Literalists would argue that there’s more acreage in the appellation planted to Cabernet Sauvignon, but that’s because of a few giant vineyards Cab-ified in recent years by that nice family from Modesto, the Gallos. Kick just one of their vinous football fields out, or count the number of growers rather than acres, and the conclusion is inescapable: Zin is king in Dry Creek Valley.

Part of this is heritage: Italian immigrants felt immediately at home in the Umbria-like valley and surrounding slopes of the appellation, which they settled in the 1800s. When they came, they brought a grape that shared their heritage. Part of it is also geography: Dry Creek Valley is warm but not scorching, breezy but not windy, and fertile but not loamy. (For the opposite in all three cases, see: Lodi). Zin vines can not only get comfortable in Dry Creek Valley, they can get comfortable for a long, long time.

This is why Dry Creek Valley is one of few appellations on earth where gnarly old Zin vines are not museum pieces but integral parts of the “Zinfrastructure.” Growers keep these barely-producing vines in prime locations because they can keep propagating new vineyards from their cuttings. (The vines also make nice photos, like the ones you see here.)

Zinfandel from Dry Creek Valley also has a collective flavor signature, something other appellations can’t achieve either because their Zignoble is too fragmented geographically or there simply isn’t enough Zinfandel made to form a consensus around.

In Dry Creek, the signature involves berries and spice (like Zin everywhere) plus lovely accents of crushed violets and light touches of mineral and dry earth backed by exceptionally good posture – the kind you see on fashion runways.

Dry Creek vintners can wax eloquent about differences in wines from the valley floor, the benches, and the east and west hillsides, and yet their Zins have more in common across these variables than they do with those big-boned boys from the central valley and Paso Robles or those polished aristocrats from Napa. That’s a sense of place that you can taste in a glass. Also known as terroir.

Last and by no means least, Dry Creek Valley Zinfandel has been made so long, so well, and with such well established plant material, that it gains wonderful complexity even though it also drinks beautifully in its zinfancy. Six years ago I had the good fortune to make some 2001 Dry Creek Zin with Michael Durphy and Stephen Yafa (the former with Ross Valley Winery and the latter with his own brand, Segue). The wine just keeps getting better. It was so good young, though, that I drank most of it.

That’s Dry Creek Zin in a nutshell: hard to resist now, ever more satisfying later.

The 2004 vintage of DCV Zinfandel is especially hard to resist. The tannins are abundant but soft and zingratiating. The flavors have wonderful length, from the aromas in the glass to the palate-drenching liquid on your tongue, to the expansive, chamber-filling aftertaste. In that sense, 2004 is a luxuriant snapshot of Dry Creek Zinfandel during its evolution from the claret-style red which it has been for decades toward the fruitier, riper, more heavily wooded and alcoholic style which is popular today.

You can certainly find examples toward both ends of the spectrum in Dry Creek. (I’m thinking at the moment of the wines from Pedroncelli and Sbragia– both made by multigenerational Italian families with deep roots in the appellation but with decidedly different wine styles.) Yet the best markers would be the balanced, medium- to full-bodied wines from producers such as Dashe and Hawley. They have the structure, acid and stature of classic Dry Creek Zin, and also the luscious entry and seductive, velvet-drapery weight of modern California Zin.

These wines also demonstrate that Dry Creek Valley Zinfandel is one of the greatest beneficiaries of recent winemaking innovations (in both technique and technology) which impart a richer, smoother mouthfeel to red wine.

Remember that Zinfandel made its way in America in the 19th century for two basic reasons: the vines could deal with just about anything, and you could often drink the wine of a given vintage before the following winter was over. In short, Zinfandel delivered the goods in a hurry, never mind the finesse.

Today, we don’t need those advantages. The focus instead is on getting Zin to ripen all the berries in its clusters at the same time, and getting as much of that sunny ripeness into the bottle as smoothly as possible, for early-drinking consumers.

With regard to both points, 2004 in DCV made things relatively easy. Left to its own devices, Zin is a notoriously uneven ripener. Some berries in a cluster will be raisins, some will be hard and green, and the rest will be somewhere in between. But because the 2004 crop in Dry Creek was small, and because a cool, acid-setting August was followed by a warm, sugar-setting September, growers who paid attention achieved even ripeness. They also got a whole lot of ripeness in the fruit they had, so winemakers had plenty of sugar and phenolics to work with in the winery.

So as you get Zapped this weekend (or compensate for missing ZAP by buying and drinking whatever Zin you can get your hands on back home), remember that Dry Creek Valley is one of the biggest reasons we have so much Zinfandel to enjoy today. Once upon a time it was a rustic immigrant grape in a rustic immigrant valley. Count the shiny SUVs and Lexuses on Dry Creek Road these days, and while you’re at it, count yourself lucky that Zinfandel found such an ideal home.

~ Thom Elkjer, Regional Correspondent


To comment on Thom’s writings and thoughts, contact him at t.elkjer@appellationamerica.com