We have told this story many times over the years. But it is arguably the very best example of the point we are trying to make. There was a family vintner that made Zinfandel in the Russian River area that we met at a ZAP tasting in San Francisco some years ago. We liked his wines, and he had no regular distribution in Southern California. No problem, we said. We can take down whatever it takes. To make this work. It was classic Russian River Zinfandel with the tender ripe berry profiles of some of our favorites at the time, including the Deloach Zins that Mike Sullivan (now of Benovia) made when he was there. Plenty of ravishing red fruits, plenty ripe but not overdone (usually sitting in the upper 14% alcohol range) and classic spice and pepper nuance, this was simply an engaging bottle of Zin that showcased the genre nicely.
We established a pretty good business with this vintner for several vintages, tasting new releases that fit the profile, then buying and selling a rather substantial number of cases. Next year’s sample came, same story. Then one year we anxiously opened the newest effort when it arrived, poured it and looked at each other quizzically. The comment was something to the effect of ‘what the hell happened?’. The vintage was a normal one for the region, devoid of any weather ‘events’ that might have explained this particular wine’s variance from the norm we had come to expect. It was instead rather lean and somewhat short, with some green streaks to the fruit and an alcohol level in the low 12% range.
Puzzled, we called the winery principal, whom we had gotten to know reasonably well after working with him for several vintages. Our question was pretty direct. Why was this Zin so different from all of the years previously? His answer kind of shocked us. “The wines were too ripe for me to enjoy with my dinner’, he said, “so I harvested with lower sugars in mind to make a wine more food friendly”.
Say what? The guy’s vineyard gave him lush, juicy, delicious Zin every year, and there was a ready market from ZInfandel buyers for his wines as they had been previously. Why mess with it? Zinfandel itself has its own quirks from a growing standpoint, including a tendency to ripen somewhat unevenly and for the sugars in the grapes potentially to jump quickly if it got a little toasty warm outside late in the season. Also as a grape that didn’t reach physiological ripeness without a good bit of hang time and thin skin for a grape with such potentially high sugars, it presented certain challenges to the grower just by definition.
If you don’t get that physiological ripeness, however, you run the risk of green edges to the flavors, and a clipped, narrow flavor band. In other words, you end up with not very compelling Zinfandel. There is a point to this story, besides bemoaning the loss of a source of delicious, well-priced Zinfandel because of decisions we openly questioned. As you probably guessed, we didn’t buy that vintage of Zin or any subsequent ones.
But the moral of the story is that the whole idea of terroir exists for a reason. Certain grapes are presumably planted in certain places because it is presumed that those are the ones that will perform the best there given the soils, temperatures, diurnal shifts, winds, and a whole host of other things that define the difference between one place and another. To us, the growers’ first directive is to listen to their dirt and understand what the vineyard is prepared to give them. The next directive is to usher in what that dirt gives you as best you can.
Granted that way of thinking may be our problem. We have an issue with trying to make chicken wings into pork chops. There’s a reason you don’t see people trying to grow pineapples in the desert. If the varietal and the place give you a successful beverage in a particular style suited to that combination, why would you fight and take extra steps to make it into something else that it wasn’t necessarily meant to be? Farming is a dicey enough proposition without trying to superimpose a philosophy that may go against Nature outright. More important, the results aren’t necessarily all that compelling when you do make that choice.
As to our Zinfandel growing vintner, he could have a vintage that is cold where the grapes don’t fully ripen. Such are the risks of being a grower. The grapes and the place go along way in mediating potential problems like that. But for the grower to elect to do it, contrary to what the vintage and varietal are trying to give them in a given season, makes no sense to us. That being said, you can probably guess how we feel about 11% alcohol nouveau Mourvedre, most ‘somm label’ reds, In Pursuit of Balance ‘early harvest’ philosophies, and any number of the other seemingly faddish, specifically intended concoctions we have seen lately.
It is hard enough to grow great grapes. To take an extra step to try to impose one’s pre-conceived stylistic notion on something that is ultimately determined by Nature rarely ends well. So our message to all of the ‘tinkerers’ out there that are trying to create wines to fit some sort of premeditated stylistic profile, listen to your dirt! Guide the grapes through the process of doing what they are meant to do in a given spot. You should worry about things like physiological ripeness and even ripening of the fruit, not some arbitrarily imposed alcohol or acid reading that may not fit with the typical profile of a particular vineyard or region.
We hate to sound like old-fashioned fire-and-brimstone preachers saying our Zinfandel vintner’s early-harvest effort was an ‘abomination against Nature’. But, in truth, it kind of was. Sadly, there is way too much of that kind of thing going on these days and California seems to be a particular hotbed for that kind of thinking. We have had the good fortune of having conversations with a number of Europe’s icon vintners over the years. They are keenly attuned to their vineyards. You know how often this kind of “I’m going to harvest at so-and-so with a certain profile in mind” discussion comes up with them? Never.