wine commodities and grape growing market as it did in Europe and in Napa, several acres of Zinfandel and Mission were affected. It aggravated the stress upon an already foundering wine market (especially in Amador County). The phylloxera was a key player in creating a kind of wine depression that occurred in the late 1890s If it weren’t for a new technique in grafting rootstock of which was immune to the phylloxera, the Sierra Foothills would have been ravaged as well. Luckily, much of Amador’s old vines survived. And the influx of Italian winegrowers into Amador and the foothills created a minor renaissance, and by 1915 the area’s wineries began to flourish again. But another more devious kind of creature would prematurely cut its growth: the Volstead Act.
Just after the end of the Great War, when doughboys were marching home from a European theater of war, the Eighteenth Amendment passed through Congress and through Woodrow Wilson’s futile attempts at a veto. On January 16th, 1919, the entire nation would dry up, almost completely decimating the wine industry in California, and all but wiping out commercial production in the Sierra Foothills. An editorial appeared in a 1919 edition of the Amador Dispatch, furiously promising that Prohibition enforcers attempting to carry out the law in Amador would be “shipped home in a box. For there are plenty of old country foreigners who stand ready to resent official interference with knife or bullet. To make this class of people drink water – well just try it!” For obvious reasons, Prohibition in Amador and the Foothills was enormously unpopular. But by 1922, it was evident that the Foothills wine industry, experiencing a fledgling resurgence in business, was crushed like a grape as the 18th Amendment passed. By 1922 only 500 acres of vineyards remained intact, and by 1930, three years before Prohibition was repealed, a scant 200 acres remained.
The price of grapes skyrocketed. Almost all of it was shipped to the East Coast. Home winemaking, however, was allowed, albeit at limited quantities. Only 200 gallons of wine was allowed, per year, and was not to be sold for profit (and much of it was to be used strictly for sacred or religious purposes). By 1933 when Prohibition was repealed by the passing of the 21st Amendment, only one winery, formerly owned by Adam Uhlinger, remained in operation. The Uhlinger winery was purchased by Enrico D’Agostini, an Italian who supported himself and his winery by growing and selling grapes. The D’Agostini winery (now Sobon Estate) operated as one of the only vineyards in Amador County, as Prohibition had wreaked havoc upon commercial winemaking in the Shenandoah Valley.
Before 1920, there were more than 2500 wineries in California. Less than 100 survived the onslaught of prohibition. Three long decades would pass until California and the Sierra Foothills would emerge from something of a prolonged wine drought. The 1970s, 1980s would see a resurgence in local commercial winemaking, and Amador county would be once again emerge as an important AVA.
The Adige
Ingredients
Ice
Dash of Angostura bitters
1/2 ounce Amaro Nonino
2 ounces Sauvignon Blanc
Club soda
1 orange wheel
Fill one-third of a large wineglass with ice. Add the bitters, amaro and wine and top with a splash of club soda. Float the orange wheel on top.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Wine Wanderers 7
Wine-based cocktails from the American Civil War
Veins and Vines: A Historical Perspective of Winemaking in the Sierra Foothills
Part 2: The Civil War and the Rise of the Zinfandel Grape
Ingredients for homemade liquor-Union Army-
bark juice
tar-water
turpentine
brown sugar
lamp oil
alcohol
While America was mopping up the debris of the war and lugubriously enacting new laws during the Reconstruction, the Sierra Foothill wine region flourished. One of the ‘Valleys foremost winegrower was a Swiss immigrant named Adam Uhlinger. Uhlinger was one of the first who officially committed his occupation to that of “wine grower.” Uhlinger and his clan realized the limitations of the Mission and Catawba grapes that were giving the local growers a royal headache (both figuratively and literally), and began concentrating on planting “foreign” ie…Zinfandel...grapes., the varietal that Amador County is best known for (what Cabernet is to Napa, Zinfandel is to the Shenandoah Valley). Uhlinger would become known for growing and cultivating white and “sweet” Zinfandel grapes through the 1870s and the 1880s. Today, Uhlinger's legacy of fostering commercial cultivation of wine in Northern California can be found in a small museum at Plymouth’s Sobon Estate Winery on Shenandoah Road.
Civil War Cocktails:
1 gallon grapes
1 gallon water, soft
3 lb. sugar
One gallon of grapes free from stems and blemishes, one gallon of soft boiled water; bruise the grapes and let them stand with the water seven days without stirring; draw off the liquor, and to every gallon allow three pounds of loaf-sugar; put it in a barrel, cover with a blanket, and close the bung as soon as the wine ceases to hiss. It will be fit for bottling in from six to nine months.
From Bon-Vivant's Companion, or, How To Mix Drinks, Jerry Thomas, 1862.
CLARET AND CHAMPAGNE CUP, A LA BRUNOW
The following claret and champagne cup ought, from its excellence, to be called the nectar of the Czar, as it is so highly appreciated in Russia, where for many years it has enjoyed a high reputation amongst the aristocracy of the Muscovite empire. Proportions:
3 bottles claret [a type of red wine]
2/3 pint Curacao
1 pint sherry
1/2 pint brandy
2 wine glasses [ about 1 cup] raspberry liqueur
3 sliced oranges
1 sliced lemon
A Few Green Balm Sprigs
A Few Borage Sprigs
2 bottles German seltzer water
Pieces of cucumber rind [peel]
3 bottles Soda Water
Stir the above together and sweeten with pounded sugar until it ferments. Let it stand one hour, strain and ice it well. It is then fit for use. Serve in small glasses. For a Champagne Cup, use champagne instead of claret and Creme du Noyau instead of raspberry liqueur.
