Grapes and Gardens

One of the confounding conclusions that we’ve come to, over the last several months of this blog chronicling our exploration of local vineyards, is that these neighboring grape growers are fully, blissfully content to leave the actual winemaking to others. A lot of wineries repeat the industry saw about “great wine starts in the vineyard,” but it strikes me that the weather-dependent farming aspect of winemaking would be the riskiest part of the entire process.

And in our own miniscule way, and having now lived in Oakley for an entire cycle of the four seasons, Kathy and I discovered just how tough it is to coax a plant —any plant — to maturity around here.

When Kath and I moved into our foreclosed McMansion just before Labor Day 2009, we were really excited about getting a California garden going: raised beds, fresh herbs, citrus trees that we could actually plant in the ground, and tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes! Plus, our front and back yards were a virtual clean slate (Our house was a former model home for the development, supposedly with all the bells and whistles; a neighbor told us that the former owner, in addition to “looting” the plantation shutters and assorted fixtures from the house, also held a garage sale to sell off the landscaping). We had no desire to ever use the underground sprinkler system (some of the pop-up heads were busted, and the whole property was divided into five confusing watering zones), and we were eager to go drought tolerant. So, off to the local home-and-garden center we went for yard tools, citrus trees and, eventually, a rototiller to chew up what remained of the lawn.

Flash-forward to the end of this summer, and it became apparent that our gardening experiment was a complete disaster. The original sod had been installed with a backing of plastic mesh, which continually jammed the rototiller. Our “soil” consisted of clay that was packed so hard that there were entire spots we couldn’t even get a pointed shovel to pierce. And the intense sun and summer heat, which we thought would allow the citrus, rosemary, lavender and thyme to thrive, instead baked them so hard that our poor Meyer lemon tree looked like something after a nuclear holocaust. Hours of work and money spent, wasted.

So, with the rainy season looming, Kath decided that the time was right to call in the professionals. She did some Web research, and we had landscape designer Kelly Marshall come out for a consultation. We liked her style, she dug our style, and we decided to take the next step with her. A few days later, Kelly was out to take measurements and photos of the front and back yards, and on the afternoon of Halloween, she came to the house with her design, a scale architectural drawing of our property, with her plant choices placed and labeled. Her plant and color selections perfectly complemented our sensibilities. It was nothing short of amazing, and we decided to take the final step.

As designer, Kelly doesn’t do the physical install herself, but she recommended a landscaper with whom she’d worked in the past. I phoned Moises Garcia of M&G Landscape to come out, review Kelly’s design, and prepare a bid for the installation. By the end of the week, he came back to the house with his bid for the install of Kelly’s elements, including a new drip irrigation system, flagstone walkways, removal of every vestige of sod/weeds and existing plants, soil amendment, pea gravel and mulch placement, and in-ground planting of all of Kelly’s recommended foliage. Gotta tell ya, his bid was a fraction of what we were expecting to have to pay. We said yes.

Moises turned out to be an artist as well as technician. I was home to watch much of the weeklong transformation, and his blend of hard physical work, perfectionism and easygoing manner was astounding. Many times, I’d look out the window thinking to myself the landscaping equivalent of “Oops, he missed a spot” only to discover that it was all being taken care of. I saw him out with his tape measure, Kelly’s scale rendering in hand, making certain that Kathy’s raised beds, now being located in the back yard on new gravel, were perfectly spaced. I’m still amazed at how he was able to tap into select portions of the old irrigation pipe infrastructure to deliver water to the new drip system in areas separated by existing driveway, patio and walkways. I was grateful that he hauled away all the old vegetation, weed barrier, rocks and stumps (Moises made sure that all stumps were dug out, not just cut to ground level) and cleaned all debris off the driveway and paths at the end of each work day. He thought of everything, and didn’t cut corners as he put those thoughts into action.

On the penultimate day, the plants were delivered. Kelly came out to physically place the plants according to her schematic. The next day, Moises and his crew put ‘em into the newly amended soil; as one section was planted, drip tubing would be snaked through the landscape and covered in new mulch. Ingenious, efficient and, ultimately, gorgeous.

