Grenache Gris - Cotes Catalanes, France & Mendocino, California, USA

I don't know why, but it turns out that some grapes are more genetically unstable than others.  Pinot is perhaps the most famous example as most wine drinkers have enjoyed Pinots Noir, Blanc and Gris at some point in their wine drinking careers and are aware that each of them is just a berry color mutation from the same plant (interestingly, any one of the berry colors is capable of mutating into any of the others, meaning that the Gris vine can mutate into Noir or Blanc while the Blanc vine can mutate into Gris or Noir, etc.).  Pinot isn't the only grape that can perform this little color-changing trick, but it is probably the only one where all three of its color variations have gone on to become world class grapes in their own right.  Grape "families" like Terret and Traminer (aka Savagnin) are also examples of vines that are prone to mutation, but they certainly are less well known than the Pinot group.

The Grenache vine is also genetically unstable and prone to various mutations, though the members of its mutated family tree aren't quite as well known as Pinot's.  We've taken a look at the white-berried member of the family, Grenache Blanc, here before.  Grenache Blanc is fairly widely planted, but it is generally used as a blending grape and is rarely seen in varietal form.  Grenache Gris is the pink-berried form of Grenache, and it is much more difficult to come by.  Pierre Galet, in his A Practical Ampelography, tells us that in 1968, Grenache Noir was planted on about 130,000 acres in France, Grenache Blanc was planted on about 23,000 acres while Grenache Gris was planted on only about 9,000 acres.  I'm not sure what more recent planting statistics would look like, but I'd be surprised if Grenache Gris had gained any significant ground in the past fifty years.  It is also grown to a limited extent in Spain, where it is known as Garnacha Roja or Garnacha Dorada.

As with the Pinot grapes, whether or not one considers the different colored forms of the grapes as separate varieties is somewhat contentious.  Pretty much all wine drinkers regard them as separate varieties since the wines made from each are so clearly different from one another.  The regulatory bodies of different European countries also regard each differently colored berry form as a distinct variety and limit which of them can be grown in certain areas.  Most botanists and plant geneticists, though, regard them as a single variety since they are virtually genetically identical and cannot be differentiated by most modern DNA techniques.  The scientific term is a "sport," which is used to describe a part of a plant that looks different from the rest of the plant.  When the initial mutation happens on a given vine, the bunch that has pink grapes instead of red or white grapes is a sport, and the growers then make a cutting from that portion of the vine and plant that cutting in the hopes that the new vine will produce all or mostly pink grapes.

The issue is really what kind of standard we want to use to determine what is or is not a grape variety.  From a botanist's or a plant geneticist's point of view, the color of the grapes is pretty much irrelevant.  Think about a flowering plant that may have red and white flowers on it.  The actual color of the flowers doesn't matter and isn't a determining factor in the identity of the plant.  Some plants just produce flowers that are different colors and some plants produce grapes that are different colors.  The difference is that grapes are then used to make wine and the color of the grapes matters for the production of wine in a way that the color of a flower really doesn't.  From a purely biological perspective, then, the color of the grapes is irrelevant to determining the identity of a given vine, but from a utilitarian perspective, it matters a lot.  Grenache Noir and Grenache Gris are the same plant to a scientist, but they're very different to a winemaker and to a consumer and this is definitely sufficient grounds to consider them as different varieties.

The question becomes a bit more difficult when you look at the "hairy" members of each family.  Pinot Meunier is actually a chimeric mutation of Pinot Noir where there is a kind of downy hair on the leaves of the plant.  Grenache has its own hairy mutation known as Garnacha Peluda or Lledoner Pelut, which also has little white hairs on the undersides of its leaves.  For these plants, the mutation that leads to the difference in the way the vines look is located not only the berries but on the leaves.  It is difficult to make a case for considering Garnacha Peluda as a separate grape variety since wines made from it and from Grenache Noir would, presumably, be essentially the same.  Garnacha Peluda is currently listed as a separate variety in the VIVC, but it would probably make more sense to regard it as a clone of Grenache Noir rather than a separate variety.