The Housekeeper's Encyclopedia by Mrs. E. F. Haskell, 1861
HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE
1 c. sherry or Madeira wine
dash bitters
Add the above to a mixing glass, stir, and serve in a wine glass.
From Cooling Cups and Dainty Drinks by William Terrington, 1864
Next! Pestilence: Phylloxera and the Prohibition
Veins and Vines: A Historical Perspective of Winemaking in the Sierra Foothills
Part 2: The Civil War and the Rise of the Zinfandel Grape
Ingredients for homemade liquor-Union Army-
bark juice
tar-water
turpentine
brown sugar
lamp oil
alcohol
Deep, grey clouds unfurled in the early morning of April 12, 1861, the skies becoming a deep burgundy, the dawn air clouded with the miasma of war as Confederate troops marched against the Union stronghold of Fort Sumter. The cannon fire that smashed against
3,000 miles to the west of the Eastern and Southern theaters of war, in another
The Italians, French, Germans, Slavs, Swiss and Englishmen that settled in the ‘Foothills began to root themselves in winemaking, as the Civil war tended to push many to drink. By 1862,
While America was mopping up the debris of the war and lugubriously enacting new laws during the Reconstruction, the Sierra Foothill wine region flourished. One of the ‘Valleys foremost winegrower was a Swiss immigrant named Adam Uhlinger. Uhlinger was one of the first who officially committed his occupation to that of “wine grower.” Uhlinger and his clan realized the limitations of the Mission and Catawba grapes that were giving the local growers a royal headache (both figuratively and literally), and began concentrating on planting “foreign” ie…Zinfandel...grapes., the varietal that Amador County is best known for (what Cabernet is to Napa, Zinfandel is to the Shenandoah Valley). Uhlinger would become known for growing and cultivating white and “sweet” Zinfandel grapes through the 1870s and the 1880s. Today, Uhlinger's legacy of fostering commercial cultivation of wine in Northern California can be found in a small museum at Plymouth’s Sobon Estate Winery on Shenandoah Road.
Civil War Cocktails:
GRAPE WINE NO. 2
1 gallon grapes
1 gallon water, soft
3 lb. sugar
One gallon of grapes free from stems and blemishes, one gallon of soft boiled water; bruise the grapes and let them stand with the water seven days without stirring; draw off the liquor, and to every gallon allow three pounds of loaf-sugar; put it in a barrel, cover with a blanket, and close the bung as soon as the wine ceases to hiss. It will be fit for bottling in from six to nine months.
From Bon-Vivant's Companion, or, How To Mix Drinks, Jerry Thomas, 1862.
CLARET AND CHAMPAGNE CUP, A LA BRUNOW
The following claret and champagne cup ought, from its excellence, to be called the nectar of the Czar, as it is so highly appreciated in Russia, where for many years it has enjoyed a high reputation amongst the aristocracy of the Muscovite empire. Proportions:
3 bottles claret [a type of red wine]
2/3 pint Curacao
1 pint sherry
1/2 pint brandy
2 wine glasses [ about 1 cup] raspberry liqueur
3 sliced oranges
1 sliced lemon
A Few Green Balm Sprigs
A Few Borage Sprigs
2 bottles German seltzer water
Pieces of cucumber rind [peel]
3 bottles Soda Water
Stir the above together and sweeten with pounded sugar until it ferments. Let it stand one hour, strain and ice it well. It is then fit for use. Serve in small glasses. For a Champagne Cup, use champagne instead of claret and Creme du Noyau instead of raspberry liqueur.
The Housekeeper's Encyclopedia by Mrs. E. F. Haskell, 1861
HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE
1 c. sherry or Madeira wine
dash bitters
Add the above to a mixing glass, stir, and serve in a wine glass.
From Cooling Cups and Dainty Drinks by William Terrington, 1864
Next! Pestilence: Phylloxera and the Prohibition
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wine Wanderers #6
Toogood Estate Zin Chic Old Vine Zinfandel
Veins and Vines: A Historical Perspective of Winemaking in the Sierra Foothills
Part 1: Gold and the First Wine Makers of the Sierra Foothills.
Eureka!
Gold mining and wine making. The two professions may seem utterly alien to each other, but a decade before the American Civil War in Northern California’s Sierra Foothills, they not only were two occupational mainstays that have defined the area’s historical legacy, they have also contributed to California’s rich cultural identity.
The news of James Marshall discovering gold at Sutter’s Mill in the late 1840s electrified the nation, if not the world. By the 1850s, the golden Sierra Foothills were teeming with fortune seekers ardently striving to stake a claim and make a name for themselves. Images of the Sierra Foothills in the early 1850s suggest those of crusty miners zealously panning streams, and creeks for nuggets of golden fortune, bearded curmudgeons duking it out after swilling whiskey at the local saloon and rickety horse-drawn carriages plodding into dusty towns, commandeered by pistol-packing pioneers and other eager entrepreneurs. Amongst this rugged, ragtag treasure-seeking mob, a handful of vintners also arrived, planting grapes in the Sierra Foothills as early as 1848, and creating a new viticultural area that, over time, has produced some of California’s best wines.
In 1849, a man named Stevens planted 32 vines in Rescue, El Dorado County. During the boom of the 1850s, other “orchardists” entered the scene, planting fruit that was sustainable in the warm climate of the Foothills. Arguably drawing from Stevens’ success, they too began cultivating grapes, and (not surprisingly) began making wine. However, the few gallons produced were for private consumption only, since generating an income from wine in the 1850s was a virtually impossible plight. They made their money by overseeing ditch systems, owning surface placer mines and operating hotels. By the end of the 1850s, and at the advent of the 1860s, more and more vineyards began to emerge in Amador County, dotting small parts of the grassy foothills with small emerald carpets of wine.