Kelly told us at our initial meeting that this time of year was the perfect time to do this kind of project: The young plantings avoid the scorching heat and benefit from the abundant winter rains as they overwinter.

The weather was beautiful for the five-day project; within two days, the rains came. Seems that not only were Kathy and I lucky to find Kelly Marshall and Moises Garcia, but our dealings with Mother Nature was fortuitous, too. We are now more than happy to leave the “farming” to the grape growers.

We’re pleased to raise a glass to Kelly, Moises and Ma Nature. The 2007 Cline Ancient Vines Carignane hails from CoCo County fruit. It exhibits a translucent eye of strained plum in the glass. The nose is actually the most demonstrative aspect of the wine, but needs a lot of swirling to give up its aromas of clove and other baking spices. In the mouth, it’s rather light, but with a nice streak of acidity and a short-to-medium finish rendering it a great quaff.

My, aren’t Kathy and I quite the jet-setters now?

Another local Country Club sponsored a wine tasting event last Saturday, and it was a real trip.

Brentwood’s Shadow Lakes Golf Club has a new Event Center, and, despite its “big box” vibe, turned out to be the best venue for the gig. Boutique wineries ringed the walls, finger-food met in the center, and family-style seating became the norm.

Unlike the event last weekend at the Discovery Bay Country Club, which featured sales reps pouring selections from their often-huge winery portfolios, the Shadow Lakes clambake served to showcase individual, small-production wineries at each table around the room. Often, the owner or a member of the family was the one pouring.

Kathy and I adopted our strategy of staking out a seat at one of the round tables, then spelling each other off for food and/or the next pour. It wasn’t long before we were joined at our table by a rollicking party of residents from a nearby 55-and-older residential community. They were an uninhibited bunch, and it didn’t take more than a minute before Kath and I were swapping stories, wine preferences and lots of laughs with our newfound drinking buddies (See photo above; from left: Ed, Carole, Brooke's head and tennis shoe(!), Noreen, Jan, Don and some cheesy blogger). We ended up having a blast; (we closed the place down), and Noreen even sent recipes via e-mail the next day.

And even though there were probably fewer than a dozen wineries participating, some producers brought what seemed like their entire repertoire. You couldn’t possibly sample everything on offer, unless you wanted to end up like the guy in the Oakley Press last week: arrested for DUI on, I kid you not, Chianti Way.

Individual bottles were available for pre-sale, for pick-up at a later date; Kath and I ordered a few different bottles from some of the participants, one of which was our old pal Rock Wall, the new venture from Kent and Shauna Rosenblum. Several months ago, when we were just starting this blog, this father/daughter winemaking team was one of my first interviews. At Shadow Lakes, Rock Wall Wine Co. was pouring their 2008 Zinfandel from Jesse’s Vineyard, a plot of land located a few blocks from our house here in Oakley and managed by Dwight Meadows, one of my latest interviews (everything does seems to come full circle around here). Turns out that Kathy had bought a bottle of this wine several months ago, so we dipped into the stash and pulled the cork a few days after the Shadow Lakes event. The Rock Wall ’08 Jesse’s Zin is just a baby, but at 16.3% alcohol, it’s a baby getting ready to start teething. In the glass, it’s got a young purple color with notes of blue on the rim. The nose is currently subdued, with hints of stone and dark fruits, while on the tongue, smoky earth and blueberry flavors waft up. There’s good acidity here, with some real heft on the “back nine.” The long finish reveals even more flavor. It’s a wine to hang on to for a while, to let it all come together as this baby matures.

Thirsty Howell III

The town of Discovery Bay, California is located about a 20-minute drive southeast of our Oakley burg. It’s an affluent little hamlet, full of well-heeled folks of all ages, who, if they haven’t all retired early, seem to have figured out how to make a good living in yachting or golf. Any rush hour commute to or from Disco Bay would be horrendous; notorious Highway 4 is the access point to this community of big homes often situated either on the water, or ringing the fairway.

