Category: Food

Three variations on the versatile zinfandel

Zinfandel wine has a long and storied past.

Those of a certain age may remember it as a jug wine, bottled in huge tear-shaped bottles, or as a rosé, known as white zinfandel. But zinfandel has been around a lot longer than Gallo. The roots of this grape varietal can be traced to the southern “heel” of Italy, where it is known as primitivo, and well before that to Croatia, where it is indigenous, and was likely cultivated by ancient Greek colonists. Arriving in the United States in 1829, and cultivated in greenhouses on the East Coast as a table grape, it made its way west in the Gold Rush of 1849, where it became known as zinfandel by the 1870’s. In fact, some of these original vines still exist, known as “old vine” zinfandel — though the whole topic of what can be called or classified as “old vine” can be taken up in a separate column. Zinfandel grapes survived Prohibition in large numbers because they could be used in the production of homemade wine, which remained legal.

While it is grown across the United States, California takes the lead, by far. It can be made into late harvest dessert wines, rosés and Beaujolais-style light reds, all the way to big hearty reds and fortified wine in the style of port. As in all wine, the quality and character of the wine depends on the climate, location and age of the vineyard (terroir) as well as the technology and skill employed by the winemaker. Because of this wide spectrum of color, nose, taste, body and, yes, alcoholic content, zinfandel can accompany perhaps the widest of culinary offerings. It is especially good with barbecued meat: chicken and pork with sweet sauces, grilled beef, braised meats and casseroles, strong and bold cheeses from a dry Jack to aged goat cheese to Parmesan. It can be paired with spicy Mexican food and pasta dishes with robust red sauces, pizza, and root or grilled vegetables. The possibilities are virtually endless, surpassing most other wine types when paired with food.

Our first wine, Hierogram 2016 Vineyard Block 8 Old Vine Zinfandel (originally priced at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets at $45.99, reduced to $22.99), is from Lodi, San Joaquin County, in the Central Valley of California, where some of the oldest zinfandel vines in California are planted. This wine results from them. It is dark maroon in color, and to the nose it has cherry and dark berry notes. These notes carry through to the tongue, with a full mouth feel and a bit of tangy spiciness and chocolate. Mild tannins from aging 15 months in 60 percent new American oak accompany the fruit to impart a rich, full sensation.

Our second wine, Neal Family Vineyards 2018 Rutherford Dust Vineyard Zinfandel (originally priced at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets at $32.99, reduced to $29.99), hails from the floor of Napa Valley. This is a fully organically grown and produced wine with a low production of 613 cases coming from the Rutherford AVA. A blend of 91 percent zinfandel and 9 percent petite syrah, it is co-fermented and aged for 15 months in 40 percent new Hungarian oak puncheons. The adjacently planted two grape varietals complement one another. The color is a deep maroon, the nose is full of fruit — plum, with touches of vanilla. This carries through to the mouth, with a touch of tobacco from the oak along with an elusive herbal quality. A perfect wine for a weekend barbecue.

Our third wine, Shannon Reserve 2015 Two Bud Block Zinfandel (originally priced at the New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets at $37.99, reduced to $17.99), is from Lake County, California. It is also a blend of 95 percent zinfandel and 5 percent petite syrah. It is aged for 20 months in 35 percent new French and American oak. The vineyards are sustainably farmed with sheep controlling the weeds and fertilizing the vines. The color is of a deep maroon, the nose of rich blackberries and vanilla, which carries through to the mouth enriched by a hint of chocolate. The oak imparts subtle tannins, all made for pairing to great barbecued fare.

So explore the subtle differences not only of these three zinfandels but of the other seemingly countless approachable “zins” to be enjoyed with a vast array of foods and cuisines.

Featured photo: Courtesy photo.

My grandparents were civilized people. One of my favorite memories of them is their rigorous observance of Cocktail Hour.

Every evening, when Opa got home from work, he would change clothes, then he and my Oma would sit down for a cocktail. This was not precisely a formal ritual, but it was one thoroughly saturated with respect. For an hour or so, they would sit together without distractions and focus on each other. Opa would slip in some form of compliment for my grandmother — her name was Grace, but he called her “Dolly” — and at some point, he would usually lean back, sigh with contentment and wonder out loud, “what the poor people” were up to that night.

For me, the classiest part of the whole ceremony — because, really, that’s what this was — was that they always had a small bowl of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish with their cocktails.

I remember once asking my grandmother if I could have a sip of her cocktail. Amused, she let me have one. It was the worst thing I had ever tasted up to that point in my life (I was about 8).

“What IS that?!” I asked, overcome with feelings of betrayal and disgust.

“It’s a gimlet,” she told me serenely, and it was seared into my memory. She let me have a handful of goldfish to clear my palate, and those are there, too.

I wish I had a profound lesson to tie this story to — other than the fact that Oma and Opa have both been gone for about 40 years, and I still miss them achingly.

Anyway, here is a recipe for a take on a classic summer gimlet, with cucumber.

Cucumber Gimlet

45 grams (3 thick slices) cucumber

1/2 ounce cucumber syrup (see below)

2 ounces gin (I’m using Wiggly Bridge this week, given to me by a friend who distributes it in New Hampshire.)

3/4 ounce lime juice, freshly squeezed (see below)

1. Muddle the cucumber and cucumber syrup aggressively in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. Be careful not to splash yourself.

2. Add the ice, gin and lime juice. If you have a choice, go with the lime that has been sitting around your kitchen for a week or so and is looking a little tired. If you think you can see his ribs showing, he’s the one you want. His juice will taste extra-limey.

3. Shake until the condensation on the side of the shaker starts to freeze.

4. Strain into a coupé glass.

5. Drink this while giving someone your undivided attention.

Gin and lime are a classic combination. The cucumber makes this drink more summery and refreshing. It provides a framework to hang the crispness of the gin and the fruitiness of the lime.

Is there a way to make this even more cucumbery?

Yes — I would shred half of an unpeeled cucumber with a box grater, and use it to infuse an equal amount of gin for a week or so. (I say I “would”; in point of fact, I am infusing a batch of it right now, but it’s hot out and I’m feeling nostalgic. I’d like a gimlet right now, please.)

Cucumber simple syrup

I tried and compared several different methods for making this syrup. I’ll spare you the details of my testing protocols, but here is the least fiddly method that gave me the sharpest cucumber flavor:

1. Wash an English cucumber, then roughly dice it, with the skin still on. Freeze it for an hour or two; ice crystals will help break down the cell walls and persuade the cucumber to give up its juice more generously.

2. Combine the frozen cucumber and an equal amount (by weight) of sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring regularly.

3. Remove from heat, then mash the cucumber pieces with a potato masher. Don’t be gentle.

4. Cover the pot and let the cucumber steep for half an hour.

5. Strain with a fine-meshed strainer, and use a funnel to bottle it.

Featured photo: Cucumber gimlet (with accompaniments). Photo by John Fladd.