Two varietals that were first grown were the Mission and Catawba grapes: neither of which would be considered world-class wines by modern standards. The Mission, first introduced by Franciscan missionaries in the late 1700s and early 1800s, was heavy, cloyingly sweet, and contained little varietal character. It was typically used in making ports and Angelica, a fortified wine (like port, with brandy), which did no more than give the local mining population a terrible hangover the next day. The Catawba (which grew well in the country’s most successful wine district of Hamilton, Ohio), was, conversely, tart and overly spicy, requiring cooler climes and faring poorly in the Foothills.
By the end of the 1850s, however, experimentation was the order of the day. A noted orchardist by the name of Dr. Samuel Page included such varietals as the Black Humburg, the White Muscat of Alexandria, and something called the “Black St. Peter’s Grape,” that many believe to have been another moniker for the first Zinfandel grapes (which would become a staple of the Shenandoah Valley). It wouldn’t be until the 1860s that wine making as a profession would flourish. Nevertheless, we raise a glass to the pioneer winemakers of the 1850s. If it weren’t for them, the landscape of the Sierra Foothills would contain nothing more than a handful of dusty, abandoned mining structures: skeletons of a bygone era.
Thankfully, a few relics of the old wine era have endured the long day’s journey into night (and back into day again). One winery, Toogood Estates in El Dorado County, courts the historical muse in this zaftig, full-fleshed zinfandel. The vines, at 150 years old (1859), are the oldest in the county. It’s big, sassy, brassy, and will belt out a tune on your tongue – like a west coast showgirl entertaining the local miners and other denizens of 1850s Sierra mining towns. It’s a wine you can sink a pick into: big berries, rich and meaty, and with a spicy aftertaste that sifts through it all. It's a wine that'll make your taste buds exclaim...."Eureka!"
Next! Veins and Vines 2 - The 1860s: Sierra Wines and the Civil War.
Veins and Vines: A Historical Perspective of Winemaking in the Sierra Foothills
Part 1: Gold and the First Wine Makers of the Sierra Foothills.
Eureka!
Gold mining and wine making. The two professions may seem utterly alien to each other, but a decade before the American Civil War in Northern California’s Sierra Foothills, they not only were two occupational mainstays that have defined the area’s historical legacy, they have also contributed to California’s rich cultural identity.
The news of James Marshall discovering gold at Sutter’s Mill in the late 1840s electrified the nation, if not the world. By the 1850s, the golden Sierra Foothills were teeming with fortune seekers ardently striving to stake a claim and make a name for themselves. Images of the Sierra Foothills in the early 1850s suggest those of crusty miners zealously panning streams, and creeks for nuggets of golden fortune, bearded curmudgeons duking it out after swilling whiskey at the local saloon and rickety horse-drawn carriages plodding into dusty towns, commandeered by pistol-packing pioneers and other eager entrepreneurs. Amongst this rugged, ragtag treasure-seeking mob, a handful of vintners also arrived, planting grapes in the Sierra Foothills as early as 1848, and creating a new viticultural area that, over time, has produced some of California’s best wines.
In 1849, a man named Stevens planted 32 vines in Rescue, El Dorado County. During the boom of the 1850s, other “orchardists” entered the scene, planting fruit that was sustainable in the warm climate of the Foothills. Arguably drawing from Stevens’ success, they too began cultivating grapes, and (not surprisingly) began making wine. However, the few gallons produced were for private consumption only, since generating an income from wine in the 1850s was a virtually impossible plight. They made their money by overseeing ditch systems, owning surface placer mines and operating hotels. By the end of the 1850s, and at the advent of the 1860s, more and more vineyards began to emerge in Amador County, dotting small parts of the grassy foothills with small emerald carpets of wine.
Two varietals that were first grown were the Mission and Catawba grapes: neither of which would be considered world-class wines by modern standards. The Mission, first introduced by Franciscan missionaries in the late 1700s and early 1800s, was heavy, cloyingly sweet, and contained little varietal character. It was typically used in making ports and Angelica, a fortified wine (like port, with brandy), which did no more than give the local mining population a terrible hangover the next day. The Catawba (which grew well in the country’s most successful wine district of Hamilton, Ohio), was, conversely, tart and overly spicy, requiring cooler climes and faring poorly in the Foothills.
By the end of the 1850s, however, experimentation was the order of the day. A noted orchardist by the name of Dr. Samuel Page included such varietals as the Black Humburg, the White Muscat of Alexandria, and something called the “Black St. Peter’s Grape,” that many believe to have been another moniker for the first Zinfandel grapes (which would become a staple of the Shenandoah Valley). It wouldn’t be until the 1860s that wine making as a profession would flourish. Nevertheless, we raise a glass to the pioneer winemakers of the 1850s. If it weren’t for them, the landscape of the Sierra Foothills would contain nothing more than a handful of dusty, abandoned mining structures: skeletons of a bygone era.
Thankfully, a few relics of the old wine era have endured the long day’s journey into night (and back into day again). One winery, Toogood Estates in El Dorado County, courts the historical muse in this zaftig, full-fleshed zinfandel. The vines, at 150 years old (1859), are the oldest in the county. It’s big, sassy, brassy, and will belt out a tune on your tongue – like a west coast showgirl entertaining the local miners and other denizens of 1850s Sierra mining towns. It’s a wine you can sink a pick into: big berries, rich and meaty, and with a spicy aftertaste that sifts through it all. It's a wine that'll make your taste buds exclaim...."Eureka!"
