Zinfandel, for years relegated to jug wine status (most of it going into generic “Chiantis” or “Burgundys” from California), has made an astonishing comeback. In California alone, more than 300 producers are making at least one kind of zinfandel, more than twice as many as a generation ago, according to the trade group Zinfandel Associates and Producers.
That’s a good thing if you appreciate zinfandel’s great fruity, sometimes raspberry, cranberry bouquet and its lush, soft character. Need a wine for Thanksgiving turkey? Zin goes great with the larger than normal variety of side offerings on that day, and there’s a style for everyone.
Zinfandel has been thought of as “California’s own grape” until just recently. Most wine grapes can easily be traced back to their European origins–cabernet sauvignon most likely from Bordeaux, for example, and pinot noir from Burgundy. Some, like zin, could not.
This was a minor problem, but it still left growers wondering how their European predecessors had worked with the grape. (You can make just about any style of wine from any kind of grape, but humans, especially winemakers, love guidelines and precedents.) For instance, any early grower of cabernet could look in the books and read that cabernet was usually fermented dry in Bordeaux and was often aged in small oak barrels. Riesling growers could follow the German lead by avoiding oak and leaving a little sugar in the wine to cut the grape’s acid.
That no such guidelines existed for zinfandel accounts for the many and varied ways of turning its juice into wine. (How many “white cabernets” or “late harvest pinot noirs” or Beaujolais-styled merlots have you run into?)
In 1974, researchers at the University of California at Davis compared seeds, leaves, etc., of zinfandel against suspected relatives. They pronounced it to be the same as primitivo, a grape growing in the heel of Italy’s boot.
Mystery solved? Not quite, for interviews with locals revealed that primitivo has only been in the region for at most 200 years. Its true “homeland” lay elsewhere.
Just this past year, Carole Meredith, a retired UC Davis viticulturist specializing in DNA analysis, tracked it down. Zinfandel is the same as a grape called crljenak (sirl yen ack), which is considered an autochthon, or native, of coastal Croatia, a few miles across the Adriatic from Italy’s boot. (You can find Croatian wines made solely or in part from this grape in wines labeled Peljesac, Kastelet, Dingac, Vranac and Postup in our area).
Australia, South Africa, Mexico, Oregon, New Mexico and Texas have turned out good to very good zinfandels that have flitted in and out of this market. Even France has a bit. Still, it’s California that dominates the shelves.
Picking from the many styles of modern zinfandel is mostly a matter of pricing. For instance, a given winery’s less expensive bottling ($10 or $15) is likely from boilerplate vineyards with high yields; it will have little oak maturation and isn’t made for the long haul. It will give what most zinfandel fans want: high fruit aroma and flavor, low acid. Such almost sweet tasting but simple reds are great for burgers or light pasta dishes.
More expensive versions come from prized parcels with yields kept low. These are aged in small oak barrels and often need a couple of years (or 15 minutes’ aeration in your glass) to show their stuff.
Make your own comparisons with the Rancho Zabaco or Ravenswood brands. Try Zabaco’s Dancing Bull ($9) against its Dry Creek Valley release ($13), or Ravenswood’s Vintner’s Blend ($12) next to its Napa, Sonoma or Amador releases ($15-$18). Want even more richness and staying power? Look for Rancho Zabaco’s Stefani or Chiotti single-vineyard bottles ($20) or the Belloni or Teldeschi from Ravenswood ($30-$35).
Most (63 percent) of the state’s 50,000 acres of zinfandel grows in the huge, hot and flat Central Valley, the source of less expensive zins. (Lodi, in the valley’s northern part, is an exception; there Cosentino makes the whimsically named Seven Deadly Zins, and 80 percent of Cline’s Ancient Vines come from Lodi, a great value at $19.)
Perhaps the oldest area known for distinctive zin is the Sierra Foothills, settled by Gold Rushers in the middle of the 19th Century. It was from Ken Deaver’s vineyard in Amador County that Sutter Home began making fine wines in the mid-1960s after a century of neglect. The secret of zinfandel here is the dramatic diurnal difference.
During the day, the heat is like that of the Central Valley: intense. Grapes ripen to the max. At night, though, the cold of the Sierra Nevadas wafts down over the vineyards, allowing the grapes to retain what little acid zinfandel possesses and maintaining aromatics. Look for brands like Montevina (especially the Terra d’Oro, $16), Renwood ($22, or its Grandpere, at $32), Bogle (at $11, a great value) and Karly (Warrior Fires, $18).
More accessible to tourists is the Dry Creek Valley. Here the diurnal difference is less dramatic but the proportion of older vines is similar. (Older vines give lower yields of smaller berries, which means concentration. But “old vines” on a label has no legal definition, so read the back label: In general vines that have been around more than 50 years are considered old.)
Ravenswood’s Teldeschi and Rancho Zabaco’s Stefani and Chiotti come from this area, as do Dry Creek Vineyards’ reliable offerings. The new release from Lou Preston ($20) is great, but needs some aeration to show itself. Dependable zins include Souverain’s, Lake Sonoma’s Saini Farms, as well as Quivira, Mazzocco and Pedroncelli’s Mother Clone (all $15-$20). Forchini makes Papa Nonno ($15), which is very Tuscan in style. Unti makes a robust, balanced Rhone-style version ($20) while Collier Falls ($26) is almost like cabernet.
San Luis Obispo County’s Paso Robles zone is another zin haven. The Dry Creek versions come in a broad range, but those from Paso Robles are almost universally lusher, almost candied. A good entry-level example is Peachy Canyon’s Incredible Red ($11). Rosenblum’s Sauret ($19) is two steps up in richness and complexity, as are the Eberle ($17) and Stephan’s L’Aventure ($30). David Bruce ($16) and Justin ($22) produce intense but leaner versions.
From Mendocino County, look for the Fife label: Its Redwood Valley ($22) is recommended but try the Uplands as well ($16). Or try Fetzer’s Valley Oaks ($8) against its Barrel Select ($15) to experience that “training wheel zin” versus the “serious” version.
Contra Costa County has some very old vines from producers like Neyers’ Pato Ranch ($30) or the Franus Planchon Vineyard ($22).
Napa Valley used to have a lot more zinfandel, but cabernet has pretty much taken over. Still, Mondavi is turning out elegant versions ($19) as does Blockheadia Ringnosii (no kidding) Napa Valley ($28). Green & Red Winery in the Chiles Valley, off the beaten path to the east, makes one a bit fuller and more rustic ($25).
Don’t forget Italy and its primitivo. A good basic version is the Casa Girelli Canaletto ($9). If you like ports, the Savese Pichierri-Tradizione del Nonno, will float your boat.
Zinfandels have their critics. Dave Glatt, owner of Dave’s Italian Kitchen in Evanston and one of the first members of ZAP (the producers group), was a zin nut for years, but it is now “so painful” to see them so highly priced, he said.
Others object to the portlike or raisin flavors and over-the-top alcohol levels (up to 16 percent) that can afflict some bottlings. But zinfandel seems to have hit its stride on the American market, and the current “Buy American” feeling can only augment its pace.
