Chrissy Cooper “got it” instantly when I pitched her on the concept of parking my Airstream trailer on her family’s estate in Amador County for what would be my first stop on the Vintage Highway.

But beyond merely allowing me to plug into water and electricity for four days, the extended Cooper clan embraced the idea and welcomed me to the ranch, even inviting me to a “friends and family” party at Cooper Vineyards the Friday evening of my stay. More than 100 people—tasting room employees, volunteers, full-time staff and folks from nearby ranches, wineries and vineyards—were expected to attend.

I couldn’t have been made to feel more welcome. . .most of the time, anyway. Poor Richard’s Almanack is right on the money: “Fish and visitors smell in three days.”

Though I’ve toured and tasted at easily 200+ wineries during my eight-years pedaling wine, I have this thirst to know what it is really like to be connected to a winery. My objective is not to participate. . .simply to observe. . .sort of like a fruit fly buzzing around uncorked tasting bottles, but less irritating.

Pull up a chair, relax and enjoy a glass of Zinfandel.

The original Cooper winery, opened in  December, 2004, is a long, lean structure, redeemed architecturally by a wrap-around wooden pergola; a massive, arched door of dark planks bound together with sturdy metal slats; a band of windows that falsely portrays a second storey; and a brilliant red tin roof. The winery stands sentinel above a pond at the end of a long and tightly compacted, decomposed granite drive that loops grandly in a giant circle in front. The hulk of a 1930s-era flatbed truck is a solitary, rusting lawn ornament and frequent prop for tourist photos.

Conceived as a multipurpose structure, the winemaking demands quickly exceeded capacity, and now the building is a dedicated tasting room with ancillary barrel storage. Erected in mid-2008, a much larger, utilitarian winery—a stand-up steel structure—forgoes any pretense of style at the base of a sloping vineyard. The emphasis is squarely on function, not form.

I described my first night in another post, but the best time at Cooper Vineyards was when the tasting room was shut and the staff had gone home. During the evening and early morning hours, I did not have to share the estate’s views, solitude or calmness. . .it was mine and mine alone.

The Cooper tasting room sits inland, dimming the sound of traffic on the narrow yet busy country lane called Shenandoah School Road. It is centered among some of the most prolific vines in all of California. . .planted, meticulously cultivated and personally nurtured by Dick Cooper.

Tasters crowd around the bar at Cooper, with Robin dispensing pours and wine wisdom.

I hung out in the tasting room whenever I could. . .during lulls on Thursday and Friday and when the place was absolutely packed on Saturday. Though I frequently stand on the business side of my own bar, I have a heightened respect for what it takes to do this job. The staffers dutifully roll through a lengthy line up of wines, stoically describing each. It takes the patience of a hospice nurse to pour for visitors of such disparate backgrounds and understandings of wine. Some tasters are here on a serious exploration, but many others are neophytes on the cheap, seeking an inexpensive, one-day escape from Sacramento. On Friday, many were furloughed State workers burning up an unwanted day off.

Robin, one of the most professional tasting room staff I have ever encountered, has been working at Cooper for more than four years. She has an intimate understanding of each wine, and embellishes the pouring with her practiced narrative. She’s crusty but tolerant, an admitted wine geek who enjoys spending time in Napa “recreationally.” She tasted me through the full spectrum of wines on the list, 15 in all. . .five whites, nine reds and two dessert wines.

After two frantic days of racing up and down Shenandoah and Steiner roads to keep appointments with winemakers, I was delighted when my Ellen finally arrived on Friday afternoon. We decided to hang out in the Airstream until our two dinner guests arrived from Volcano, about a half-hour away.

When I invited our friends to come up for dinner at the trailer, I wasn’t aware of the Cooper party on Friday night, but my hosts graciously agreed to have them join the festivities. I was a bit uncomfortable, but my fears were clearly unfounded when people began arriving in droves. This was going to be one big-assed party.

TGIF in Wine Country

Earlier that afternoon, the tasting room had been transformed into a family-style dining room with at least a dozen picnic tables moved in for the event. Blackened, circular charcoal grills were set up on the crush pad, which had been wrapped in heavy plastic, an effective rain and wind barrier. Deep fat fryers contained super-hot oil, soon to sear whole turkeys into crispy delicacies.

