Call me a wine snob, but I shudder every time I think of Zinfandel. White Zinfandel is that dirt-cheap, Boone's Farm or Sutter Home wines you pick up at the seedy 7-Eleven down the street, where bullet-proof glass windows protect the cashier and the counter stocks half-open Snickers bars or bags of pork rinds.
I know it's a stereotype, so I decided I needed to be a little more open minded about this grape varietal, popular in both California and Italy. I might not be a fan of white Zinfandel, but I've never tried the red version. Could they be completely different from each other?
At Corridor, I picked the first under-$20 red zinfandel I saw: a 2005 Courtney Benham Zinfandel Dry Creek Valley ($17.99). Courtney Benham is the mastermind vintner behind the Martin Ray brand. Considering the thumbs-up rating I gave to a Martin Ray Pinot Noir just recently, I was optimistic about my selection.
For dinner that evening, The Boyfriend fired up the grill and made a delicious beef steak with steamed broccoli, while I poured a full glass---the wine was the deepest red I'd ever seen---and took a sip.
"Holy cow," I said. "I think I just drank ... tar." I paused for a moment. "Delicious, wine-flavored tar."
The Boyfriend, throughly confused, tasted from his own glass. "I know exactly what you mean," he replied.
Never having tried red Zinfandel before, I didn't expect it to be as full-bodied as a cabernet sauvignon. This is not a light red. It's big and bold---we're talking best with steak, steak, and more steak. I never thought I'd use the word "chewy" to describe this wine, but the description fits perfectly. It was that thick.
I tried my best to distinguish any fruit flavors--cherries and plums, perhaps, and maybe a hint of vanilla?---but the wine was so dark and earthy, I just sat back and enjoyed it. Red Zinfandel is nothing like white Zinfandel---you can't distinguish anything remotely close to sweet or sugary tastes.
I was barely finished with my first glass when I started to feel ... drunk. Very drunk. How fast could one glass affect me? And before I could blame it on my "handful of almonds and Diet Coke" lunch that day, The Boyfriend felt it, too. By the time the bottle was finished, I was sprawled on my living room floor, vowing never to drink Zinfandel again.
Let me know if you have a similar experience. If Zinfandel is the wine world's version of moonshine, then we're all in big trouble.
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