Like its counterpart Pinot Gris, most of the wine made from Grenache Gris grapes is white.  I was able to find a bottle of the 2009 Domaine des 3 Vallees Grenache Gris, which is made in this style, for about $11.  This wine is from the Cotes Catalanes region, which is a tiny little area in southwestern France with Spain to its west and the Mediterranean to its south (map).  In the glass the wine was a medium golden lemon color.  The nose was moderately aromatic with some white pear fruit and a vegetal herbaceousness that reminded me of braised celery.  On the palate the wine was on the fuller side of medium with fairly low acidity.  There were broad, creamy pear and ripe apple fruits with some grassy herbaceousness and something like stewed vegetables.  The wine was very pithy and bitter and became more and more difficult to drink.  Even at $11, this is a hard wine to recommend as at its best it tasted of bland, washed out white fruits, but the lingering and persistent bitterness was what ultimately turned me off of this wine.

The second wine that I tried was actually a rosé wine from the Donkey and Goat winery of Mendocino, California, which I picked up from my friends at the Spirited Gourmet for about $20.    This wine is made from vines that are over 95 years old.  The grapes are stomped to crush them and the juice was left in contact with the skins for 33 hours before being pressed off.  For comparison's sake, the Petit Verdot rosé I tried in this post was on the skins for only 8 hours.  In the glass the wine was a pale pink color with orange tints.  The nose was fairly intense with fresh cut strawberry, rainier cherry and crushed raspberry fruits.  On the palate the wine was medium bodied with medium acidity.  There were flavors of creamy strawberry, watermelon, light red cherry and pear fruits.  The style of the wine was somewhere between a white wine and a rosé.  It was light, delicate and very delicious.  The wine is a little expensive for a rosé, but it's definitely worth it.  It would be good with a variety of foods but I actually enjoyed this wine most when I was drinking it on its own.

Susumaniello - Puglia, Italy

Calling something a "blending grape" is usually a nice way to say that it has some good qualities, but just isn't good enough to be made into a wine on its own.  So-called blending grapes are usually prized because they bring one or two nice things, like color or acidity, to the table, but they tend to be seriously lacking in some other oenological aspect.  Because of this, they typically are either used sparingly to add a little something to an otherwise mostly varietal wine, or in combination with other grapes whose collective shortcomings are overcome through the blending process.  These grapes are supporting actors at their very best and mere extras at their worst and are only rarely given the opportunity to shine on their own.

In the past few years, a few blending grapes, like Malbec and Carmenere, have actually achieved relative stardom as they've been planted in new locations that have allowed them to demonstrate qualities that many didn't know they possessed.  A new climate and a new terroir has shown that these are serious grapes that are capable of making serious wines.  It's much rarer, though, for a grape to rise from blending grape to star status in its native land, and while it may be a bit premature to call Susumaniello a star just yet, it certainly wouldn't surprise me if it rose to that level in the very near future.

Susumaniello is currently grown only in Puglia, the spike heel of the Italian boot, in the southeastern part of that country.  Some sources indicate that Susumaniello is an ancient grape, but I'm not sure what the evidence is for that claim.  The name Susumaniello means something like "the load of the donkey," because it is a prolific yielder as a young vine.  The grapes from these prolific harvests tend to make unappetizing, boring wines, but after about 10 years, the yields fall significantly and careful growers can make dense, full-bodied wines from the grapes.  It has historically partnered with Negroamaro and Malvasia Nera in the red and rosato wines of Brindisi, and has been prized for its ability to add color, acidity and alcohol to the final blend.  Jeremy over at Do Bianchi notes that as recently as 2006, the editors of the landmark Vitigni d'Italia (Grape Varieties of Italy) said of Susumaniello that it was never vinified on its own and was used strictly to produce vino da taglio, or a heavy, densely colored wine used to beef up thinner, less colorful bulk wines.  Over the past 10 years or so, though, many producers have been experimenting with varietal Susumaniello wines and the results have been very promising.

Many sources indicate that the grape likely came to Puglia from the Dalmatian coast of Croatia, just across the Adriatic Sea.  I'm not sure what the source of this bit of information is, but I'm not sure that it's right.  In 2008, a team of Italian scientists conducted a study to see whether they could link Sangiovese and Garganega to a host of other grape varieties in Italy.  They found that these two grapes had parent-offspring relationships to several different Italian grapes, but most importantly for our purposes, they found that Sangiovese had a parent-offspring relationship to Susumaniello.  The scientists believed that Susumaniello was likely an offspring of Sangiovese, though they were unable to determine the second parent.  It seems unlikely to me that the grape would be from Croatia with Sangiovese as one of the parents, so it's probably the case that Susumaniello is actually Italian, and given that it really isn't grown outside of a few small areas in Puglia, it's probably a safe bet that it's from somewhere around the Brindisi area.

