Given the vast array of variables, it’s easy to understand the consternation of VSB. That’s why eventually, when the idea of orange wines becomes more widely known, it pays to refine the exploration.
The skin-contact wines of the country of Georgia, for example, which are the expression of an age-old culture, have little in common with their counterparts in, say, Northern California, where the idea may come from a trip abroad or a group text.
I enjoyed all three of these wines. Made entirely from vernaccia, the Montenidol was a kind of introductory example, closest to a conventional white wine, with just a hint of color. But it did have discernible, albeit soft, tannins felt in its fine sandpaper-like texture. It tasted to me like dried flowers and orange peel.
The COS is made from grecanico, as garganega, the grape of Soave, is known in Sicily. I found it extremely fresh and energetic, floral and almost meadow-like in its airy scent. Compared to the Montenidol, it was a lot more tannic.
So did the amber-colored Ruscum, a blend of four grapes: Trebbiano, Malvasia, Verdicchio and Grechetto. It was spicy, spicy and peppery, with aromas of cloves and citrus zest. It seemed less fresh but just as tasty.
The Ruscum is also produced in a monastery by Cistercian nuns, who, in addition to vineyards, also have orchards and gardens, which they cultivate organically. They also sell products such as jams, beer and chocolates.
I would say the reception for these wines was mixed. Some people, like Peter of Philadelphia, didn’t think the Montenidoli and COS were all that different from conventional white wines. Peter also tried an orange wine from Georgia, a Tevza Goruli Mtsvane, which spends about five months in contact with the skins in qvevri, the traditional Georgian amphora-like vessel made from clay and buried in the earth. He found it much more unusual and engaging than the other two.