It's party time in Amador as family and friends of Cooper Vineyards celebrate with great food and wine.

While this was clearly a Cooper event, neighbors mobilized to pitch in with food preparation. One grill was dedicated to barbequing oysters (fabulous!); tri-tip was sizzling on another. And crowded everywhere in the smoky, cool evening air, clusters of men and women ate and drank and laughed.

What impressed me most was just about every adult was clearly a working person. These were genuine farmers and ranchers—dressed in worn jeans and faded plaid shirts—joining together in a simple celebration. Children were oblivious, running and chasing and wolfing down food when their parents compelled them to take a break.

Okay, this is out of focus, but it was dark! The gents are engrossed in conversation enjoying the heat of the grill.

This was one huge extended family, with bonds extending far beyond simply being neighbors and friends. These folks are connected by a commonality of purpose and passion; through a link to the land that is engrained only through generations of stewardship and unrelenting toil. The work ethic for many is embedded in their DNA. . .a gift—or perhaps a curse—passed down from pioneer ancestors who tilled the very same Amador soil more than 150 years ago.

We mixed with the crowd, but I felt like a party crasher, so my group slipped back to the trailer for a quiet dinner that I had promised to prepare. Chrissy brought over a bottle a bottle of the 2007 Cooper Barbera Riserva, a 2010 San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition gold medal winner, along with a half-dozen bottles to take for my son, Drew, to taste when I returned to Auburn.

My beloved, Ellen, surrounded by our friends, Meg and Adam.

I chopped onions, sliced vegetables and prepared some nice pieces of salmon with capers to go on the grill. Everything got the same treatment: a little extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper, then wrapped in aluminum foil and tossed over the flame. Simple to make and very, very tasty. I served the meal on paper plates, but real cutlery and Riedel stems added a bit of civility to the evening.

Despite the fact that rain forced us to stay in the trailer, my first stab at entertaining in the Airstream was more fun than I imagined. Perhaps the close quarters made the evening more intimate, but I think anyone who has sampled the trailer life appreciates the value of escaping the daily grind without having to sacrifice the basic comforts of home.

Rookie Airstream Mistakes

I still have much to learn about how to operate my Airstream. When I set up on Friday, I attached the Cooper’s water hose to my trailer, and turned it on, unleashing a gushing spray for at least two point underneath. I shut it off quickly, but I didn’t have a clue about the problem, so I went the entire stay without water—not a huge deal because I had 24/7 access to the restroom and kitchen of the tasting room. (On my next trip, it was revealed to me that you need to attach a device to the hose to reduce the incoming water pressure.)

Another learning experience: When I got up Saturday morning, I turned some lights on and set about making coffee, only to find the electrical circuit was dead. I tried to turn on the radio, but it was dead, too. Then it dawned on me—the trailer lights are powered through the onboard 12-volt battery when not connected to the commercial grid. So, I dug out the Airstream manual and located the fuse panel, only to discover that all of the fuses were intact.

Now I’m thinking we have a huge problem of some sort with the inverter. . .until I just happen to look out the back window and see my power cord coiled up neatly. Evidently, someone needed the outdoor electrical outlet during the party Friday night, and unplugged the trailer. Duh. . .the rule about checking the computer power cord first also applies to trailers.

Leaving isn’t all that simple. First, you must make sure everything inside the trailer is secured, especially glassware and breakable items. I stowed the portable stereo and coffee maker in their original boxes, packed up all of my clothing, computer, books and “stuff”. Then all doors were locked in place, along with the folding table and refrigerator with ingenious clips that keep everything snugged down.

It looks as though we're parked at the beach, but it is Saturday morning after an all-night rain.

Outside, there is a substantial checklist to go through. . .unplug and stow electrical cords (along with water and sanitary lines if I was hooked up at a camp site), remove and store wheel chocks, stow the folding step, raise stabilizer jacks and then do a walk around to ensure everything is cool.

Hooking up the truck can be challenging for two rookies like Ellen and me. But we got ‘er done: ball on the hitch and all chains, breakaway cable and the power link between the truck and trailer in place. After testing the trailer lights and turn signals, we were ready to go.

Saying “Good-bye” Takes Time

Grandpa Cooper with the newest addition to the clan, his granddaughter, Cooper, a real cutey pie.