Next! Veins and Vines 2 - The 1860s: Sierra Wines and the Civil War.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Wine Wanderers #5
Farneta 2006 Primitivo (Sonoma-Carneros)
The Legend of the Primitivo
The road to into Amador County slinks through a large, open, golden field, sporadically studded with lonely, deep emerald clusters of oak trees. It’s empty. Our wheels are digging up the asphalt, following the stream of the road, coursing along beneath us to the soft, reverberating, percussive twang of Johnny Cash’s guitar. His golden whiskey voice is rich, soft and lingering; heart all filled with rusty nails and beer bottles.
The next turn, and the sun sinks into the horizon, breaking open like the yolk of an egg, spreading orange and red over a big sky, and the distant, resonating voice of Patsy Cline moves through the air like a ghost, the song a sweetly mournful ballad telling a cold tale of yet another unrequited love. These are voices of legends singing of legends drifting through the air.
We're entering Amador County, life and belongings in tow, and we're listening to and thinking about legends - and not legends that the cowboy crooners relate in song and poem. We're remembering a bottle of wine from about five counties away (one that is not unlike the one we're entering now) that we decanted in early August. We think about another legendary varietal that wandered into that county like a dusty wrangler into an old saloon, and took root, like a prospector on a stool of an old whiskey bar.
Nobody really knows how the Primitivo varietal entered Sonoma. We do know, however, it's not that old, actually, and that it was introduced into the US in the 1960s (some assert it to be around 1968 to be precise). Its origins are still a matter of speculation, for the most part. It’s related to the Zinfandel varietal, and, like it’s estranged sibling, has its roots in Croatia. Primitivo entered the Apulia region of Italy (a region in the country’s “heel) around 1700. During the latter part of the 20th Century, studies were undertaken to understand Primitivo and its genealogy. Initially, it was assumed that it and the Zinfandel were descendants of the Plavac Mali Varietal, and that a divergence occurred after many decades. Others argued (like Croatian-born Mike Grgich of Rutherford’s Grgich Hills wines), that Primitivo was a descendant of Zinfandel. Finally, after travelling throughout Europe and undoubtedly quaffing several glasses of Zin and Primitivo, a team of experts decided that the two varietals were a kind of parent to Plavac Mali, giving the ancestry of the Primitivo, perhaps, even more mystery, if not legend.
Our memory of the Carneros-harvested 2006 Farneta Primitivo lingered in our heads like an old song. The rich aromas of raspberries, plums and cherries were prevalent in its taste as well, and the pepper and blackberry qualities made our tongues quiver like the lick of a steel guitar in a Hank Williams song. The 2006 Farneta is actually a blend of Primitivo (77%) and Zinfandel (23%), making it a perfect family reunion. In this Farneta blend, the slightly more tart, brambly Primitivo blended well with the sweeter, fruitier Zinfandel.
So, like the song says, "There's a Wide Open Road" ahead for the Primitivo here in California, whose flavors precede its reputation, and definitely its legend. Amador wineries such as Sobon and Charles Spinetta specialize in this varietal in their wines and blends. We certainly hope to hear about it fondly, over and over again, like an old tale told 'round a cowboy campfire. Better yet: we hope to drink more of it.
The 2006 Farneta Primitivo retails at about $35.00 per bottle. Legend has it that it pairs well with a pot of chili, or a juicy, Texas-sized steak.
The Legend of the Primitivo
The road to into Amador County slinks through a large, open, golden field, sporadically studded with lonely, deep emerald clusters of oak trees. It’s empty. Our wheels are digging up the asphalt, following the stream of the road, coursing along beneath us to the soft, reverberating, percussive twang of Johnny Cash’s guitar. His golden whiskey voice is rich, soft and lingering; heart all filled with rusty nails and beer bottles.
The next turn, and the sun sinks into the horizon, breaking open like the yolk of an egg, spreading orange and red over a big sky, and the distant, resonating voice of Patsy Cline moves through the air like a ghost, the song a sweetly mournful ballad telling a cold tale of yet another unrequited love. These are voices of legends singing of legends drifting through the air.
We're entering Amador County, life and belongings in tow, and we're listening to and thinking about legends - and not legends that the cowboy crooners relate in song and poem. We're remembering a bottle of wine from about five counties away (one that is not unlike the one we're entering now) that we decanted in early August. We think about another legendary varietal that wandered into that county like a dusty wrangler into an old saloon, and took root, like a prospector on a stool of an old whiskey bar.
Nobody really knows how the Primitivo varietal entered Sonoma. We do know, however, it's not that old, actually, and that it was introduced into the US in the 1960s (some assert it to be around 1968 to be precise). Its origins are still a matter of speculation, for the most part. It’s related to the Zinfandel varietal, and, like it’s estranged sibling, has its roots in Croatia. Primitivo entered the Apulia region of Italy (a region in the country’s “heel) around 1700. During the latter part of the 20th Century, studies were undertaken to understand Primitivo and its genealogy. Initially, it was assumed that it and the Zinfandel were descendants of the Plavac Mali Varietal, and that a divergence occurred after many decades. Others argued (like Croatian-born Mike Grgich of Rutherford’s Grgich Hills wines), that Primitivo was a descendant of Zinfandel. Finally, after travelling throughout Europe and undoubtedly quaffing several glasses of Zin and Primitivo, a team of experts decided that the two varietals were a kind of parent to Plavac Mali, giving the ancestry of the Primitivo, perhaps, even more mystery, if not legend.