The Discovery Bay Golf and Country Club has several tiers of membership, the top trio of which requires an initiation fee of $4,000, in addition to monthly dues in the hundreds of dollars. All but one level requires members to spend a quarterly minimum on food and beverages.

But, twice a year, the DBGCC throws open its doors to host its Wine Tasting & Sale, held at the clubhouse, and featuring dozens of wine reps at a dozen tables, pouring oceans of juice from their respective portfolios. It’s an outrageously crowded event, featuring hot-and-cold-running Tommy Bahama on the dudes, and more than a few women who, to paraphrase Raymond Chandler, “from 20 feet away looked like a lot of class; from 10 feet away (they) looked like they were meant to be looked at from 20 feet away.”

So it’s a bit disconcerting balancing the “Dahling, dahling” social aspect (of which we’re not a part; see “Initiation: Four Large”), with the actual wine aspect of the event, especially when you’re trying to get a pour, but stuck behind a lady of a certain age sporting both leopard print and sun damage, who decides that the Beringer Reserve Table is the perfect spot to stop and catch up with fellow country club member Lovey.

Kath and I have a pet peeve anyway about tasting room etiquette and visitors who hog the bar after getting their pour, and an event like this does nothing for our blood pressure. But this is our second wine event at “The Club,” and this time we perfected our system begun last time. It depends on the weather (luckily, the first Saturday in November had to be 80 degrees under cloudless skies), but the trick is to grab your wine, fill up a plate with food, then head outside, event program in hand, to the open tables on the gorgeous patio. When we were ready for another glass, one of us went to the appropriate pouring table with both glasses, leaving the other to hold down the fort. Brilliant!

There wasn’t necessarily a lot of ultra-high-end stuff being poured (though a Joseph Phelps Cab, the Stag’s Leap “Artemis,” and Rodney Strong’s “Symmetry” were nice to see on the menu), but there’s a lot of variety at different price points from all over the world. And local Brentwood wineries, Tamayo and Bloomfield, show up to shout out to CoCo County. There were even a couple of old faves from our old stomping grounds in Washington state.

Also, cases were available for purchase at wholesale. All in all, a fun way to pass a fall Saturday at “The Club.” And, at $25 for nonmembers, the price sure beats that $4K initiation.

No surprise that our ubiquitous pals from Diageo were out in full force at the tasting, pouring selections from their abundant book. Natch, they were pouring a few Rosenblum bottlings, though none screamed, “Oakley, Oakley!” It prompted Kath and me to dip into the cellar for a Rosenblum blend we’ve had on hand awhile. Actually, in this case, I use “blend” to refer to a mix of vineyard sources, though it’s a pretty good bet that the Rosenblum 2007 Zinfandel Contra Costa County counts a little Oakley fruit in the mix. In the glass it exhibited a deep, dark garnet color, while aromas of cocoa, plum and blueberry immediately had Kathy reaching for the bottle to check the alcohol level (a relatively modest 14.6). On the tongue, nice acidity modulated any overpowering of the palate, and there was that blueberry again. Kath thought that it was reminiscent of a Zin from Sonoma’s Dry Creek region. A nice bottle of wine, this.

IGRO ZIN

That license plate on the white Ford Explorer was confirmation that I had indeed arrived at the Oakley workshop/office of local grape grower, vineyard manager and self-described “landscaper,” Dwight Meadows. He had invited me to drive out for an interview, and I was getting nervous as I found myself leaving the acres of old vines to snake the streets of a newly built, posh subdivision in search of his “shop.”

