Bottle Rockets
By Matt Markovich
Original Zin
ENTIRE BOOKS HAVE been written on the
"mystery" of zinfandel. Where did it come from? Who brought California's most
successful wine grape to the state? Or was it a native varietal? Today zins have
developed a cult following. But even if you're not a zin fanatic and are
somewhat bemused by the use of zin punnery throughout Napa and Sonoma, you're
probably no zinophobe, and as far as grapes go, you'd probably agree California
zinfandel grapes are pretty interesting.
After decades of conjecture, the
question of zinfandel's provenance was finally and unequivocally settled a few
years ago through DNA typing. However, it took the particular knowledge of one
of Napa's old hands, Miljenko "Mike" Grgich, to point researchers in the right
direction.
Anyone who drives up into Rutherford
knows Grgich Hills Winery not only because it's been putting out world-class
chardonnay for more than 25 years but also because it's hard to miss the huge
roadside sign with a six-letter surname containing only one vowel. The name
Grgich is Croatian, and as it happens, so is the grape we know as zinfandel.
Except zinfandel isn't a Croatian name. No one knows where the term zinfandel
comes from, but the small, hardy blue grape we know and love can be traced back
to what is now a relatively rare grape from the Dalmatian coast of Croatia
called, crljenak kastelanski (tzerl-YEN-ack kah-stel-AN-ski). A close relative
of crljenak is plavac mali (PLAH-vats MOLL-ee), the workhorse grape of the
region.
Grgich contended that California zin
tasted like, looked like, and acted like Plavac Mali. Already a highly
successful winemaker in his own right, Grgich enlisted the help of viticulture
researchers at UC Davis. His hunch paid off. DNA testing of the California vines
revealed a relation to the Plavac Mali grape grown along the Dalmatian coast.
How did the grape get from Croatia to California? It was sent here in the
mid-19th century from the Imperial Collection of the Hapsburgs, who controlled
what is now Croatia.
The Plavac Mali grape currently
represents the vast majority of wine produced in the region around the ancient
walled city of Dubrovnik on the Pelješac peninsula. The DNA findings inspired
Grgich to open a winery and tasting center on Pelješac,
in the incredibly picturesque coastal village of Trstenik, bringing the benefits
of modern California-style winemaking back to the old country. At the age of 81,
Grgich is now back to making wine from the same varietals as his forefathers.
However, the sentiments of many
locals in the Pelješac
region about Grgich were summed up by a server at Labrint Restaurant, on
Dubrovnik's famed ramparts: "When you hear the name, you know the price." When
they want a nice glass, they turn to one of the local winemakers.
Although many have benefited from the
attention Grgich has brought to the region, smaller winemakers like 28-year-old
Mario Bartulovic still face stiff competition and have difficulty organizing
distribution outside of their immediate environs. In addition, Bartulovic
adeptly handles the daunting task of continuing his family's winemaking business
– a tradition that stretches back some 480 years. Local tour companies have
tapped the Bartulovic winery as one of their prime stops, thanks to the history
of the vineyard, its excellent wines, and its rustic atmosphere.
Listening to Bartulovic talk about
his family's wines, several things become clear: he's passionate about the
wines, he takes the family name seriously, and he's a total purist. As one might
imagine, he's also somewhat of a renegade: he's the only person in the region
producing rosé. The 2002 rosé was light, crisp when nicely chilled, and in the
blazing heat of a July day in the Adriatic, a perfect refresher with subtle
berry flavors.
Plavac mali is also produced farther
north, on islands off the coast of southern Croatia, but those islands are
better known for their white wines, which are produced from pošip
and grk grapes. Despite tasting around, we found ourselves ordering pošip
čara (poe-ship
charrah) again and again. The experience of taking sips and gulps of chilled
čara in the hot sun was like taking a slurping, juicy bite from a perfect green
apple. Always smooth, never too tart, and free of any alcohol bite or
bitterness, it made me curse the fact that it's apparently unavailable in the
States.
For wine drinkers, living in the Bay
Area is a blessing and a curse. Obviously, the blessing lies in so many
excellent, affordable local wines. But the curse is that we often don't have the
chance to taste wines from many far-flung regions (so if you see a dry Croatian
white on the menu, give it a try and let me know where you found it!). At first
Grgich offered some of his Croatian-produced wines in the States, but shipping
wines and spirits from Eastern Europe is prohibitively expensive. With the cost
at about $200 a case for shipping alone, even larger producers have difficulty
justifying the expense, especially when they can still sell their entire
production run in Croatia despite its relatively high price. Of course, the cost
of enjoying fine wines and handcrafted spirits in their native environments is
often amazingly affordable. It may just prompt wine lovers to become wine
travelers.
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