Our memory of the Carneros-harvested 2006 Farneta Primitivo lingered in our heads like an old song. The rich aromas of raspberries, plums and cherries were prevalent in its taste as well, and the pepper and blackberry qualities made our tongues quiver like the lick of a steel guitar in a Hank Williams song. The 2006 Farneta is actually a blend of Primitivo (77%) and Zinfandel (23%), making it a perfect family reunion. In this Farneta blend, the slightly more tart, brambly Primitivo blended well with the sweeter, fruitier Zinfandel.
So, like the song says, "There's a Wide Open Road" ahead for the Primitivo here in California, whose flavors precede its reputation, and definitely its legend. Amador wineries such as Sobon and Charles Spinetta specialize in this varietal in their wines and blends. We certainly hope to hear about it fondly, over and over again, like an old tale told 'round a cowboy campfire. Better yet: we hope to drink more of it.
The 2006 Farneta Primitivo retails at about $35.00 per bottle. Legend has it that it pairs well with a pot of chili, or a juicy, Texas-sized steak.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wine Wanderers #4
French Hill Calaveras County 2006 Zinfandel
The Zinfandel grape is hot. It's one of the most popular varietals grown in the US (10% of all of the combined California Vineyards grow Zinfandel, and is grown in 15 states, including Washington, Illinois, Arizona, Ohio, Nevada and Massachussetts), trailing only behind the colossal Cabernet Sauvignon and the celebrity Chardonnay. If Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay are the king and queen of the wine realm, it could be said that Zinfandel is the joker - a kind of wild card wine that could be paired with almost any food, and one with the most personality. It can be brooding or plucky, burly or supple, jammy or intense. Typically, though, it's rich and bold: a swaggering braggart of a wine that is characterized by a bigger body and nuanced by a pot pourri of spices in its finish: and the spices are as diverse as what you can find at your local supermarket spice rack.
In warmer climes, the Zinfandel grape really makes the scene. This last weekend, I had the opportunity to work on the winery at Avio Vineyards in Amador County. Amador is one of the hottest regions in California, which cues a good Zinfandel to take the stage (the heat evokes the sweetness in the grape and enhances the spices). The winery owner asked me to turn on the irrigation system of the Zinfandel field. I turned the spigot, and heard the water rush through the plastic/rubber pipes, the release holes emitting a chorus of hundreds of small, high-pitched alien squeals. It sounded like the grapes themselves were filling up to the capacity of their skins, nearly at exploding point. Later, I was busy labelling, foiling and boxing bottles of their 2006 Sangiovese. I had hoped to have had a quick nip of the Zinfandel at the end of the day, but the tasting room was shuttered for the evening, and so I wandered off into downtown Sutter Creek, ready to quaff my thirst for a meaty, hearty glass of wine.
The following day, DeAnne and I made for the hills (namely, Mokolumne Hill in the adjacent Calaveras County) to savor the succulent sauces of our one of our favorite wineries, French Hill. She (smartly) purchased a bottle of their Alicante Bouschet (more on this wine in subsequent issues). I tasted their 2006 Calaveras County Zin. Perhaps it was a touch of heatstroke, but at the time of purchase I was impressed by its flavor: wonderfully redolent of oak, nicely tannic, swelling with berry flavors, and peppery enough for me to make the move and purchase a bottle.
We headed, then, through Murphy's, and then down back to the Bay Area, entering the Livermore Valley in order to catch the Niles Canyon Wine Train. We boarded in Sunol, CA (just shy of the Livermore Valley AVA) and sat in an open air compartment, eagerly awaiting the 5 wine and cheese pairings. The Niles Wine train rattles along a stretch of track between Sunol and Niles Canyon, closer to Fremont, CA. The train wended through a small golden valley studded with the deep, dark emerald of oak trees. We paired an Elliston Sparkling wine with special brie, a 2007 Eckert Viognier with Taleggio, a 2006 Page Mill Livermore Valley Cab with a cheddar, a 2006 Wood Family Madden (yes, John Madden) vineyard Syrah with aged Jack, and finally, a Westover Vineyards Petit Syrah port with a Blue Danish (cheese). The hot sun brought out the soothing scents of the oak trees around us. That, combined with the wine, had our senses doing cartwheels. As the night grew cooler, we opted to head back home and open the 2006 Zin we had just purchased at French Hill, hoping to have the same sensual experience. Sadly, that was not the case.
We promptly decanted the bottle in our back yard. As this was occuring, a slate-colored marine layer blocked out our afternoon sun, and a sharp wind blew out of the west. It was all too damn ominous. We opened the bottle, and let the inky wine flow into our glasses. Upon tasting, we realized that the notes of cherry and oak had disappeared, it had become increasingly jammy (which is more typical of a coastal Zin), and the wine had lost its spice. The smoky aftertaste, characteristic in most Zins that we like, had vanished as well. We attempted to salvage the bottle by bringing it back indoors - but at this point it was too late: the Zin was at the mercy of the extreme temperature change. The whole of the weekend had literally evaporated in the empty aftertaste of the wine. It's typical to store a Zinfandel at around 58-61 degrees. But this Zin suffered the change as well as a Miami local tries to acclimate to a blizzard in Buffalo. Some wines should just remain in warmer climes - this one is one of them.
The 2006 French Hill Zinfandel retails for about $18.00 per bottle. This is a perfect wine to sit and sip on a porch in nice, warm weather. If you're going to open it up in colder climes, but a sweater on it.