Finally, I made the turn onto the final cul-de-sac to find the suburban pavement and sidewalks yield to a small area of grapevines, tractors and the aforementioned Explorer. After intros, Dwight Meadows led me into a nicely appointed office, put his feet up on the polished wooden desk, and explained the incongruity of the location …

In 1972, Dwight, with his wife, the former Carla Cutino, moved to Carla’s hometown of Oakley and began working for her dad at Cutino’s Feed and Tire Store downtown on the main drag, eventually purchasing the business from pater Tony Cutino. As time passed, they got involved in the grape and wine business, acquiring, bit-by-bit, land and vineyards around the area. They built a house and workshop/office compound surrounded by acres upon acres of old vines, which Dwight farmed for years, supplying grapes to Kent Rosenblum and the Thomas Coyne winery in Livermore.

Dwight and Carla sold the Feed and Tire Store to an employee about a dozen years ago, and the grape biz became the cornerstone of his umbrella company, Diablo Vista Vineyards.

But then, a few years ago, the school district erected the spanking-new Freedom High School adjacent to their property, and about a million California regulations automatically kicked in to protect kids from pesticide use. Dwight told me that it got to the point where he could pretty well farm only between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. The final straw came when the contractor hired to install the school’s soccer field used a weed killer that wiped out an entire year’s crop of Dwight’s grapes. That’s when he threw up his hands and sold all but a few acres of vines surrounding his house and shop to a housing developer. Which explains why this little island of rurality exists amid shiny new houses and freshly mown lawns on paved streets that didn’t exist a few years ago. Even the address of Dwight and Carla’s existing house changed; it now has a new number. And a completely different street!

Dwight isn’t particularly bullish on recent enthusiasm by some local officials to establish a “trust” to preserve Oakley’s old vines. “It works in Brentwood,” he says, because their agriculture is around the development. Unlike Oakley, with new development plopped right in the middle of agricultural land; it seems that the very thing that kindled Kathy’s and my fascination with Oakley grapes — their appearance in the craziest suburban settings — is the same thing that could jeopardize preservation efforts. “Vines around here are doomed,” Dwight opines. I hope he’s wrong, but once bitten …

These days, Dwight Meadows keeps his hand in by managing his reduced vineyard holdings, as well as other properties owned by others. He’s not much interested in expanding his ownership role in other plots. Kath and I posted recently about the Duarte/Jesse’s vineyard site currently owned by a housing developer. Dwight farms that parcel for Seeno Homes — he calls his vineyard management style “farming as landscaping” and “weed abatement” — and sells the Zinfandel from Jesse’s (named for his 91-year-old father, whose new beekeeping venture has added a line of honey to the Diablo Vista Vineyards portfolio) to Rock Wall Wine Company, and to Diageo for their vineyard-designate Rosenblum bottling. He seems happy just to mange the piece: At 20 acres yielding a scant 14 tons of Zin, “you couldn’t even pay the taxes,” he says.

“Carla’s Vineyard,” located over by the Kmart and named for his wife, is another site he tends. He also looks after a 37-acre vineyard, planted two-thirds to grapes and a third to olives, and located at Trilogy, a 55-and-older residential community that offers dozens of lifestyle options including membership in a winemaking club that uses the on-site vines. There’s a 5-acre piece over on Live Oak that he manages for an individual whose dream of a “ranchette” went sour when he couldn’t keep up with the weeds and overgrowth. He used to farm 40 acres in nearby Knightsen, but the boron in the water was too much to battle.

With a tight client list of Diageo, Rock Wall, Thomas Coyne and a few home winemakers, Dwight Meadows seems content. “Wine has gotten to be a pretty rough business,” he says, and I can see his point. An ongoing surplus of California wine, corporate consolidation, growers being squeezed on grape prices: It’s easy to understand when Dwight, a man who laughingly admits to drinking maybe two glasses of wine a week, swears, “I will not plant another vine on my own. Fifteen years ago, that was my business. Not now; the return on investment just isn’t there.”

Dwight Meadows graciously gave me a bottle of Thomas Coyne 2007 Mourvèdre made from grapes harvested from the remaining then-82-year-old acreage surrounding his house. With a garnet-accented color a little darker than cranberry juice, it’s lighter than a lot of textbook Oakley expressions of Mourvèdre, but the nose gives up whiffs of smoke, tar, bits of toffee and even a touch of spearmint gum. It’s soft in the mouth, with a suppleness that seems to fold in on itself with light, bright acidity and cherry and pomegranate flavors. Even a hint of butterscotch in there somewhere.

