Remember Zinfandel? Way back when, before it became hip, then un – hip, then hip again? When it was both an in-the-know bargain and a not-so-well-kept secret, inexpensive and a pleasure to drink because it was anything but polished and precious? Before Helen Turley raised the bar of flat-out wrongness with her single vineyard, über polished, über extracted, über oaked FrankenZin monstrosities? Cool, wasn’t it?
That was back in the day when Sonoma was cool, because it hadn’t yet been Napa-fied and Parkerized, those good old days when it was like Napa was twenty or thirty years before then, even before Napa itself got Napa-fied.
Ah heck. The good old days. In what must be a sure sign of impending geezerhood, the list of things that just ain’t quite the same, as delicious, as real, as honest, as straightforward or full of manufactured malarkey seems to grow by the day. So it never fails to make my day when I encounter California wines – especially from Napa and Sonoma that haven’t succumbed to the homogenization, Parkerization, commodification and corporate dumbing-down that are the hallmarks of the “industry” these days.
Like the Pedroncellis, a bona-fide, old-school, Sonoma County Italian family that’s been growing grapes and making wine in the Dry Creek Valley since 1927. It’s a winery that’s about anything but flash and glamour. No full-page ads in the wine Spectator, no faux Villa, no slick label design, no fussiness, no upward mobility wanna-be and no wizardry. Just a lineup that’s packed, from top to bottom with wines that are sturdy, well-built, easy-to-drink and made to go with food that’s similarly delicious. They’re just plain good –and made for everyday sort of people to drink, everyday.
Like their Zin, a textbook example of old-fangled, honest-to-goodness Dry Creek Zinfandel at its best. Bright and spicy, briary fruit just edging toward jamminess, but not quite. Notes of blackberries, raspberries and a suggestion of black pepper, medium-bodied and lively, balanced, juicy and just plain deliciously easy to drink. At a mere $16-ish dollars the bottle, it’s also mighty easy on the pocketbook – just the way Zin used to– and ought to be.