The last order of business was to go over to Dick Cooper’s house and thank him for his hospitality during our stay. He lives in a modest house about a quarter of a mile away from the tasting room. His home is surrounded by all manner of farm equipment. . .an amazing array of vintages in varying operable conditions. . .an eclectic collection of rusting hulks amidst almost new machinery. It is clear that nothing is thrown away; you never know when you can salvage a part or trade for something you really need.

Dick was outside, talking to an old friend who had stopped by but was just about to leave. We thanked him, and he seemed to be as happy that we made the visit as we were. In fact, he wouldn’t let us go.

“I never got to really spend any time with Gary, and I’d like to take you for a tour of the vineyards,” he said. “Have you got 45 minutes?”

Of course we did, though my notebook and camera were packed in the trailer, a real shame because this was to be one of the highlights of the trip. We piled into Dick’s aging Jeep, Ellen in the back seat along with Blondie, a very friendly yellow ranch dog.

I’m not exactly sure how old Dick is, but I’d guess he is at least 70, and he reminds me of my own grandfather, Glen Shaw, who died when I was just eight. Dick, who barely survived a serious surgery three years ago, is a hefty man, with a round face and perpetual smile, a telltale barometer of his outlook on life.

Dick has an intimacy with his vineyards that seems to extend to individual vines. He speaks with the authority of a U.C. Davis professor when he explains trellising systems for supporting vines, or grafting new varieties or soil drainage.

Need a tractor, no problem, if we can get this one to crank over.

When he tells why he ripped out a walnut orchard to plant vines, you sense he made the change reluctantly but with the conviction of a farmer who understands full well the business implications. He points out a neighboring tract of land he would love to acquire, then shows us a grove of trees he hopes to convert into a park. And, oh yeah, he wants to build a bridge to connect two parcels separated by an impassable ravine. Why? Because he’d like to offer tours of the property, to show visitors the whole place.

Flat on his back in the hospital, suspended between life and the very real potential for leaving this world, Dick said he passed the time making plans in his head. He is far from finishing his beloved ranch, and it seems clear that he wakes up every day on a new mission.

Right now he is building a portable chicken coop for his girlfriend, Jennifer. He salvaged a rolling frame and designed a nesting place that can be shuttled around on the property.  It is designed to protect the chickens from the hungry, nocturnal predators that roam the ranch. I tell him he has to have at least $3,000 in the project, and he smiles and lets me know I’m in the ballpark. How many organic eggs will it take to break even I wonder?

Everywhere there are projects in play, a ton of work ahead. More money to be spent. More deals to do. Trading is an effective currency. . .moving boulders in exchange for a piece of machinery; firewood for tree cutting. You have to be creative to survive financially in this game.

And all the time, even as we tour the property, Dick is planning. Replant here; build a fire pit there. . .the work is what will keep him alive. It makes me think about my own business, my own plans, what is the best use of my time right now?

It makes me wonder where the Vintage Highway will take me next.

(Note: This is the third in a series of posts about my trip to Amador County, during which I parked my Airstream trailer at Cooper Vineyards for four days. I still have more posts to complete, so stay tuned for more winery reports. Click on any photo to enlarge it; if you’d like to comment, I’d love to hear from you.)

Perhaps I was an hour early; maybe he was late, but as I leaned against my truck in the parking lot of Jeff Runquist’s Amador winery and tasting room before its Saturday morning opening time, I sipped on a hot latte and tried to figure out the future of the huge concrete pad on the adjacent lot, obviously destined for a stand-up steel structure of some sort.

Anyone driving past could easily assume this unfinished construction project was simply an under-capitalized wine dream gone bust; another mournful casualty of an overactive vision crashing head on into the reality of an economy gone south. But they would be wrong, because this is Jeff Runquist we’re talking about—his property, his project, his next big move.

I made my appointment to chat with Jeff through his wine broker, so I wasn’t surprised when he failed to show. He lives next door, though, on a large parcel choked with out-buildings, so I wasn’t worried. And sure enough, his wife, Margie appeared and told me she was unaware that I was coming, even though she screens the more than 100 emails he receives daily.