Now Leasing!

I revisited the Live Oak plot that Cline Cellars has been using for years. It’s a real study in contrasts; I could not believe the turf on the return trip. Entire blocks of old vines ripped out willy-nilly, replanted with nothing.

Matt Cline hipped me to the location of the site, and directed me to the grapes. Here’s the deal: They ripped out some old vines to put in an apartment complex, and a public storage facility. Cline Cellars obviously thinks enough of the fruit to designate the vineyard on a label, but the romance ends in a really jarring juxtaposition of ancient and new: a boxy stucco cube stuck in the middle of old vines, right on Oakley’s main drag. It’s yet another example of old agricultural parcels being sold off like a crazy quilt.

I also talked to grape broker Mike Parker the other day. He’s the cat who will meet buyers at the Oakley ARCO gas station, then hook them up with local growers who want to sell any excess fruit they may have. Although harvest is over for this season around here, Mike has seen an uptick in the deals he’s been brokering with home winemakers. It seems that that we may have a lot of garagistes bringing their game to the local market. CoCo growers have the goods, some Napa and Sonoma growers messed up with the sun/heat gamble this year, and hobby winemakers seem to be getting extra access to some prime old-vine fruit.

And I’m sure that any winemaker would love to get their hands on some of that Live Oak Zinfandel. Part of the decision to revisit the vineyard was the discovery of a 2007 Cline Live Oak Zin in our stash. As noted in earlier posts, Cline Cellars was one of the first leads we had when beginning our local vineyard identification project. They’ve been a presence in town for decades, and many of their vineyard designations on their labels are named for the cross-street which they abut. Despite the fact that the Live Oak parcel has slimmed down to make way for storage and apartment buildings, its fruit, as handled by the Cline team, comes fully furnished with a deep garnet hue, and a plush nose of tar and molasses. Amazingly complex and rich, this Live Oak Zin hints at blueberry juice and spicy tobacco notes. It’s huge, and totally unlike anything I’ve tasted from an Oakley site. First month, last month, and deposit, indeed!

Field Blend

Sometimes I just have to ask myself, “Dude, where the heck are we living?”

A stray kitty won’t leave our back yard, Black Widow spiders love our front porch, Lemon Lady gave me a verbal beatdown, and there was an arrest for public intoxication on, no joke, Merlot Lane. “Sideways,” indeed.

It’s mid-October, and only now is the weather starting to get a bit cooler here in Oakley, CA. Not furnace weather; more like Henley-instead-of-a-polo-shirt weather: longer sleeves for the shorter days.

Our local daily newspaper features a wonderful columnist, Gary Bogue, who writes about pets and wildlife found in our neck of the woods — Kathy once had to stop the car while a rafter of wild turkeys (Paul Hellweg’s “The Insomniac’s Dictionary,” Chapter VI, “Collective Nouns for Animals”) crossed a major arterial road — and receives notes from folks who routinely find tarantulas at home, then take them back to nearby Mount Diablo. (Sorry for another diversion, but I’ve been meaning awhile to comment on a local nutjob, fresh off his methadone and new to salvation, who wanted to rename the local historic peak “Mount Reagan,” citing that “Diablo” is (d)evil. Locals, municipalities, counties, and ultimately, the feds, decided that this dude needs a hobby.) In a recent column, Mr. Bogue stated that, given 30 minutes, he could find a Black Widow in any backyard. NIMBY, we thought.

But then! Kathy goes out last week to investigate a strange noise; it turned out to be nothing. But when she takes off her garden clogs to come into the house, she spies a spider with the unmistakable red hourglass mark, in a web on our front porch. We’ve since noticed another Black Widow (apparently not a male, since he’d have been brunch by now). These two now have the names “Audrey’ and “Constance.” Check out Kathy’s Blair Witch-style photo of Audrey, above. Not only did she just want to snap the photo and get off the front porch ASAP, Kath no longer leaves her garden clogs outside.

