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

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 Sumter’s bastions and leaving it a smoldering ruin signaled the official beginning of the American Civil war, as the Stars and Bars attempted to wrest their power from the Stars and Stripes. For the next five years, fields, towns and cities, from Gettysburgh through Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to Shiloh would be strewn with the bodies of soldiers, arms and bayonets twisted toward the heavens, the soil becoming a musty pulp of blood and earth.

3,000 miles to the west of the Eastern and Southern theaters of war, in another Shenandoah Valley, other arms began to twist upwards, bearing fruit instead of firearms. Local winemakers began to flourish: vines and wine was generated faster than bullets and bayonets on the industrial East Coast. California also embroiled itself in the rage of war, Southern California becoming largely secessionist, while Northern California remained fiercely loyal to the Union, as those that had earned riches during the previous decade’s gold rush would send money and support. On both sides, days were filled with somberness and celebration, a wine filled the goblets, imbibing such wine-based cocktails as the “Hour Before the Battle” (Madeira wine and a dash of bitters), a “Red Bordeaux Wine” (a mixture of “strong red wine, plain red wine and tincture of aldeberries”) and, a “Champagne”: an incendiary mixture of white wine, grain alcohol and bicarbonate of soda. Such creative cocktailing would have one feel as if a cannonball collided against his or her skull the next morning.

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, Amador County began producing a sizeable amount of grapes, and by the mid 1860s, commercial winemaking became a means to make a living. An article from the San Francisco State Bulletin took note: “The loamy bottom lands produce the largest and most luscious grapes in all of California” and “red gravel lands of the hills and plains produce grapes that yield the best flavored and most lasting wines.” Soon, another north-south battled ensued; vintners from Northern and Southern California sought victory on the vine and in the wine. At the end of the war, the Amador’s Shenandoah Valley began to grow Zinfandel grape.

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

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.

Wine Wanderers #4

French Hill Calaveras County 2006 Zinfandel

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.