The Rebel Grape: Carignan's Journey from Outcast to Icon

Welcome to The Kosher Teruah.

I'm Simon Jacob, your host for this episode from Jerusalem.

Before we get started, I ask that wherever you are, please take a moment and pray for the safety of our soldiers and the safe return of all of our hostages. Welcome back, my friends, to The Kosher Terroir, where wine meets story and where every glass uncorks a world of heritage, struggle, craftsmanship, and soul. I'm your host, Simon Jacob, and today we're going deep. We're taking a journey not just through the terroir, not just through the vineyard, but through time. If you're driving in your car, Please focus on the road ahead. If you're home, sit back, relax, open a bottle of wonderful kosher wine, and listen in. This episode is about one of the most misunderstood, overlooked, yet extraordinarily resilient grapes in the wine world: Carignan. Yes, Carignan. Or, as it's sometimes known in Spain, as Carañana. Or Sardinia, Carignano. Or California, as Carignané. And in Israel, well, we'll get to that. This is the grape with thousands of faces. A thousand homes and a past so complicated it could be a Netflix series. It has been vilified and glorified, torn up and replanted, blended into anonymity, and more recently, revived into something majestic. But what exactly is Carignan? Where does it come from? Why has it been both adored and dismissed across history? And what role does it play in the future of kosher wines? Today we'll explore All of that and more. We'll unearth Carignan's tangled roots in Spain and France. We'll explore how it helped shape the agricultural identity of Israel, particularly in the early days of the Zionist movement. We'll talk about winemakers who are giving Carignan a second chance, or perhaps a fifth, and producing wines of surprising finesse and freshness. You'll learn about both red and white Carignan—yes, white—and about how this grape, once known mostly for cheap jug wine, is now making a bold, defiant return to quality and elegance. We'll get into production styles. Think rich and structured Mediterranean reds. Think spicy, herbaceous reds from ancient bush vines. Think light, juicy, almost Beaujolais-style expressions. Think Carignan Blanc. Yes, that is a thing. And maybe most importantly, we'll get personal. This isn't just a grape. This is a survivor, a comeback artist, a grape with something to prove. And if you're in the kosher wine world or looking to expand your palate beyond Cabernet and Merlot, Carignan might just surprise you. Whether you're sipping something light and chillable from the Judean Hills or a deep-rooting Carignan from Sardinia, this grape invites you to rethink what wine can be. So if you've ever thought a grape's past was boring, think again. And if you're someone who thinks kosher wine is stuck in the past, Get ready to have your preconceptions shaken, decanted, and poured into something truly fresh. Let's uncork the story of Carignan, the rebel, the worker, the shapeshifter. Let's find out why in this moment and in this terroir-driven renaissance of kosher wine, Carignan matters. But where does Carignan really come from? And how did it become both a cornerstone of agricultural identity and a scapegoat of industrial overproduction? Let's dive into Carignan's incredible story. So where does the story of Carignan really begin? Like most grape varietals, its precise origins are a little fuzzy, wrapped in centuries of folklore shifting borders, and vine migrations. But most historians agree Carignan likely hails from northeastern Spain, particularly in the region of Aragon, where it was known as Cariena, both the name of the grape and the town. Yes, this grape is so old and storied it gave name to a place. That's right, Carignan did not get its name from the town, The town got its name from the grape. That should tell you something. From there, Carignan slowly began to move across the Mediterranean basin, and wherever it went, it adapted. Not just to new climates, but to new reputations. Let's fast forward to 19th century France, where Carignan's fate took a dramatic turn. As Europe recovered from the devastation of the phylloxera plague, which wiped out entire vineyards, Carignan offered an answer. It was vigorous, resilient, high-yielding, and adaptable to the hot, arid conditions of the Languedoc-Roussillon region of southern France. And so the French planted it everywhere. We're talking about hundreds of thousands of hectares. By the mid-20th century, Carignan became France's most planted grape. Yes, the most planted grape, even more than Merlot or Grenache.

Think about that.