It's Better Where (and When) It's Warmer
The Zinfandel grape is hot. It's one of the most popular varietals grown in the US (10% of all of the combined California Vineyards grow Zinfandel, and is grown in 15 states, including Washington, Illinois, Arizona, Ohio, Nevada and Massachussetts), trailing only behind the colossal Cabernet Sauvignon and the celebrity Chardonnay. If Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay are the king and queen of the wine realm, it could be said that Zinfandel is the joker - a kind of wild card wine that could be paired with almost any food, and one with the most personality. It can be brooding or plucky, burly or supple, jammy or intense. Typically, though, it's rich and bold: a swaggering braggart of a wine that is characterized by a bigger body and nuanced by a pot pourri of spices in its finish: and the spices are as diverse as what you can find at your local supermarket spice rack.
In warmer climes, the Zinfandel grape really makes the scene. This last weekend, I had the opportunity to work on the winery at Avio Vineyards in Amador County. Amador is one of the hottest regions in California, which cues a good Zinfandel to take the stage (the heat evokes the sweetness in the grape and enhances the spices). The winery owner asked me to turn on the irrigation system of the Zinfandel field. I turned the spigot, and heard the water rush through the plastic/rubber pipes, the release holes emitting a chorus of hundreds of small, high-pitched alien squeals. It sounded like the grapes themselves were filling up to the capacity of their skins, nearly at exploding point. Later, I was busy labelling, foiling and boxing bottles of their 2006 Sangiovese. I had hoped to have had a quick nip of the Zinfandel at the end of the day, but the tasting room was shuttered for the evening, and so I wandered off into downtown Sutter Creek, ready to quaff my thirst for a meaty, hearty glass of wine.
The following day, DeAnne and I made for the hills (namely, Mokolumne Hill in the adjacent Calaveras County) to savor the succulent sauces of our one of our favorite wineries, French Hill. She (smartly) purchased a bottle of their Alicante Bouschet (more on this wine in subsequent issues). I tasted their 2006 Calaveras County Zin. Perhaps it was a touch of heatstroke, but at the time of purchase I was impressed by its flavor: wonderfully redolent of oak, nicely tannic, swelling with berry flavors, and peppery enough for me to make the move and purchase a bottle.
We headed, then, through Murphy's, and then down back to the Bay Area, entering the Livermore Valley in order to catch the Niles Canyon Wine Train. We boarded in Sunol, CA (just shy of the Livermore Valley AVA) and sat in an open air compartment, eagerly awaiting the 5 wine and cheese pairings. The Niles Wine train rattles along a stretch of track between Sunol and Niles Canyon, closer to Fremont, CA. The train wended through a small golden valley studded with the deep, dark emerald of oak trees. We paired an Elliston Sparkling wine with special brie, a 2007 Eckert Viognier with Taleggio, a 2006 Page Mill Livermore Valley Cab with a cheddar, a 2006 Wood Family Madden (yes, John Madden) vineyard Syrah with aged Jack, and finally, a Westover Vineyards Petit Syrah port with a Blue Danish (cheese). The hot sun brought out the soothing scents of the oak trees around us. That, combined with the wine, had our senses doing cartwheels. As the night grew cooler, we opted to head back home and open the 2006 Zin we had just purchased at French Hill, hoping to have the same sensual experience. Sadly, that was not the case.
We promptly decanted the bottle in our back yard. As this was occuring, a slate-colored marine layer blocked out our afternoon sun, and a sharp wind blew out of the west. It was all too damn ominous. We opened the bottle, and let the inky wine flow into our glasses. Upon tasting, we realized that the notes of cherry and oak had disappeared, it had become increasingly jammy (which is more typical of a coastal Zin), and the wine had lost its spice. The smoky aftertaste, characteristic in most Zins that we like, had vanished as well. We attempted to salvage the bottle by bringing it back indoors - but at this point it was too late: the Zin was at the mercy of the extreme temperature change. The whole of the weekend had literally evaporated in the empty aftertaste of the wine. It's typical to store a Zinfandel at around 58-61 degrees. But this Zin suffered the change as well as a Miami local tries to acclimate to a blizzard in Buffalo. Some wines should just remain in warmer climes - this one is one of them.
The 2006 French Hill Zinfandel retails for about $18.00 per bottle. This is a perfect wine to sit and sip on a porch in nice, warm weather. If you're going to open it up in colder climes, but a sweater on it.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wine Wanderers #3
Elliston 2005 Pinot Blanc
The Mutant of Sunol
There is a little winery ocated on a 3-acre parcel just a couple of miles shy of the sleepy little town of Sunol, located west of the Livermore Valley AVA. An elegant, though somewhat austere, 3-story, 17-room, 18th-century neo-Romanesque manse is situated at the top of the estate, a few meters from the entrance gate. This is the Elliston Estate, a graceful structure complete with portico and columns, and built with walls from 32-inch sandtone. The Estate was completed in 1890 by Samuel Ellis, who became San Francisco's chief of police in the late Victorian era (note that this was the first successful police department, replacing the earlier vigilante squads that were maintaining "law and order" in post-Gold-Rush San Francisco). Later, the Estate became a sanitarium, but then was purchased by the Awtrey family in the late 1960s and restored to its original state in the 1990s. Elliston Winery now creates a mutant.
The mutant in question isn't a slobbering Quasimodo-esque monstrosity from a shlocky 1950s movie that goes terrorizing a local village, nor is it something you'd see from the pages of Marvel Comics. It's the Pinot Blanc Grape: somewhat of a rogue varietal that sometimes grows as a kind of ugly duckling amidst the Pinot Noir or Pinot Gris varietals. It resembles the Chardonnay Grape, but lacks the flavor qualities. Elliston's mutation grows and glows on the nearby Buttner family estate.