Our second Halloween in Oakley is a week away, and we are trying to get a handle on the number of trick-or-treaters. In our White Center ‘hood near Seattle, we had, maybe, seven kids total in 8+ years. In Oakley last year, we were bombarded with hundreds! (And, man, we were scrambling for candy after we ran out of our original stash; half the candy we gave out last year was year-old Seattle traif I found in a closet.)

Last year, Kathy and I carved pumpkins, watched “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” and then, as twilight loomed, sat outside in the front porch Adirondacks, cocktail in hand, to dispense treats. We were overwhelmed. Just when you think you’re done, another wave swells. And then there are the unavoidable teenagers, too old for this sort of thing, who don’t even attempt to dress up.

But, this year, Constance and Audrey are really going to figure in the front porch mix for us. We have more candy this time, but we have Black Widows, too. Just a heads-up, all you teenagers sans costume.

So, last Saturday morning, the scrub jays are squawking like crazy in our backyard redwood tree. Kathy goes out to investigate (sense a pattern here?), and up in the branches of the sequoia, is an adult tortoiseshell kitty. It’s talkative as heck, meowing at Kathy who is urging the little one to come down. Kitty’s not stuck in the tree at all: It works its way down the branches and follows Kath to the back door. Now, we have neighborhood cats that use our backyard as a shortcut, or to hang out staring up at our bird feeders. But they take off when a human approaches. This tortie meows at us, follows us around, then goes back to chill up in the tree!

Which is where Kitty was Sunday morning, after the first rain we’d had here in five months. Uh-oh. It wouldn’t leave our backyard. We gave it some kibble and water. Kathy posted a “Found” notice on Craigslist. And at evening feeding time for our two indoor cats, Kitty trotted right up to the screen door and meowed loudly and incessantly for food. As darkness fell, Kitty curled up on the broad arm of an Adirondack chair. It was heartbreaking.

Monday was more of the same. As Kathy got up in darkness to get ready for work, Kitty again raced from the tree to the door, yowling steadily through the glass. Later that morning, I phoned our vet for advice; Contra Costa County Animal Services could come out and take Kitty to their shelter. But they are closed Mondays. Kitty was still in our yard Tuesday, and, with no responses to our Craigslist post, Kathy and I spent all morning online trying to investigate “no-kill” animal organizations in our region. We finally agreed to give Animal Services a call after being assured that they work really hard to place adoptable animals, an adjective that fits this fluffball to a T. As long as Kitty gets a clean bill of health, there’s a great chance of finding that “forever home.” I kind of miss the little chatterbox already.

Hey remember Lemon Lady, the neighbor down the street with the huge, old lemon tree in her front yard? When I originally approached her months ago, offering to pay her for lemons, I actually thought she’d go all grandma on me and insist that I help myself for free. Instead her response was an immediate “$3 a bag, and don’t go haywire with the bag!”

Well, I guess I went haywire with the bag, because the last time I went to harvest, she lit into me for my plastic bag “splitting apart because it was too full.” As the saying goes, “If life hands you lemons, that’s a better deal than having to pick them yourself from the tree of a cranky neighbor.”

Harvest is in for this year, and our ancient Oakley-area vines are starting to shut down for the season. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no activity in the vineyard. The other day I was driving down Empire on my way to Target for a flu shot, when I spied a gent piloting a tractor by the side of the road in front of Rich Pato’s vines (which we’d just been talking about in the last couple of posts here). I took a flyer, parking the car on a side street and sprinting across four lanes of traffic, to chase down the tractor. I ended up exchanging pleasantries with Rich Pato himself. It’s always cool to match a vineyard with a wine label, and put a face to a name.

