$232.00 /750 ml.

You see, 1998 was a tough, wet year, and no matter what I did in the cellar that first vintage, my baby, was just OK, and I’m not OK with OK. I sold the wine in bulk and tried again the next year. I went back to Zinfandel, this time farming it myself. It was literally trial by fire. I lost a third of the crop when I sprayed sulfur late in the year and a heat spike fried the morning side of the vines. What was left yielded my first commercial bottle of wine, the 1999 Orin Swift Cellars Zinfandel. Ninety-nine cases. I had finally arrived, although late and a bit hungover. The next year, 2000, was another difficult year, much like 1998. Circumstances led me to basi­cally throw all my red wines together, most of which was Zinfandel, and I made a wine called The Prisoner. I made that wine for the next eight years, and then in 2008 I sold the brand. When I sold the brand I agreed to not make Zinfandel for eight years. At first I liked the idea. Zinfandel is notoriously difficult. It ripens unevenly, it is prone to rot, and it often has very high alcohol. Taking a few years off sounded good. But, like a child who only wants to do what he or she is told not to, I began to plot my return. I would have to wait till 2016, which seemed like an eternity. I can’t tell you how many hours and brain cells I wasted obsessing over potential names and label art. I finally hit rock bottom on a warm summer night in Paris. I woke up, unable to sleep. I thought I had it. I wrote down my “genius” idea. Then went back to sleep. The next day I read what I written the night before and was embarrassed by its absurdity and obviousness. I decided right then to stop trying. I would stop trying and wait for something to happen, and in the mean­time, I would write a book. A short book. OK, a very short book. The only reason I mention the book is because the title of the first story in it is 8 Years In The Desert. Just corny, enough, right? By accident I had solved for the name and label con­cept. Better to be lucky than good, much better. It’s hard to believe that this will be my twenty first harvest in the Napa Valley. Some of those vintages I remember fondly, others I’d like to forget. What may be harder to believe is that this harvest also marks the twentieth year that Orin Swift has been in business. Twenty years. It makes me feel old. But I love it, maybe now more than ever. It would end up being an eight-year break. 8 years in the desert. It was never if but when would we make Zinfandel again. That when is now. Today is a big day. I am reunited with the varietal that got me started in the wine business and created Orin Swift.