In the spirit of transparency, you should know that I, personally, am not tired of orange wine. In fact, I’ll probably enjoy a splash of it after writing this. But in recent chatter with fellow wine folk (sommeliers, wine journalists, so on), it’s become clear that a fatigue toward skin-fermented styles is sprouting in cities like Paris, New York City, and Los Angeles. Speculating why anything happens in the wine industry these days seems like a futile undertaking, but if I had to guess, it might be a couple of things.
First, the proliferation of natural wine and its evangelical cadre of drinkers has led to the unflattering perception of orange wine as merely a trend. And second, it’s not uncommon to burn out on a style of wine (I think we’ve all experienced this with rosé at some point in our lives), and perhaps some palates are experiencing this kind of lethargy with orange wine.
I could get on my soapbox about why this approach to winemaking—fermenting white grapes with their skins left on—produces wines that are nuanced enough to drink all year round. I could also dwell on the fact it is literally the most ancient form of crafting wine, not a passing trend. But alas, if your taste buds simply yearn for a change of pace, the styles below still offer the texture and complexity found in the best amber wines around the world.
Alsatian Riesling
When you love wine, meeting someone who’s hyper-specific tastes sync up with your own feels kismet. These were my sentiments upon meeting Claire King, the sommelier at Nimmo Bay (a wilderness lodge on the coast of British Columbia). I mentioned to her at dinner one night that I loved Riesling from Alsace. So did she. The very next day, Claire whipped up an all-Riesling tasting in the forest beside the water’s edge. As an homage to our setting, she poured Riesling exclusively from local producers such as Terravista and Pamplemousse Jus (great name). Canada’s wine import and export laws are strict and complex, though, so most of these wines stay inside the country. (All the more reason for you to go to Nimmo Bay.)
But back to Riesling from Alsace. Unlike its popular neighbor, Germany, where Rieslings span a wide range of sweetness and are typically lighter-bodied with pure, delicate fruit notes, Alsatian Rieslings are usually dry, with a medium to full body and a profile that’s often described as having minerality and giving notes of gunflint and white flowers. A little savory, a little herbal. “With the turn of the seasons, I look forward to drinking whites that have body and texture, and Alsatian Rieslings are my favorite for this,” Claire explains.
Dry Sherry
Half of the reason I love orange wine so much is that it’s often the medium through which I discover new grape varieties, agricultural techniques, and approaches to making wine. As it happens, Sherry ticks all of those boxes. On the first day of my visit to Jerez a few years ago (where Sherry is made exclusively), the oppressive heat during my first outdoor lunch had me longing for an ice-cold glass of, I don’t know, anything but fortified wine. Nevertheless, a glass of Fino Sherry arrived at my table, and I’ve never been the same since. Dry as a bone, saline, and giving notes of almonds, herbs, bread, and citrus, it was precisely what I needed.
“I think that Sherry is such an underrated product in North America,” Claire says (of course she loves Sherry, too), adding: “There is such a variety of styles and flavor profiles.” Indeed. While Sherry is often associated with grandmas who have a penchant for cloyingly sweet sips, the reality is, most of the best Sherry is dry—including Fino, Manzanilla, Amontillado, Oloroso, and Palo Cortado. All of these expressions are distinct and thrilling to introduce to an orange-wine-lover’s palate. (My recommendation is to find a bar with a robust Sherry menu and let them walk you through each.)
Dining and Cooking