What's ZAP?
The 1997 zinfandel report
by David Marglin
Zinfandel is a unique wine -- and, fittingly, it has a unique
trade group. Zinfandel Advocates and Producers (ZAP) is an alliance that
encompasses not only wineries but also wine drinkers who consume (sometimes
inordinate quantities of) zinfandel; it tells you something about the
enthusiasm this wine generates that membership right now is about 200 producers
and nearly 5000 advocates.
They are a fervent lot. Once a year, in San Francisco, ZAP holds a major
tasting of zins from all over California (the grape is now grown in five states
and three countries, but California is still home to the world's killer zins).
I had a chance to visit this past January's
tasting, and believe me, it is a
religious experience. Many of the winemakers are on hand to offer samples of
their better older bottles, as well as new releases -- some of which are tasted
right from the barrel. Every producer shows up with a bottle or two in hand,
and people pour away, vying in a modest way to see whose wine will be gone
first. The producers' luncheon I attended was held at the Sutter Home winery,
which has the dubious distinction of having pioneered the pinkish bubble-gum
quaff known as white zinfandel,
although the winery has also made a fine red zin for more than 25 years.
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If ZAP's electricity and enthusiasm seem distinctly American, it's only
appropriate: according to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF),
which keeps track of these things, zinfandel is the only grape unique to
America. ZAP maintains a Web site with a short history of the grape (check it
out at
http://www.wine.com/zap or
http://www.gangofpour.com/zap99).
According to this
version, a Long Island nurseryman named George Gibbs imported zinfandel in the
1820s from the imperial collection in Vienna; there is a record of Boston
nurseryman Samuel Perkins advertising the "zinfendal" vine for sale in 1832.
Over the decade that followed, "zinfindal" became a popular table grape here in
the Northeast, grown under glass. It was brought to California from
Massachusetts in the 1850s; during the California Gold Rush, the grape was
widely planted because it grew abundantly as a head-pruned vine.
Zinfandel's relationship to other wine grapes has long been a source of
contention. People are now pretty sure that it's related to Northeastern
Italy's primitivo di gioia -- this was "proved" in 1994 by Carole Meredith of
the University of California at Davis, which has the US's leading wine program
-- but last year, Meredith also "proved" that zinfandel is related to, but is
not the same as, a grape from Croatia called plavac mali. But one should never
argue with the ATF (see Waco).
In the popular market, thanks to Sutter Home, zin became best known for its
"blush" version, white zin.
(Sutter Home can darn well afford to host plenty of
lunches, since the winery made five million cases of the
bubble-gum juice in 1998 alone.) The first truly magnificent year for zinfandel
as a red wine was 1990: that year's
vintage
of big, pungent, long-lived reds
helped lift red zin from "hobby wine" status to the ranks of the major red
varietals. The following year, Storybook Mountain Vineyards owner Richard Seps
founded ZAP along with representatives from eight other wineries, Sutter Home
among them. When the first ZAP tasting was held in San Francisco in March 1992,
it attracted 22 wineries and no more than about 30 consumers. Still, that first
tasting brought together a group of winemakers from Ridge, Rosenblum,
Ravenswood, and Storybook, a winery devoted exclusively to zin and one of its
finest producers since the early 1980s. The second ZAP tasting, in January
1993, drew more than 40 wineries -- and it was packed with zin drinkers. Now
the ZAP event is one of the highlights of the wine year, and red zinfandel,
which had no real market as recently as 1992, is California's number-one
red-wine grape, with more than 50,000 acres planted.
So how do 1997 zins compare with earlier
vintages? Well, when I last covered
zinfandel in this column ("Uncorked,"
Styles, November 21, 1997), I noted
that 1994 and 1995 were top years. The 1996 wines were hit-and-miss; a lot of
them taste overripe to me, and it was not a bountiful vintage.
Nineteen-ninety-seven, on the other hand, was a big year: yields were up almost
20 percent, meaning that there was a lot more wine and
prices remained
constant. Unfortunately, the '97s don't hold a candle to the '94s and '95s,
though they're certainly above-average wines, better on the whole than the
'96s.
Personally, I like zins four and five years out; if you try a '95 or '94, I
doubt you will be disappointed. That said, there is something really refreshing
about drinking young zin, and if you want a fruit explosion -- or if you're
having food that demands something big -- don't shy away from the 1997s.
There's a ton of good wine on the shelves.
**1/2 Cline 1997 California ($11.49, University Wines).
Normally I'm not a fan of blends of grapes from vastly different regions, which
is what the "California" designation signifies. But for Cline, the blending
seems to have worked out fine. Big blackberries, lots of American
oak, and that
cedary scent on the nose. Blows away comparably priced '96s.
***1/2 1996 Peachy Canyon "Westside" (Bauer, $18.99). A
doozy, with lots of cassis, a long, opulent finish, and none of the
"overripeness" that plagues many '96 zins. Should work well with barbecued meat
or rich, spicy foods (jambalaya!). Drink now.
***1/2 Ridge 1997 Sonoma Station ($21.99, University Wines).
Deep purple color, with a woody, fresh spring-day bouquet -- a friend described
this wine as "dewy." It's a field blend, with 75 percent zin, and other
grapes: in descending order, carignane, petite sirah, and Alicante Bouschet.
Massive, opulent, soft on the mouth, with loads of
oak, but this wine will
balance
out nicely with a couple of months in the bottle. Another winner from
Mr. Zin himself, Paul Draper.
David Marglin can be reached at wine[a]phx.com.
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