If you are not familiar with the lore of White Zinfandel — America’s greatest contribution to wine culture — you are missing out on some excellent cocktail conversation. I understand this might sound like the layup for a bad wine joke, but I’m not being facetious. White Zinfandel is as important to the United States as the 2nd Amendment, and just as controversial to some foreigners. Not only did it pull the US wine market out of a slump, it saved the Zinfandel grape from oblivion.
Today, White Zin is far less relevant. Its target audience is dying out, and unless we’re talking about Turley Winery, there is very little pursuit of quality. And yet, despite wine sales being at an all-time low, the US alone in 2024 drank 49.2 million bottles of the stuff. So, at the risk of sounding completely deranged, I believe the US wine industry is due a sequel. A “new” White Zinfandel. But for the sake of that interesting cocktail conversation, we should talk about the old White Zinfandel for a little longer first.
An imprecise time ago (probably the 1830s), a nursery in New England was selling mis-labeled grafts of what they called “Zinflander.” It was offered as a hearty red table grape capable of making succulent, crimson wine, adaptable to most climates, and a stable crop for infertile soils. Migrant farmers following their Manifest Destiny planted this vine wherever their wagons broke down. Over time, the misclassified Primitivo grape became known colloquially as Zinfandel, and nationally as an agricultural success. Prior to Prohibition, Zinfandel vines could be found coast-to-coast. Unfortunately, during the US’s ban on the consumption and production of alcohol, most of those East Coast and Middle-American vineyards were replanted to grain, root vegetables, and other more profitable crops.
And yet, following Prohibition, Zinfandel continued to make an impression on the US wine industry through the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, even if it wasn’t taken very seriously internationally. California decided that, if it was going to be respected in the world market, it had to go for the jugular: making its own versions of Burgundy and Bordeaux. Zinfandel vineyards started being replanted with Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and other Franco-centric varieties.
And then 1976 happened. The image of American wine shifted overnight. The Judgement of Paris blind tasting revealed that California wine was able not just to compete, but even surpass the quality of France’s most prestigious châteaux and domaines. This transformed the US wine industry from humble curiosity to the $115-billion industry it is today. Poor Zinfandel was not nominated, nor even invited to the awards ceremony.
By the late 1970s you couldn’t give Zinfandel away. Vines started disappearing in favour of more marketable French varieties. The wines weren’t even worth wasting new oak on. Producers began to resent the grape, and apart from a few stubborn farmers making a good name for the heritage variety, there was very little Zinfandel that reflected its true quality.
And then there was Sutter Home. Yes, that Sutter Home, the official beverage of boomer book clubs and Mahjong groups. At the time, their saignée method dry Zinfandel rosé sold well enough to continue production, but their farmers were less excited to keep their Zin if they could replace it with more profitable Cabernet Sauvignon. Bob Trinchero, Sutter Home’s winemaker at the time, saw an opportunity to scale production, pay his farmers well, and make use of all the clearance-shelf Zinfandel. In 1977 (probably), the originally labelled Oeil de Perdrix (“eye of the partridge”) White Zin was a bit more difficult to manage in the winery given the larger scale production. Fermentation halted while the wine was still in an off-dry to medium-sweet state. Bob was left with no other option than to bottle and sell what was an unusually sweet vintage of his rosé. Regardless of what was seen as a flaw at the winery, the wine was a huge hit with American consumers.
From the 1980s onward, Zinfandel growers were finally able to make a healthy living, and just as importantly, could once again afford to make smaller production, higher quality, age-worthy Zinfandels. Susie Homemaker was able to enjoy a glass of Sutter Home while John Salaryman decanted his nuanced Ridge or Frog’s Leap Zin before dinner. The affordability of these wines allowed them to hold strong during the 1990s recession, and again during the mid-2000s banking crisis. The category was as impervious to politics and economics as firearm sales. At least until recently.
Whether you think it’s because of health trends, a generational divide, poor trade policy, outdated marketing, or the general expense of it… wine simply isn’t sufficiently appreciated by consumers for our industry to thrive. Conversely, ammo is in huge demand! So where does that “new” White Zinfandel come into play? What on earth can be made affordably and effectively, across the industry, while still maintaining the standard of quality people expect today?
My idea of a solution came to me after drinking an experimental field blend from The Feudal Project. Walla Walla winemaker, Will Marengo, was employed to make a wine from a neighbour’s, let’s say, decorative vineyard. Something of a favour. The plot included Riesling, Carmenère, Cabernet Franc, and Viognier… and Seyval Blanc and Malbec…and Zinfandel… and Maréchal Foch… and Traminette. The only way he was going to fit this project into his schedule was to strategically co-ferment and blend it all together. But to do so with intention and purpose. To create a multi-faceted wine that played both the role of red and white at the dinner table. A handgun with the range of a rifle. Sorry, my American roots are showing.
Tasting “Mrs. Crabtree’s field blend” — as it’s named — was a fascinating experience for me. It was as if I was drinking the summary of a vineyard’s terroir. Serve it cold and you have something akin to a Tavel rosé with more structure and pigment, or a chilled Frappato with more spicy and tropical aromas. Drink it at around 16° C and you’ll enjoy something parallel to an Arbois Rouge or a Beaujolais with some stone fruit and zesty nuances. The experience you get is dependent on the temperature it is served at.
And a name? What about “Résumé”, or “Relevé” (since we always lean on the French for more marketable wine terms.) This would be a field blend of red and white grapes that encompasses an entire estate or region. A singular wine that challenges the winemaker to develop a balance of flavour, aroma, and structure without focusing on any one variety. Something that can be universally enjoyed with or without food.
If we could get enough wineries to produce a meaningful volume of this style of wine, and collaborate on the release and marketing, we could create that 21st century White Zin. No need for new oak, or equipment, or any changes to a producer’s existing infrastructure or growing practices. Heck, you could even add secondary fermentation to the equation and produce some sort of Neo-contemporary Lambrusco.
All Sutter Home did was use the resources available to create a new category of wine that made economic sense for both producer and consumer. White Zinfandel was never a halo-tier wine for anyone. It was a mercantile solution. It brought wine into households that were otherwise uninterested in the libation. That is what we need to replicate today. Relevé (yes, I’m coining the term here and now) could be the new category we need to resuscitate the market. Maybe I’m deranged, but a sequel to White Zinfandel might just work.
Photo by Zhang Yi on Unsplash