Margie said that she and Jeff had been working on assembling a puzzle that had kept them busy until 10 p.m. the night before. So who needs a Wii in Amador? Soon enough, Jeff made his short commute to the tasting room, carrying a clear, unmarked bottle, probably a preview sample of one of his new brews.

Jeff greeted me warmly; we’ve sold his wines at Carpe Vino since we opened the joint. We loved his wine from the very beginning, purchasing substantial quantities of his famous 2002 Petite Sirah from the Salman Vineyard in Clarksburg, well before it earned a coveted Golden Bear for being named best red at the 2004 California State Fair. Plus Jeff regaled a sold-out winemaker dinner crowd several years ago in our Wine Mine function room in Auburn.

When I asked him about the blank concrete pad, Jeff said he had just finalized a deal that would enable construction to begin on a 5,000 square-foot building to crush, ferment and store his wines. “All we need is a refrigerated box,” he explained. Once the steel is delivered, the building could be finished in a couple of months, enabling him to handle his next crush entirely in Amador. All of his previous vintages have been processed at the McManis Family Vineyards in Ripon, the location of his rather substantial “day job.”

With two "Golden Bear" awards from the California State fair and a boatload of gold medals, Jeff Runquist is at the top of his game.

Jeff Runquist would seem to be at a crossroads. . .the place where the continuum of building a reputation as one California’s most talented and prolific winemakers intersects with his personal destiny. It is not reckless speculation that someday—and perhaps someday soon—he will free himself to lavish all of his time and energies on building the “R” brand.

Few other winemakers employed by major commercial wineries are positioned to make such a leap, but in addition to his raw, native talent, a number of choices Jeff has made will help facilitate his next transition. First and foremost, he appreciated early the critical edge that he would have by understanding the business side of the wine industry. This became clear to him as he earned a BS in fermentation science from U.C. Davis in 1980 : “My education from Davis was sorely lacking in the practical aspects of making a living,” he said. So, while toiling at J. Lohr’s winery one-acre, one million-case complex in San Jose, he also studied at U.C. Santa Clara where he earned an MBA from the Leavey School of Business.

Unwavering focus is another trait that distinguishes Jeff. He makes red wine, and only red wine. No dessert wines, no ports. . .only big juicy reds. At the time of this writing, eight Runquist wines were available for sale at the winery, but based on his 2010 release list (the first I have ever seen published), 14 more will be ready to go through November.

His go-to wines are, of course, barbera, petite sirah and zinfandel, though he regularly makes pinot noir, cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc and primotivo. Yet he is working more frequently with lesser known varieties such as souzao, tannat and touriga. Later this year, he will release new vintages of greanche, sangiovese and carignane.

The one thing that clearly distinguishes Jeff is his ability to find the best fruit available in California. He does not cultivate any vines, and he does not limit his search. . .all of California is on his radar. Barbera from his neighbor, the legendary Dick Cooper, was a key find, but the Enver Salman Vineyard in Clarksburg has been very productive. Jeff also sources grapes from Paso Robles, Lodi and several vineyards in Napa.

Jeff is quite willing to share the accolades with his growers, frequently crediting vineyards on his labels. The result can be a boon for growers because where Jeff buys, others follow. His latest find is the Silvaspoons in Lodi, operated by Ron Silva.

By selecting Amador as the site for his own winery, Jeff comes full circle. After graduating from U.C. Davis in 1980, he went to work for Montevina on Shenandoah School Rd. before doing stints at the Napa Valley Cooperative, J. Lohr and Sycamore Creek in Morgan Hill. He joined McManis in 1998 for one very compelling reason: “Ron McManis is a grower first,” Jeff said, “and he gave me the opportunity to build a winery from scratch. . .I wasn’t going to miss that.”

And what an operation he has built! Under the McManis label, Jeff is part of a team of three winemakers who produce 300,000 cases of wine per year, all in the $10 category. But in addition to this they crush another 30,000 tons of grapes, enough he calculates to produce 1.8 million cases of wine. Much of this juice is sold in bulk to the United Kingdom; big names such as Sebastiani, Kenwood, DeLoach and Fetzer are also customers.

When it comes to his “R” brand, however, annual production is now 10,000 cases. “I’m not interested in being the next 100,000-case producer,” he said. “I’ll see where my creativity takes this.”

