It all started with Radikon. That would be tempting to say. But truthfully, while it was quite likely that Radikon constituted my first experience with skin-contact wine (“orange wine”) it did not occur to me at the time that Radikon’s wines were part of a tradition of wine making that rather “predictably” produces the properties in a wine that I enjoy so much. I liked it a lot but did consider it an eccentric natural wine, not part of a “tradition.”

In fact, I had made an earlier attempt to characterize wines that should appeal to lambic drinkers (“funky”, “natural”, etc.) but my attempt seemed contrived and retrospectively I feel that only the oxidized, full, whites of the Jura region were a good, first approximation. I thoroughly enjoyed many natural wines but never experienced that transformative, life-changing experience with a particular style of wine making that initially drew me so strongly to lambics – despite finding myself increasingly drinking more wine.

There was the occasional skin-contact white experimental wine from Oregon but the first time it really hit me that orange wines were the kind of wines that I had been looking for was in 2016 at an organic restaurant in Berlin near Christiane F’s Bahnhof Zoo where the wine-by-the-glass list offered a skin-contact Pinot Gris (“Graupert”) by the Austrian winemaker Meinklang. I was so blown away by the wine that I returned to the restaurant a few days later to have it again. Here was everything I was looking for in a wine: tart, funky, complex, and so drinkable. I made a firm mental note about “orange wines”…

In 2017 the Portland Fermentation Society attended a natural wine event at Liner and Elsen where my favorite wine turned out to be an orange wine named “La Petite Robe” by Jean-Yves Peron from France. I purchased a bottle. Things started to solidify. I started deliberately looking for orange wines on menus now (and tried to seek out the places that served them).

In June 2017, after an uninspiring day-trip to Florence (“the open air museum”) I returned to Bologna, collected my courage, and found myself a table at the local natural wine bar Olindo Faccioli, expecting a fair amount of language challenges. This did not happen and my inquiry about an orange wine by the glass was met with educated enthusiasm and  I was swiftly presented with one of my best wine experiences to date: Denavolo Dinavolino. There was more than a whiff of brettanomyces in this wine, yes, but it complemented its tart profile beautifully! I re-ordered this wine by the glass and at some point the server just handed me the remainder of the bottle….

I think this orange wine experience in Bologna, facing the gorgeous red and orange buildings, triggered the same kind of “eureka” moment that I had experienced in the past with the spontaneously fermented lambics. Which may not be too surprising because I do not think it is contrived to see the shared properties between lambics, the oxidized Jura wines, and the ancient skin-contact wines.

Upon returning to the US I made sampling many more skin-contact whites an important priority (Coenobium Rusticum, Gravner, etc.). And after an almost five year hiatus, found my passion to write about spontaneous fermentation rejuvenated and have decided to make skin contact wines an important part of this blog. I realized there are so many stories to tell. So many subtle differences in aroma and taste to explore. What does skin contact mean for different white grapes? Flavor as a function of skin exposure time? Storage vessels such as amphorae and barrels. Understanding how the complex biochemistry of skin-contact fermentation in whites creates such beauty. And with the price of lambic (which remains another passion) reaching absurd, but understandable, levels in the United States, I am glad that this new fascination will not be a complete drain on my wallet.