Pinot Noir can be genetically unstable, and, can occasionally bear a cane of white fruit amidst the black ones. Pinot Blancs were used in the creation of Burgundy and Champagne blends though today, they are not widely used as such. The Pinot Blanc is now popular in the Alsace region of France, in the Baden viticultural region of Germany, in Northern Italy, and in California.
What distinguishes the Pinot Blanc from the Chardonnay is its tangier, nuttier flavor. We uncorked a bottle of the 2005 Elliston Pinot Blanc during an especially sweltering late afternoon, last week. DeAnne was recovering from a fever-ridden night. Tired of the countless cups of Jasmine tea and the numerous glasses of orange juice she had been emptying down her gullet through the earlier part of the day, we decided on a lighter-bodied, sweeter wine - one that had a little tang to it. The Pinot Blanc was perfect. The wine is almost completely translucent, resembling yellow-tinted water. The sight belied the taste, however: the fragrant bouquet contained strong elements of oak, honey and vanilla. The tart apricot and apple tickled our noses and tongues. When the wine warmed it, the taste mutated a bit more to the temperature, growing into something, bigger, bolder,and smokier.
We paired the Pinot Blanc first, with a mild Brie. Strangely, the cheese brought actually sweetened the wine (a pleasant surprise), and wiped out the tartness. Then we paired it with a Gruyere. We assumed the strong Gruyere would crush the lighter characteristics of the Pinot. The combination, however, was a very pleasant sweetness - a kind of subtle fruit and sugar combo that resembled candied fruit (and pleasant, too, because obviously, DeAnne's head cold was subsiding).
But the strangest part was that the candied fruit flavor lingered for some moments after, and it was almost as if our taste was affecting our sense of smell, because everything breath we drew seemed sweet. We double-checked our mouths to make sure they suddenly hadn't mutated into snake tongues.
Nope. Sweet.
Elliston 2005 Pinot Blanc retails for $12-$13. Elliston Produces a small harvest every year, so it's hard to find unless you visit the winery. The next new release is their 2006 Pinot Blanc -which will be released later this year.
The Mutant of Sunol
There is a little winery ocated on a 3-acre parcel just a couple of miles shy of the sleepy little town of Sunol, located west of the Livermore Valley AVA. An elegant, though somewhat austere, 3-story, 17-room, 18th-century neo-Romanesque manse is situated at the top of the estate, a few meters from the entrance gate. This is the Elliston Estate, a graceful structure complete with portico and columns, and built with walls from 32-inch sandtone. The Estate was completed in 1890 by Samuel Ellis, who became San Francisco's chief of police in the late Victorian era (note that this was the first successful police department, replacing the earlier vigilante squads that were maintaining "law and order" in post-Gold-Rush San Francisco). Later, the Estate became a sanitarium, but then was purchased by the Awtrey family in the late 1960s and restored to its original state in the 1990s. Elliston Winery now creates a mutant.
The mutant in question isn't a slobbering Quasimodo-esque monstrosity from a shlocky 1950s movie that goes terrorizing a local village, nor is it something you'd see from the pages of Marvel Comics. It's the Pinot Blanc Grape: somewhat of a rogue varietal that sometimes grows as a kind of ugly duckling amidst the Pinot Noir or Pinot Gris varietals. It resembles the Chardonnay Grape, but lacks the flavor qualities. Elliston's mutation grows and glows on the nearby Buttner family estate.
Pinot Noir can be genetically unstable, and, can occasionally bear a cane of white fruit amidst the black ones. Pinot Blancs were used in the creation of Burgundy and Champagne blends though today, they are not widely used as such. The Pinot Blanc is now popular in the Alsace region of France, in the Baden viticultural region of Germany, in Northern Italy, and in California.
What distinguishes the Pinot Blanc from the Chardonnay is its tangier, nuttier flavor. We uncorked a bottle of the 2005 Elliston Pinot Blanc during an especially sweltering late afternoon, last week. DeAnne was recovering from a fever-ridden night. Tired of the countless cups of Jasmine tea and the numerous glasses of orange juice she had been emptying down her gullet through the earlier part of the day, we decided on a lighter-bodied, sweeter wine - one that had a little tang to it. The Pinot Blanc was perfect. The wine is almost completely translucent, resembling yellow-tinted water. The sight belied the taste, however: the fragrant bouquet contained strong elements of oak, honey and vanilla. The tart apricot and apple tickled our noses and tongues. When the wine warmed it, the taste mutated a bit more to the temperature, growing into something, bigger, bolder,and smokier.
We paired the Pinot Blanc first, with a mild Brie. Strangely, the cheese brought actually sweetened the wine (a pleasant surprise), and wiped out the tartness. Then we paired it with a Gruyere. We assumed the strong Gruyere would crush the lighter characteristics of the Pinot. The combination, however, was a very pleasant sweetness - a kind of subtle fruit and sugar combo that resembled candied fruit (and pleasant, too, because obviously, DeAnne's head cold was subsiding).
But the strangest part was that the candied fruit flavor lingered for some moments after, and it was almost as if our taste was affecting our sense of smell, because everything breath we drew seemed sweet. We double-checked our mouths to make sure they suddenly hadn't mutated into snake tongues.
Nope. Sweet.