I was able to pick up a bottle of the 2006 Cantine due Palme "Serra" Susumaniello from my friends at the Wine Bottega for about $23.  In the glass the wine was a deep, inky, purple-black color with a very narrow purple rim.  The nose was fairly intense with smoky blackerry, charred meat, cedar wood and bitter chocolate aromas.  On the palate the wine was on the fuller side of medium with fairly high acid and low tannins.  There were flavors of tart red cherry, black cherry, blackberry and plum fruit along with some smoky chocolate.  The wine actually had a kind of tart, berryish quality to it and there was some zippy dried cranberry and cherry pit flavors as well.  The wine really walked a  line between bright berry fruits and dark, smoky earthy notes and did it pretty well.  If this wine is any indication of the quality of Susuamniello in general, I think it would be a shame to relegate this grape to mere blending status, as this wine was rich, balanced and very tasty.  I'm on the Susumaniello bandwagon now and hope to see it take its place among the other star red grapes of southern Italy.

Centesimino/Savignôn Rosso - Ravenna, Emilia-Romagna, Italy

I know that this probably isn't news to any of you, but there are a lot of different grapes grown in Italy.  It is estimated that there are over 2,000 grape varieties that are indigenous to Italy, though only (only!) about 400 of them are authorized for use by Italy's Ministry of Agriculture.  The top 20 most planted grapes in Italy  represent only about 5% of the total varieties approved for use (and only about 1% of the total varieties estimated to exist within the country), but they account for almost 60% of the total plantings, meaning that the hundreds of other grapes in Italy, which represent about 95% of the approved varieties (or 99% of the total estimated varieties), account for only 40% of the nation's total plantings.  It's not quite as dramatic (or as important) as the inequities that prompted the Occupy movements of 2011, but there's a comparison to be made there, if you so desire.  This is a wine blog, though, and not a political or economic blog, so let's leave that stuff behind and concentrate on the Centesimino grape, which is what we all came here for today.

Centesimino is a relative newcomer to the Italian wine scene, as references to the grape can only be traced back to the mid 20th Century, with some sources indicating that the grape was being cultivated as early as World War II and others saying that it really started around the 1950's.  The story goes that an Italian fellow by the name of Pietro Pianori discovered the vine growing in a garden in the center of the town of Faenza in the Ravenna province in the eastern part of Emilia-Romagna.  This garden had high walls surrounding it that supposedly prevented the phylloxera louse from getting inside, and this vine was able to survive the epidemic.  Pianori took a cutting from the plant and began to cultivate it on his estate.  When the grape grew well, a few other farmers took cuttings from Pianori's vines to plant themselves, and today all of the Cenetesimino vines in existence can be traced back to Pianori's "Terbato" estate.  Pianori was apparently something of a miser and one of his nicknames was Centesimino, which means something like "little cent," but which is idiomatically used to denote one who is excessively careful with their money.

The grape is also sometimes known as Savignôn Rosso or Sauvignon Rosso, though it has no relation whatsoever to either Cabernet Sauvignon or Sauvignon Blanc.  The origin of this name is a little unclear.  One story has it that a man named Paolo Visani commissioned a local art publisher to create specialized labels for Centesimino wines that he was trying to sell.  Visani, for whatever reason, put "SAUVIGNON – vino rosso di Faenza" on the label, though whether this was a stroke of his own imagination or merely a reflection of what the locals were calling the grape is difficult to say.  The latter explanation is probably more likely, as there's very little chance that Pianori was calling the vine Centesimino, so he may have called it Sauvignon Rosso because of the wild condition that he discovered the vine in.  Whatever the story was, there was no way that the grape would receive any official recognition with a name so similar to Cabernet Sauvignon, so the official name of the grape became Centesimino in honor of Pietro Pianori, the man who saved it from oblivion.