His ability to think, plan and execute on so vastly different levels is remarkable. Just imagine what it takes to juggle the two paradigms. . .to operate on such disparate scales and manage materials, labor and quality. I don’t know how he does it, but consider this: his 2007 Runquist Barbera won the Golden Bear for best red wine of the 2009 California State Fair, a stunning second time award for the vintner. But up against this wine was his 2007 McManis Family Vineyards Petite Sirah (California), demonstrating his lust for quality is not limited to his own hand-crafted ”R” wines.

So, how does Jeff follow up his 2007 Barbera, probably one of the most highly decorated wines in Amador or California (it was also Grand Champion, Best of Show at the 2009 Pacific Rim International Wine Competition and a double gold medal winner at the San Francisco International Wine Competition)? He will offer three barberas at three price points: the already released 2008 “R” Barbera, Dick Cooper Vineyard, Amador County (689 cases, $25), 2008 “R” Barbera, Amador County (594 cases, $24) Cooper, and a reserve barbera from the Ambra vineyard in Amador, also planted and managed by Dick Cooper (more details to come).

Jeff spent an hour with me, sampling through the entire line-up in his tasting room. He poured each wine and positioned the bottle on the bar directly in front of me with the label facing toward me. One bottle at a time, with precision and care. . .exactly the way he makes his wine. 

It’s hard not to like this guy; it’s a simple matter to love his wine.

(Note:  This is the second in a series of posts about my trip to Amador County, during which I parked my Airstream trailer at Cooper Vineyards for four days.  I still have two more posts to complete, so stay tuned for more winery reports.  Click on any photo to enlarge it; if you’d like to comment, I’d love to hear from you.)

Choosing my first stop ever traveling on the Vintage Highway was something in which I invested a lot of thought.  Visiting Amador first was an easy decision because of all the AVAs in California, I truly feel welcomed and at home in the Shenandoah Valley.  In terms of physical, natural beauty at all times of year, it competes with any wine region.  And the wines produced there are stellar, as are the people. . . typically of hardy stock, ranchers whose ancestors farmed everything from hay to prunes to walnuts in addition to planting the early vineyards.  These people are genuine and honest and display and ingrained work ethic that makes me feel like I really need to kick into a higher gear.

A knarly old vine at Renwood.

My icebreaker choice was Renwood Winery on Steiner Rd., a narrow country lane lined with owner-operated wineries and, directly across the street from what is widely acknowledged as the most celebrated of all zinfandel sources in California, the Original Grandpère vineyard owned by Terri Harvey. It had been years since I had tasted a Renwood wine, so it seemed like a reasonable place to start.

There is a back story, however, and it explains why my shop has never developed a relationship with Renwood: First, in the very early days of launching Carpe Vino, I spent a lot of time exploring the Sierra Foothills AVA because our strategy was to focus on our own appellation—even though, quite frankly, the foothills was (and still is) viewed sadly as a distant second cousin to the celebrated regions of Napa and Sonoma.

My search back in 2002 took me directly to Amador, where I it seems gems could be found at every stop along the wine trail. While we were welcomed warmly wherever we went, our reception at Renwood was, to be charitable, “chilly.” In retrospect, I can understand why: Renwood is perhaps the largest producer in the county—upwards of 120,000 cases per year—and I’m sure the tasting room, overrun by 40,000+ visitors annually, deals daily with wannabees claiming to be in the wine business. Still, my less-than-civil encounter there offended my Midwest sensibilities, and, as a result, we’ve never found room for Renwood at Carpe Vino.

Even if we had been received at Renwood like visiting royalty, however, the wines still would have been a tough sell for us. That’s because Renwood is a volume producer of value wines priced at under $10, along with a series of premium wines. From our perspective, this two-tiered approach can be confusing to buyers who discover the less expensive “Red Label” series in the chain stores and then find Renwood wines priced above $30 in fine wine stores. For some, this results in a disconnect between price and value. We had the same issue with Montevina/Terra d’Orro, also in Amador, a winery with capacity over 100,000 cases. Nice enough wines—to be sure—but just not a solid fit with our wine shop model.