Elliston 2005 Pinot Blanc retails for $12-$13. Elliston Produces a small harvest every year, so it's hard to find unless you visit the winery. The next new release is their 2006 Pinot Blanc -which will be released later this year.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Wine Wanderers #2
2007 Barrel 27 "High on the Hog" White
Rousanne, Marsanne and Viognier - The Three Musketeers
"All for one, and one for all." This famous, if not overused, pledge uttered by Dumas' title characters from his novel the Three Musketeers befits the qualities of a bottle of white wine the wife and I decanted last night. The wine was from the Barrel 27 winery of Paso Robles. It was a blend of three Rhone varietals: Marsanne, Rousanne and Viognier. The result, a unity of honeyed sweetness, spiciness, and a crisp fruitiness, may not have exactly evoked the image of three crossed rapiers, but the nexus of the the three flavors definitely worked in unison to create a well-balanced white that could be enjoyed with apricots, a fruit salad, a soft cheese or simply fending off the heat of a summer day.
The wife and I discovered this wine after roaming around the wineries located the cooler, maritime climate of California's Central Coast and eventually venturing into a wine shop in downtown San Luis Obispo. A dapper, amiable young gentleman manned the tasting room in the rear of the store. His memory was amazing. During our tasting, he deftly described the qualities, the history, soil types, fermentation processes (including the chemical processes) of the wines he was pouring that afternoon in such minute detail, Mr. Britannica would have been stymied. He was probably the type that could recite the entirety of The Count of Monte Cristo after only one read. Our wine-logged brains were struggling to retain the gatlin-gun-like barrage of information that he fired at us (though, we did learn about the process of malolactic fermentation: the process of sweetening wines by converting the tart malic acid prevalent in some varietals into smoother, sweeter tasting lactic acid). As he spoke, he poured us two good-sized doses of "High on the Hog." We were instantly impressed: the crisp, sweet flavors worked as a salve to soothe our brains, blazing with information about soil types, glassware and the exact temperature one should be quaffing a glass of Tempranillo.
"High on the Hog" is a blend of three varietals: Viognier (41%), Roussanne (32%) and Marsanne (27%), and the wine is characterized by a rich sweetness. The aroma is redolent of honeysuckle, and its flavor, as if someone had dipped a honeycomb (without the bees) and a couple of Meyer Lemons into the fermentation tank. The sweetness may come from the winery's location - in the heart of Paso Robles, where the more intense heat brings out the sweetness in the grapes (especially the Rousanne grape, which is known for its sweeter qualities and is mainly grown and harvested in California Central Coast AVA). The Marsanne grape give it a touch of spice, and the Viognier, more sweetness combined with smooth, buttery finish. These three varietals are commonly paired with each other. The trio of the three made for a winning combination!
Note: Spicy foods may foil the fruity subtleties of this wine, and may say "touche" to that delicately sweet aroma that is unique in this wine. Our suggestion is to drink this with fruit, or alone. This 07 High on the Hog can be found at stores all around the US for between $12-$13.
Rousanne, Marsanne and Viognier - The Three Musketeers
"All for one, and one for all." This famous, if not overused, pledge uttered by Dumas' title characters from his novel the Three Musketeers befits the qualities of a bottle of white wine the wife and I decanted last night. The wine was from the Barrel 27 winery of Paso Robles. It was a blend of three Rhone varietals: Marsanne, Rousanne and Viognier. The result, a unity of honeyed sweetness, spiciness, and a crisp fruitiness, may not have exactly evoked the image of three crossed rapiers, but the nexus of the the three flavors definitely worked in unison to create a well-balanced white that could be enjoyed with apricots, a fruit salad, a soft cheese or simply fending off the heat of a summer day.
The wife and I discovered this wine after roaming around the wineries located the cooler, maritime climate of California's Central Coast and eventually venturing into a wine shop in downtown San Luis Obispo. A dapper, amiable young gentleman manned the tasting room in the rear of the store. His memory was amazing. During our tasting, he deftly described the qualities, the history, soil types, fermentation processes (including the chemical processes) of the wines he was pouring that afternoon in such minute detail, Mr. Britannica would have been stymied. He was probably the type that could recite the entirety of The Count of Monte Cristo after only one read. Our wine-logged brains were struggling to retain the gatlin-gun-like barrage of information that he fired at us (though, we did learn about the process of malolactic fermentation: the process of sweetening wines by converting the tart malic acid prevalent in some varietals into smoother, sweeter tasting lactic acid). As he spoke, he poured us two good-sized doses of "High on the Hog." We were instantly impressed: the crisp, sweet flavors worked as a salve to soothe our brains, blazing with information about soil types, glassware and the exact temperature one should be quaffing a glass of Tempranillo.
"High on the Hog" is a blend of three varietals: Viognier (41%), Roussanne (32%) and Marsanne (27%), and the wine is characterized by a rich sweetness. The aroma is redolent of honeysuckle, and its flavor, as if someone had dipped a honeycomb (without the bees) and a couple of Meyer Lemons into the fermentation tank. The sweetness may come from the winery's location - in the heart of Paso Robles, where the more intense heat brings out the sweetness in the grapes (especially the Rousanne grape, which is known for its sweeter qualities and is mainly grown and harvested in California Central Coast AVA). The Marsanne grape give it a touch of spice, and the Viognier, more sweetness combined with smooth, buttery finish. These three varietals are commonly paired with each other. The trio of the three made for a winning combination!
Note: Spicy foods may foil the fruity subtleties of this wine, and may say "touche" to that delicately sweet aroma that is unique in this wine. Our suggestion is to drink this with fruit, or alone. This 07 High on the Hog can be found at stores all around the US for between $12-$13.
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