Centesimino was included in the Italian national catalog of vine varieties in 2004 after a round of testing to determine whether it was actually different from other grapes in cultivation in Italy (source, in Italian, for this entire paragraph is here).  It was said to resemble Alicante Bouschet and Grenache vines and had to be conclusively differentiated from them before being allowed to enter the registry.  The first round of tests (using an older DNA testing method known as isoenzyme analysis) showed that it was definitely distinct from Grenache and Alicante Bouschet, but the tests showed similarities between it and seven other grapes (interestingly, among those seven were Cesanese and Ciliegiolo).  The second round of tests was more conclusive and Centesimino was shown to be distinct from the other grapes in the national catalog.  Centesimino became official on May 7, 2004.  I do not believe that it is allowed in any DOC wines at the moment, but it is permitted in the Ravenna IGT.  There are a total of 8 producers who grow the vine today and all of them are located around the town of Faenza where the grape was discovered.

The wine that I was able to try was the 2009 Poderi Morini "Savignone," which I picked up from my friends at the Wine Bottega for about $20.  Morini's website explains why they elect to call the wine Savignone rather than Centesimino:

Dedicated to the great Gino Veronelli, a well-known Italian wine expert who believed that the name “Centesimino” belittled this great native variety and preferred to call it Savignone, the Italian translation for “Savignôn”, its name in the local dialect.

Poderi makes a few different Cenetesimino based wines.  Their "Traicolli" bottling is aged in wood for a year before being bottled, while this wine is stainless steel tank fermented only prior to bottling.  They also make a sparkling wine from Centesimino grapes that they call "morosé" which comes from some of the younger vines on the property (and which I would love to get my hands on).  Production is fairly small for all of these wines with about 5,000 bottles of the Traicolli and 6,000 bottles of the Savignone and morosé made each year.

In the glass this wine was a fairly deep purple ruby color.  The nose was fairly intense with black cherry, black plum and dusky raspberry fruit with something pleasantly funky about it.  On the palate the wine was on the fuller side of medium with medium acidity and light tannins.  There were flavors of black cherry and blackberry fruit along with some charcoal, licorice and a lot of black plum.  The stainless steel treatment for this wine really allowed the fruit to shine through, and the fruits in this wine are pure, intense and gorgeous.  I was so taken with this wine that I chose it as one of the two bottles I brought to the BYOB dinner at Taste Camp Virginia this past year.  I don't know if the other attendees were as enamored with it as I was, but I can definitely say that this is one of the better wines that I've tried in the course of doing this blog.  This grape is now on my "buy on sight" list, though I don't have high hopes for finding many more wines made from it.  If you run across it, definitely pick it up and give it a shot.

Romorantin - Cour-Cheverny, Loire Valley, France

One of the landmark papers in the young science of genetic grape analysis was published in the journal Science in 1999 and was titled "Historical genetics: the parentage of Chardonnay, Gamay and other wine grapes of northeastern France."  In that paper, the researchers discovered that two grapes, Pinot Noir and Gouais Blanc (also known as Heunisch Weiss), were the parents of 16 other French grapes.  About half of the discovered offspring are of limited importance for wine, but the other half include such well-known grapes as Chardonnay, Gamay Noir, Auxerrois, Aligoté, Melon (sometimes known as Muscadet), Sacy (sometimes known as Tressallier) and Romorantin.

This paper was extraordinary for several reasons.  The most important finding was the discovery of the parentage of Chardonnay and Gamay, which are obviously two of the most important vines in the world.  Another reason was just the sheer number of grapes whose pedigree was confirmed in the study.  Pedigree analysis is a difficult process (see my post on Ciliegiolo for in-depth info on it), and most studies are only able to confirm the pedigree for single grapes.  Finding a pair of grapes with so many offspring was very unusual and to able to link them to so many important grapes that are still in use today was really amazing.  Finally, many were surprised that Gouais Blanc, a grape which was not known for its quality and which had disappeared completely from French vineyards at the time of the study (existing only in the holding collection of a research institute), could be the progenitor of so many fine grapes.  It was widely thought that great grapes couldn't come from common stock, but this study (and later ones which showed that Gouais Blanc is also a parent to Riesling, among many others) showed that this simply wasn't the case.

