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 |    Not for the faint of art. |
For my weekly trip to the past, this time, we're not going very deep at all. In November of 2023, I wrote this for a blogging activity which is no longer with us, hence the "invalid item" link therein: "Forgive Me, For I Have Zinned"  The entry revolves around National Zinfandel Day, which in that year fell on November 15 (the earliest it can occur, as it falls on the third Wednesday in November.)I did a whole blog entry on these calendar events, just a few days ago. In brief, yes, I know a lot of them are just product promotions. This one's no exception; the website lists it as being founded by "Zinfandel Advocates & Producers (ZAP)," which is totally the name I'd come up with if I were putting together an industry coalition for zinfandel. But then they had to go and make White Zinfandel, which is emblematic of everything that's wrong in the world. So many of those emblems these days. Now, to be somewhat fair, I've heard it's improved since the last time I had the misfortune of sipping it. Nor have I had any in the time since that entry. The first offense of white zinfandel is that it's actually a blush, or rosé. True enough, but I don't think I was clear that this is an offense because it breaks the rules of wine categorization. Some rule-breaking is fine and necessary for innovation. This sort of thing just confuses people. The second offense is that it's inoffensive. It's the wine equivalent of white bread, American cheese, and light beer: something seemingly crafted to appeal to the lowest common denominator, and I'm not low nor common nor a denominator. Bland, characterless, etc. Apparently, white zinfandel was invented on accident by Sutter Home (which I always called Stagger Home). Other wineries produce it now as well, but the point is, it's unsurprising that white zin is as much an American product as all those other mass-market foods and drinks. Plus, I forgot to add, fake milk "chocolate." And finally, the wine I tried when it was all the rage in the States was cloyingly sweet. (As I noted above, that may no longer be the case.) How can I call it characterless and cloyingly sweet at the same time? Because I can. Finally, "white" zinfandel tastes completely unlike the red variety, such that when I finally got around to tasting actual zinfandel, it was a real epiphany. I might actually like it better than Shiraz. Jury's still out on that. I can say for certain, though, that I prefer both of those over cabernet sauvignon. There was a bumper sticker floating around some time ago: "Absolve yourself of white zin." I haven't seen white zin in stores for a while. Maybe it's just because I haven't been looking, but hopefully, it's at least partly because tastes have improved. Given the continued presence of those other offensively inoffensive products, though, somehow I doubt it. |
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