Easton The Mountaineer 2023

In 1975, a young woman named Jane O'Riordan opened a fabric shop in Berkeley called Cottonfield, selling natural-fiber cloth and handmade buttons. Three years later, not far away, Bill Easton opened a wine shop called Solano Cellars, specializing in small artisan producers from around the world. When Bill expanded the shop, Jane became the chef at its 14-seat wine bar, changing the menu every week to match whatever Bill was pouring. That's how they met, and more or less how Easton Wines came to be: one part obsessive European wine travel, one part someone who could actually cook.

By the mid-1980s, they'd moved to Amador County's Shenandoah Valley, on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, and established two labels. Terre Rouge — "red earth," named for the vermilion granite and volcanic soils — showcased the Rhône varieties Bill had fallen for in France: Syrah, Grenache, Mourvèdre and Viognier, some from vineyards as high as 3,200 feet. Easton, his family name, went on everything else: old-vine Zinfandel, Barbera and Cabernet Sauvignon. Bill became one of the original Rhône Rangers, and in 2016 the organization honored him with its Lifetime Achievement Award — only the fourth ever awarded, following Randall Grahm, Robert Haas and Bob Lindquist. That's the company he keeps.

Barbera is where Bill's personal history runs even deeper. He was making wine from Amador's old Barbera vines in the early 1980s, alongside Scott Harvey, when almost nobody else in California took the grape seriously. He's been doing it longer than most of the people currently excited about it have been drinking wine.

Which brings me to The Mountaineer, a 50/50 blend of Zinfandel and Barbera inspired by the traditional blends of Piedmont, where Barbera has long played well with others. Zinfandel contributes muscle: dark fruit, warmth and brambly weight. Barbera counters with bright acidity and a lighter, livelier character, yielding a wine more balanced and interesting than either grape tends to be on its own. These Sierra Foothills vines grow on steep mountain slopes, making the wine's name particularly fitting, whether or not Bill ever explained the joke himself.

Give it a light chill rather than full cellar temperature and it opens up beautifully — full-bodied without feeling heavy, structured without sharp edges. This is a wine made for the dinner table, not some special occasion that never quite happens.

From a wine shop and a fabric shop turned catering business to a winery devoted to overlooked grape varieties, Bill and Jane have spent decades doing things their own way. That's the philosophy behind this bottle, and you can taste every bit of the stubbornness that got it here.

— Ben