I decide to return to Renwood after reading a piece written by Mike Dunne, the Sacramento Bee’s legendary restaurant and wine critic, who marveled at the winery’s performance in the 2009 San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition. Renwood took home 13 medals, including gold for its 2005 Jack Rabbit Flat Zinfandel (Amador) and 2005 Grandpère Vineyard Zinfandel (Amador). Turns out Montevina/Terra d’Orro snared an impressive 10 medals, so go figure.

Learning that Renwood’s Grandpère Zinfandel won gold was no surprise, based on the consistent quality and intensity of the fruit from this storied, circa 1860s vineyard and from its progeny vines. It also reminded me of the controversy and intrigue behind the original vineyard’s ownership and use of the name “Grandpère .” The story, which many people would like to forget—on both sides of Steiner Rd.—was sensationalized in a San Francisco Chronicle piece in 2005 written by W. Blake Gray. I re-read the piece recently on SFgate.com, and it illustrated painfully how deeply passions can run among those in this industry, intense personalities who are driven to succeed.

I’m focused on the here and now, so I asked a distributor contact to try and arrange a tasting and tour for me with Renwood’s Winemaker David Crippen. Not only was the response to this request enthusiastic, I was asked if I had time to have lunch with Dave at the winery. I met Dave some years ago, and I remember him to be, well, a really nice guy, so I looked forward to hooking up with him again.

Rene Smerling and Dave Crippen of Renwood Winery share the spotlight with their wines, all of which I tasted during lunch.

Dave greeted me in a deserted Renwood tasting room early on Thursday afternoon.  (Customers were few and far between at all of the wineries I visited on the Thursday and Friday during my tour of Amador, but tasters were in abundance on Saturday).  I was pleasantly surprised when he let me know that Rene Smerling, a vice president of Renwood and wife of owner, Robert Smerling, would be joining us.

My, what a difference from my earlier experience, the details of which I am confident Mrs. Smerling—a most gracious host—was unaware.

Though he was absent, I surely felt the presence of another person, Renwood’s founder Robert Smerling, a Boston native and former Wall St. high flier and venture capitalist specializing in biotechnology.  A rabid and lifelong Red Sox fan, Smerling smiles down from a photo in the tasting room wearing a ball cap emblazoned with a stylized “B”.  From what I’ve read, he is a forceful entrepreneur who is not afraid to play hardball. . .including filing Chapter 11 bankruptcy last October on behalf of Renwood’s parent company in an effort to force a lender to come to the bargaining table.  The winery has not sought protection, according to the web  site, WineIndustryInsight, and during my tour of the facilities—including observing a bottling line running full bore—it appeared to be business as usual to me.

Robert Smerling, founder of Renwood Winery.

Smerling’s goal in establishing Renwood some 17 years ago was to position it as a world-class zinfandel producer and, according to the winery press kit, “merge the best of the old and new world viticulture practices, to preserve our heritage and protect the environment.”  It would seem Smerling has also merged his substantial financial and marketing acumen to amass a 400-acre estate with 200 acres in vines, and, at the same time, wrest control of the Grandpère  brand, easily the most valuable in among Amador’s cadre of about 40 wineries.

No question that the Renwood story makes great reading, but my principal interest is the wine, and I tasted more than 15 during lunch.  Though there were just three of us, Mrs. Smerling’s generous buffet of sandwiches, salads and desserts would have easily served a dozen guests.  We chatted at a table set up in the Heritage Room, reserved for private parties and a part of the spacious Renwood Hospitality Center.

Rene related the Renwood pro-forma story, and Dave shared his extensive background in winemaking.  He earned an MA from U.C. Davis in 1987 and worked first at Kendall Jackson, then moved on to Covey Run in Washington state for a 12-year stint before joining Renwood seven years ago.  As winemaker here, he has bonded with Amador’s signature variety, zinfandel, from which he makes a half dozen wines.

Dave, who commutes from Folsom, lets the vineyards do the talking in this very special terrior:  “The climate is just different here at 1,600 feet backing up to the Sierra.  I work with what I’ve got,” he explained, “and the Amador zin flavor profile is unique in the world.”  He said there is a lot going on with the juice he produces:  “holiday spice, cigar box, cooked fruit but not super jammy, blackberry, cinnamon, nutmeg and white pepper.”

With annual production pegged at 120,000 cases, this bottling line seldom stops running.