Romorantin is listed in the body of the study as an offspring of Pinot and Gouais Blanc, but that's not entirely accurate.  In a footnote, the authors indicate that Romorantin actually didn't match Pinot at one particular site, which is usually enough to indicate that there is no parent match.  There's a red-fleshed mutation of Pinot Noir called "Pinot fin teinturier," though, that, interestingly, also doesn't match Pinot Noir at the same site.  For the most part, berry color and flesh color mutations are indistinguishable from one another in microsatellite DNA tests, so Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris and Pinot Blanc would all look genetically identical using this method, but Pinot fin teinturier has this one microsatellite site (VVS2 for those interested) that's different from the other Pinots.  It turns out that if you run the parentage analysis with Pinot fin teinturier and Gouais Blanc, you get a perfect match for the parents of Romorantin.  For all intents and purposes, though, Romorantin's parents are Pinot and Gouais Blanc and it is a full sibling of Chardonnay and all of the other grapes mentioned in the study.

Romorantin is grown exclusively in the eastern part of the Loire Valley.  There is a legend that it was introduced to this area by King Francis I, who was from the nearby Romorantin commune, in the early 16th Century.  It was once widely grown throughout the Loire Valley, but today is limited to the Cheverny AOC. Chevrny consists of about 450 hectares of various vines, but there is a small region in the southeastern corner of the appellation that consists of about 50 hectares of Romorantin.  Wines from this area have their own AOC called Cour-Chevrny, and they must be made from 100% Romorantin grapes.

I was able to pick up a bottle of the 2008 Domaine de Montcy Cour-Chevrny from my friends at the Wine Bottega for about $25.  In the glass the wine was a medium lemon gold color.  The nose was reserved with subtle pear, lemon peel and pineapple aromas.  On the palate the wine was on the lighter side of medium with fairly high acidity.  There were flavors of lemony citrus, tropical pineapple and pear fruits along with something slightly sweaty and funky which was really only present for a few minutes after pulling the cork before it blew off.  The wine finished with a strong, steely minerality.  The wine was crisp, bright and refreshing which is mostly what I look for in a Loire Valley white. It is a bit on the expensive side for what you're getting, but is interesting and unusual enough to justify the expense.  With enough imagination, you can kind of see how this might be related to Muscadet or to Chardonnay (of the unoaked variety) and fans of those kinds of wines will probably find a lot to like here.

CITATIONS

Bowers, J., Boursiquot, J.M., This, P., Chu, K., Johansson, H., & Meredith, C.  1999.  Historical genetics: the parentage of chardonnay, gamay, and other wine grapes of northeastern France.  Science: 285. pp 1562 - 1565.

Albillo - Castilla Y León, Spain

Over the weekend I received an email from the American Journal of Enology and Viticulture (which I subscribe to) letting me know that they had just put up a few new ePress articles (which, I think, are in-press articles slated for an upcoming print run of the journal, but which haven't been officially published yet).  As I was scanning through the articles, one entitled "Genetic origin of the grapevine Tempranillo" caught my eye (citation 1 below).  The parentages of a lot of really important wine grape have been discovered in the past 10-15 years, but this was the first paper that I could remember seeing regarding Tempranillo, whose full parentage has remained essentially a mystery until now.  A Spanish research team did discover a parent-offspring relationship between Tempranillo and Albillo Mayor in 2010 (citation 2 below), but this most recent paper confirms that Tempranillo is the offspring of Albillo Mayor and Benedicto.

It just so happened that I had a tasting note that was awaiting the Fringe Wine treatment from a wine featuring the Albillo grape, so I started to do a little bit more research.  Friends, Albillo is a difficult grape to get a handle on.  The name Albillo first pops up in the literature in a 15th Century agricultural work by Alonso de Herrera, and it looks like since then, the name has been given to many different grapes which had some physical characteristics in common (small, white aromatic berries that ripen early), but which weren't necessarily related to one another.  By the 19th Century, some authorities were attempting to reduce the confusion by appending place names to some Albillo cultivars to indicate their geographical origin and to differentiate them from other Albillo varieties.  This didn't really work, and so the confusion persists to some extent today.

There are several grapes that have Albillo as a part of their name or as an accepted synonym, but officially there is no grape known simply as Albillo.  Kind of.  As far as I can tell, the Spanish government actually lumps all the various Albillo grapes together under the single name "Albillo," so planting statistics actually reflect the totals of all Albillo grapes.  All grapes called Albillo are not the same, though, as the VIVC recognizes at least five genetically distinct Albillo grapes (though there are possibly more than that).  Albillo Real seems to be the most common form of Albillo, as most of the VIVC's synonyms refer back to this grape.  Wikipedia insists that only Albillo Real is ever referred to simply as Albillo, though there is no source given for that bit of information.  My guess is that the author of the Wikipedia post is saying this because only Albillo Real has just "Albillo" as an accepted synonym, which may be true, but isn't sufficient to make that particular claim.  Chasselas actually has "Albillo" as a synonym as well, though Chasselas and Albillo Real are not the same grape.

