I have known Leon Santoro, the winemaker, for the better part of 20 years. I met him shortly after he arrived at what was then called Thomas Jaeger Vineyards, a small winery located north of San Diego near the Wild Animal Park.
This seemed such a strange place for Santoro to land. He had been owner and winemaker at Quail Ridge in the Napa Valley, when Quail Ridge was a new, ambitious winery project and not just a price-sensitive supermarket brand, as it is now.
Before that he had made the wines at Warren Winiarski’s Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars, and remains close to Winiarski to this day. And before that he worked with Mike Martini at Louis M. Martini, another Napa Valley icon.
So Santoro had tasted life in the fast lane of California wine. Thomas Jaeger was different. The tasting room was little more than a metal shed with a couple of wine barrels standing on end. It had once been the San Pasqual Winery (the winery sits in the San Pasqual Valley) and very few wine enthusiasts had singled it out for its great potential.
Santoro, however, had an idea and a plan. This area of Southern California reminded him of his native Italy. Santoro was born and raised in Abruzzi, on the Adriatic side of the Italian boot. The San Pasqual Valley brought back memories of southern Italy and the Mediterranean climate of his youth. It occurred to Santoro that Mediterranean grape varieties might thrive in such a place.
He got busy planting Sangiovese, Syrah and Viognier, grapes that were relatively new on the California landscape. Now, if you’ve tasted much California Sangiovese you might be thinking ‘What an idiot!’
There is little about California Sangiovese that resembles good Chianti, which is made largely from the same grape variety, or, heaven forbid, a Brunello. A few stand out, but most of them are bland and wimpy, unworthy of the comparison.
Then there is the Sangiovese of Leon Santoro, whose winery became Orfila Vineyards after being sold shortly after his arrival. I mention this because the Orfila Sangiovese is a remarkably good wine from a grape variety that has not achieved anywhere near the success it enjoys in Tuscany.
The loudest complaint is that California Sangiovese doesn’t taste anything like the real thing. Orfila Sangiovese is different. In fact, I would argue it is among the finest Sangiovese made on these shores, and has been for a long time. One vintage even won a Platinum award at the Critics Challenge International Wine Competition, a noteworthy accomplishment considering it was being tasted alongside several outstanding examples of Chianti and Brunello.
That was several years ago, and there is a new vintage making the rounds. I drank the 2005 Orfila Sangiovese ($22) a few days ago and marveled at its consistency over recent vintages. At the same time I lamented the fact that so few people know about this wine, and that among those who know still fewer appreciate it.
Blindfolded, I suspect most avid consumers of Italian wine would guess it was a Brunello, because it has structure and depth only found in the top riservas of Chianti Classico. It has firm acidity – you’re first clue that it must be Italian – and dusty tannins, beautifully integrated with rich, layered black cherry fruit and spice.
Yet this is a wine that does not always impress at first taste. It’s tight and brooding. Almost tart. Let it breathe, decant it, serve it with food and watch it come alive. This is so Italian!
Of course, the peril of enjoying this wine is that it is almost unobtainable. Tourists visiting the Wild Animal Park stop at the winery and snap up most of it. Orfila does not have a national distributor. It’s even difficult to find in San Diego despite a growing audience for fine wine and an influx of new wine bars and restaurants that go to the trouble to employ a sommelier.
Who could imagine that great wine might be made halfway between the Pacific Ocean and the Anza-Borrego desert? Well, Leon Santoro for one. And me, for another.
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