The Smerlings founded Renwood in 1993 and soon expanded the estate by purchasing the Santino winery.  The first year of production yielded 2,300 cases, but at its peak in 2005, production hit 150,000 cases. . .tapering to about 120,000 in 2009.  The 18 wines produced are sold in all 50 states and 16 countries, including brisk business in Japan.  The massive Chinese market offers potential for the future, according to Rene.

Because Renwood hand picks all its fruit, Dave positioned it has the “largest boutique winery in the world.”  He said, “We produce all of our wines in small lots, but we do it on a large scale.”  His benchmark is turning 800 to 900 estate grapes into wine, along with a similar tonnage purchased from other vineyards.

Renwood’s Red Label series of wines is its financial backbone, most priced at $11.95 per bottle but sell for $10 in the box stores.  This group of Sierra Foothills wines includes zinfandel, barbera, syrah, viognier and pinot grigio, all pleasant enough interpretations of the varieties at this price point.

The western-bar style tasting room at Renwood.

Its “Amador” or black label series is Renwood’s sweet spot, with a memorable barbera, a syrah and these zins:  OVZ, Fiddletown and Jack Rabbit Flat.  These wines are priced from $17.95 for the 2006 Syrah to $29.95 for the 2007 Jack Rabbit Zinfandel.  My favorite of the group was the 500-case 2006 Barbera, which took home gold medals from both the 2009 California State Fair and the 2009 San Francisco Wine Competition.

While Renwood is noted for its deft handling of zinfandel, its barbera has garnered the most recognition and awards in competitions, according to Winemaker Crippen.  In fact, it takes more than 22 single-spaced pages for the winery to list all of the awards its portfolio has earned since 2002.

At the end of the day, prodigious hardware not-with-standing, Renwood’s flagship vintages are its Grandpère and Grandmère Zinfandels, which it positions as “proprietary wines”.  At $39.95 and $34.95 respectively, these wines are pricey, but zinfandel aficionados step up with platinum cards in hand.  Oddly enough, though it has not scored as well as its partner, I preferred the Grandmère; I appreciated the full fruit flavor, subtle spice and rich, abundant finish.

The Grandpère fruit is sourced from a parcel planted behind the Renwood winery, not from the Original Grandpère vineyard across Steiner Rd.  This is an important distinction, so I’ll quote the winery’s web site:  “This 20 acres vineyard is home to the oldest clone of Zinfandel in America. Believed to be 130 years old, this unique clone produces one of the biggest, spiciest Zinfandels. This vineyard is planted on its own rootstock and is classically head pruned.”

The Grandmère fruit is, again from the web site, “. . . a blend of the finest Zinfandel vineyards that reside throughout the hillsides of Amador County’s gold country: Jack Rabbit Flat, and Crain-Sleeper Ranch. These vineyards provide us with fruit from ancient vines. We choose the name Grandmère® (or “Grandmother”) because fruit from these vineyards usually results in a wine that is consistently warm and friendly, gracefully mature and immediately inviting.”

These are small production wines.  Just 1,850 six packs of the ’06 Grandmère and 1,890 six packs of the ’06 Grandpère were produced.  Both come in at 15.5% alcohol, about average for foothills zins.

Rounding out the Renwood line up are a very unusual 2007 Amador Ice ($34.95 for 375ml), cool enough to coax a double gold from the Chronicle judges; a tasty 2008 Orange Muscat dessert wine ($16.95 for 375ml); and a 2004 Vintage Port ($34.95 for 750ml).

That’s a lot of wine.

The fact that Robert Smerling is a stogie lover is borne out by the fact that he offers two brands of cigars.  I don’t know if its Renwood and Apollonia cigars are proprietary blends, but I purchased three  robustos and enjoyed one sitting outside my Airstream the first evening in front of my portable fire pit.

After lunch, Dave and I toured the Renwood production facility, one that has an industrial feel due, I’m sure, to the sheer amount of wine produced.  He sent me on my way with a signed bottle of his 2006 Amador County Barbera, greedily consumed with grilled lamb at dinner in the Airstream.

I really didn’t know what to expect from my return to Renwood, but I went away with a new appreciation for the wines and the people who make it.  Both Rene and Dave were generous in the time they afforded me, and the wines were uniformly wonderful.  No doubt, the brand soon will appear on the racks at Carpe Vino.