Around this time last year, we got a lead on some organically farmed Tempranillo grapes. They were growing way up on Underwood Mountain and the farmer had been having trouble for a few years in a row finding a buyer.

Being that Underwood Mountain is, well, a mountain, the vineyard is super windy, fairly cold and pretty high elevation. Because of the wind and elevation, the Tempranillo consistently had problems getting fully ripe. Year in and year out, it was a battle to see if nature would provide enough sunshine and time to produce Tempranillo grapes that were ripe enough to make the classic, full bodied, Spanish style wine that everyone loves. But year in and year out, nature failed to do so. It was due to this lack of success that the farmer found himself, yet again, looking for a buyer for these problematic grapes. Basically, who was the next fool in line. In 2022, that ‘fool’ was Post Familiar. But we had a plan.

Like so much of what we’ve done with Post Familiar, we decided to look at the problem through a different lens. Maybe the problem wasn’t the Tempranillo itself, but the preconceived notions about what we all thought Tempranillo should be. What if, instead of waiting futilely for this Tempranillo to ripen enough to produce a full bodied steak wine, we embraced the inevitable lack of ripeness and leaned into it. Tempranillo is always gonna have an inherent juiciness to it - a fleshed out cornucopia of fruit flavors - even if it’s slightly underripe. But the great thing with slightly underripe fruit is that you get more acidity, thus more freshness. What if we used that acidity as the frame and made this more like a light bodied chuggable Gamay Noir? It could be a chillable, summer Tempranillo. We could release it in late Spring and it could be the perfect Summer picnic red. The kind of red that you can keep fully chilled in the fridge and use as a refresher while standing over a hot bbq. The kind of red that can be put in a cooler and gulped voraciously straight from the bottle while half submerged in the cool waters of the Washougal river. Oregon summer is pure magic and this could be a magical elixir for that magical season. Yes. Please.

It seemed like a great plan to us, and it took all of about 5 seconds for us to agree on the ideal winemaker to collaborate with: Michael from Cutter Cascadia. Last year, we purchased an orphaned barrel of Chardonnay from him and shared it with our wine club as an exclusive club only release. It was maybe our most popular wine of the year. But a barrel only holds so much liquid, so there wasn’t much to go around and it was sold out by the end of our wine club party at Upper Left (that was a good one wasn’t it?!) 

For our second year of working with Michael, we were gonna set out from the beginning with the idea of creating something more intentional. Tempranillo isn’t a grape that Michael is particularly interested in, but he is deeply interested in anything having to do with the Columbia Gorge. This experimental wine could present a fun opportunity for him to play with a grape that is outside of his wheelhouse but from the region he calls home. And whaddya know, he was making his wine that vintage in a winery on Underwood Mountain. Fate, right? Working with an unfamiliar grape from the region which he is currently one of the master interpreters seemed like a perfect fit.

Michael agreed, enthusiastically and we planned for a smooth harvest. A few weeks before we were set to pick our Tempranillo, we got a text from Michael:

‘‘Want to buy some organically farmed Riesling for Post Fam?” 

Michael explained that his Riesling had cropped super heavy and he had an extra ton of fruit that he didn’t need. He usually blends it with Chardonnay to make a white wine called ‘#1 Grandpa.’ But the extra Riesling would have thrown off the proportions of the blend. Thus, extra Riesling with no home. Those who know me, know that I’m a freak for Riesling. And those who know Post Familiar, know we never turn down a good opportunity for interesting fruit. Part of what made this Riesling particularly interesting was the place where it was grown. It came from a vineyard called Hillside in The Dalles, one of the most remote wine growing regions of Oregon. Ever been to the Dalles? It’s hot. And dry. You’d swear you’d left the pacific northwest altogether and landed smack in the middle of New Mexico (that Michael moved to Portland from New Mexico, might in some ways help explain his affinity for these high desert vineyards.) Basically, it’s not the kind of climate that makes sense AT ALL for Riesling. Riesling thrives in cooler climates (think Germany). Riesling does like the desert. But we couldn’t say no. We didn’t have a plan for the Riesling when we agreed to help take it off his hands. But it didn’t take us long to realize the irony of what we’d committed to. We had Riesling from a hot, arid desert that would be perfect for growing Tempranillo. We had Tempranillo grown on a cold windy mountain that would be perfect for growing Riesling. What do you do with two grapes grown in the wrong place? The answer was obvious, at least to us.

We were already setting out to make a Tempranillo that was light and fresh and could be chilled for summer. What better way to enhance the freshness than to blend in a white grape known for its laser beam like acidity. And honestly, who the hell has ever heard of a Tempranillo/Riesling blend? Isn’t this the kind of thing Post Familiar was born for?