Albillo Mayor seems to be much less common as the paper proclaiming its parental link to Tempranillo indicates that it covers 773 hectares of land in Castilla Y León, which accounts for only .08% of the total vineyard area of Spain.  I'm not sure where that statistic comes from since, as noted above, I'm not aware of any statistics that track the various individual Albillo varieties and this particular bit of information is not given a citation in the article text.  The other Albillos (Albillo Krimskii, Albillo de Albacete and Albillo Real de Granada) appear to be much less important, as there is virtually no information about them online.  Another paper in the email from the American Journal of Enology and Viticulture (citation 3 below) identifies another Albillo cultivar known as Albillo Dorado, about which there is likewise not much information other than that it is definitely genetically distinct from Albillo Real and should be considered as a separate cultivar.

Albillo Real and Albillo Mayor are likewise genetically distinct varieties (citation 2 below), but if your bottle of wine only indicates "Albillo," how are you to know which one you have?  The only real clue that  I can find has to do with geography.  Many sources (the Oxford Companion to Wine, citation 1 and citation 3 below among them) indicate that Albillo Mayor is more widely cultivated in the Castilla Y León region of Spain while Albillo Real is cultivated in the Castilla-La Mancha region just south of Castilla Y León.  The wine that I picked up was labeled as Castilla Y León and the winery is the in the Ribera del Duero, which is given special mention in the OCW for their plantings of Albillo Mayor.  On the other hand, Wikipedia indicates that Albillo Real is planted primarily in the Ribera del Duero as well, though I suspect that the Wikipedia page isn't to be trusted on this matter.  I mentioned above that the official planting statistics lump all of the Albillo's together in a single category called "Albillo," and since the author of the Wikipedia page believes that any reference to just "Albillo" must refer to Albillo Real, you can see how there might be cause for misunderstanding.

All that said, I'm still not 100% sure which Albillo I might have tried.  The odds seem to suggest that Albillo Real is the most likely candidate, but the winery's location might indicate otherwise.  I'd certainly like to believe that this is Albillo Mayor because of the new-found link to Tempranillo, but I just don't feel like the evidence is substantial enough to say with any certainty.  In the meantime I guess all I can do is just claim that this wine is from Albillo and leave it at that.

The wine that I was able to try was the 2008 Valduero "Yunquera" Albillo from the Castilla Y León region of Spain.  I picked this bottle up from my friends at Curtis Liquors for about $18.  In the glass this wine was a fairly light silvery lemon color.  The nose was intense and unusual with pear, banana, asparagus and mint aromas.  On the palate the wine was on the fuller side of medium with fairly high acidity.  There were flavors of tart, fresh lemons and green apples, white pear, cooked asparagus and something slightly leesy on the back end.  This wine was searingly tart with lemon really dominating the flavor profile.  The sour flavor made it difficult to drink on its own, but it would stand up to dishes like chicken piccata fairly well I think.  Overall, I thought it was very interesting, whatever the actual grape variety turns out to be, and it's definitely worth a look for fans of bright, citrusy, high acid white wines.



CITATIONS

1) Ibanez, J., Munoz-Organero, G., Zinelabidine, L.H., de Andres, M.T., Cabello, F., & Martinez-Zapater, J.M.  2012 . Genetic origin of the grapevine cultivar tempranillo.  American Journal of Enology and Viticulture.  In Press.

2) Santana, J.C., Heuertz, M., Arranz, C., Rubio, J.A., Martinez-Zapater, J.M., & Hidalgo, E.  2010.  Genetic structure, origins and relationships of grapevine cultivars from the Castilian plateau of Spain.  American Journal of Enology and Viticulture.  61:2 pp 214-224.

3) Gonzalez, M.F., Gascuena, J.M., Morales, A.M. 2012.  Identification and relationships of grapevine cultivars authorized for cultivation in Castilla La Mancha (Spain).  American Journal of Enology and Viticulture.  In Press.