It’s also nice to match the cooler post-harvest nights with sweeter Late Harvest bottlings. We found a half-bottle of Cline’s 2006 Late Harvest Mourvèdre, made from a block of varietal fruit on their Big Break property here in our fair city. The Mourvèdre had an extra three weeks of hang time, to impart extra ripeness in the grapes. In the glass, it’s Port-like in its color, opacity and viscosity. There’s a deep nose of blueberry, with a hint of nuttiness. Unctuous but not cloying in the kisser, this LH balances an earthy sweetness with a bit of tannic grip, too.

Funny how this “dirt detective” biz works. In our effort to, essentially, drink our way through our neighborhood, Kathy and I have been trying to identify who grows what grapes from the 100+-year old vines around here, and which winemakers they sell ‘em to. Sometimes, the leads double back on themselves, and you get confirmation that you’re indeed on the right track.

The Napa-based Orin Swift winery is one that has popped up on our CoCo County grape radar before, as recently as last month. Kath and I tasted their “Saldo” Zinfandel, sourced from various vineyards around the state, but showing some specific love to local plots such as Evangelho and Duarte. Then, when last week I chatted with local grower Rich Pato, and he told me that this year he’s selling his Zin and Mourvèdre to Orin Swift, I figured that lightning striking twice was something even I couldn’t ignore. You don’t have to tell me six times; five is plenty. (Fool me once, I’m a fool. Fool me twice … uh, screw it, I’m gonna clear some brush on my ranch.)

After a bit of telephone- and e-tag (during crush, no less), I was able to have a great, spirited chin-wag with Tom Traverso, marketing pooh-bah and O.G. (Original Grunt), one who was yelling “Push!” when Orin Swift was birthin’ its babies.

Years ago, he and OS winemaker Dave Phinney, a couple of Cali dudes, were college roommates at U of F.

I’m talkin’ University of Florence. Italy. No kidding. After class, Tom and Dave would visit a local wine shop around the corner, asking about what’s good, and bringing that day’s selection back to the crib to drink on the courtyard overlooking the local soccer field. Wine fever took hold: Gooooooooooooaaaaaaaaal!

Stateside, they both embarked on a series of internships, from wine retail to cellar rat. Tom landed on the sales and marketing side of the biz with a gig at Gallo; Dave Phinney worked an apprenticeship everywhere from Mondavi to Whitehall Lane. Wine fever was rising: It wasn’t too long before Dave got the itch for his own label. Through winery contacts, he scored baby’s first batch of Zin, Cabernet and Charbono. A generous gift of a Goya etching provided the inspiration for the nomenclature and label design of Dave’s “The Prisoner,” a funky-fresh Zin-Cab blend, currently comprising mostly Napa fruit.

“Saldo” exists to showcase their great Zinfandel contacts. Vineyard sources vary year to year, but CoCo fruit seems to always be a nice bit of the mix.

“Sourcing is key,” Tom Traverso insists. And others seem to have noticed: Both “Saldo” and “The Prisoner” were acquired earlier this year by ultra-premium “Quintessa,” a $pendy, heretofore-Bordeaux-blend concern. Dave Phinney still makes the new portfolio wines (no name change) for the new bosses, though it seems that Tom Traverso’s cubicle is now on the Quintessa side of the carpet.

And Orin Swift — the name, BTW, a cool mash-up of Dave’s mom’s maiden name and his dad’s middle name, not necessarily in that order — continues to look to CoCo for taste-tay fruit.

We dip a toe this week into the Hot Tub Time Machine in order to taste a past Rosenblum bottling made from Pato Vineyard varietal fruit that is, this year at least, all being sold to Orin Swift. Check out the photo above depicting the Pato property post-2010-harvest. In 2007, Rosenblum Cellars made a Pato Mourvèdre, and it’s another stunner from this grower/vintner team. In the glass, it trades in the inkiness of the 2007 Pato Petite for a lighter, plummy, garnet hue. In the nose it’s all clove, dusty smoke and tar, with a mouth-feel that’s smoothly weighty and unctuous. It’s not an overly fruit-forward wine, but the medium-long finish gives up just a hint of raspberry sweetness. There’s some real old-vine elegance and complexity at play here.