But here's the rub: with great yields came mediocre wine, because Carignan left unchecked can easily become a workhorse, pumping out bulk wines that are rustic, overly tannic, and harshly acidic. That's exactly what happened in Languedoc. Carignan was dumped into supermarket blends, anonymous table wines, and the infamous vin ordinaire. In short, Carignan's reputation suffered. But let's hit pause here and cross over to a different Mediterranean country, Israel. Now this part of the story is important, especially to listeners of the Kosher Terroir, because Carignan played a massive role in the rebirth of Jewish agriculture. In the early 1880s, as part of the first Aliyah, Jewish immigrants began returning to the land of Israel. Many were inexperienced farmers, but they had a vision: to till the land, build communities, and revive ancient viticulture. With the support of Baron Edmund de Rothschild, cuttings from French vines were imported, among them Carignan. Carignan was planted throughout the coastal plain and Lower Galilee, especially in Zichron Yaakov, Rishon Lezion, and Benyamina. Its resilience to heat, disease, and inconsistent farming practices made it ideal for the nascent wine industry of Palestine under Ottoman and then British rule. By the 20th century, Carignan was the backbone of Israeli wine, but just like in France, quantity began to overtake quality. Carignan's versatility became its curse. For decades, it was used primarily as sacramental wine, sweet kiddush blends, or entry-level reds, but was the kosher wine industry's silent partner, always there but never celebrated. But something shifted in the early 2000s. In both Israel and globally, winemakers began to reevaluate Carignan. They looked at the old bush vines, often neglected but still thriving. They asked, "What if we farm this grape with care?

What if we lowered the yields?

What if we picked at the right moment, fermented naturally, and aged thoughtfully. That question lit a fire. Now some of the most interesting wines in the kosher world and the natural wine world are made from old vine Carignan. In California, winemakers are producing vibrant, chillable reds from dry-farmed vines planted as far back as the 1940s. In Sardinia, There is an appellation built around this grape with powerful, deeply savory wines. In Chile, especially in Maul Valley, Carignan has found new life in dry, old-vine heritage projects. In Israel, winemakers like Yaakov Oria, Dani Friedenberg from Tepperberg, and Asaf Paas from Wittgen are crafting some of the country's most expressive and age-worthy Carignan base wines. So what happened? Why the turnaround? It's simple, really. Carignan is not a bad grape, it's a misunderstood one. Like Pinot Noir or Grenache, it demands attention, it needs care, and when it gets it, when it's dry-farmed Harvested at the right time, vinified with skill, it can produce wines that are stunningly complex. In fact, Carignan has gone from a maligned blending grape to a darling of sommeliers and wine geeks around the world. Think about that transformation. From bulk jug wines in post-France to sacred vineyards in early Zionist farming towns, nuanced small production bottles in the Judean Hills and Sonoma Coast. Carignan has been there through it all. It's been cheap, it's been noble, it's been forgotten, it's been revived. And like any good character in a redemption arc, it's finally getting the recognition it deserves. Let's explore the production style of Carignan in depth. We will cover red, white, rosé, and the nuanced stylistic decisions winemakers make around the world with a special lens towards kosher production. So now that we know Carignan's complicated globe-trotting past, let's talk about how it shows up in your glass today. Because if there's one word that defines Carignan, in the modern era, its versatility. And that's a massive shift from its reputation in the 20th century, where it was seen mostly as a mass production blending grape. But now, Carignan is an artist's canvas. The range of styles is thrilling, from deep structured reds to light, almost ethereal chillables. And yes, even whites. Let's start with the classic style. Traditional Carignan is deep, dense, and tannic. Historically, Carignan has been made into powerful, tannic, structured reds, especially in southern France and Spain and parts of the Mediterranean basin. These wines are often medium to full-bodied, rich in black cherry, dried herbs, and baking spice, with firm tannins and often elevated acidity. Now, here's the catch. Carignan is naturally high in acid and tannins, and its yields are vigorous. If you don't manage it properly, you get harsh, overly tannic, sour reds. But when you do manage it right, when you reduce yields harvest at ideal ripenesses, and allow for slow maturation, it produces wines with intense complexity and longevity. Think of the Carignans from Sardinia. These are serious, savory wines aged in oak with notes of forest floor, iron, and wild herbs. Pair that with grilled lamb and you've got poetry in a bottle. In kosher winemaking, some Israeli producers are exploring this bold Mediterranean style. Look to Vitkin Winery, where a soft pause focuses on low-yield Mediterranean reds with real structure and personality. To Tepperberg, where Dani Friedenberg is crafting a single-varietal Carignan that balances ripeness with restraint. Another face of Carignan could be called the nouveau style, and it's juicy, chillable, with low intervention. In California's Mendocino County, natural winemakers are picking Carignan early, using whole cluster fermentation, minimal oak, and producing lively, juicy wines that almost feel like a hybrid between Beaujolais and Rhône reds. These wines are bright ruby in color, flavored with cranberry, sour cherry, and crushed roses, and medium-bodied with juicy, almost crunchy acidity. Serve them chilled and you're in for a real treat. These wines are approachable, food-friendly, and deeply expressive of terroir. It's an exciting style, and it's coming to Israel too. Agour, a boutique producer in the Judean Hills along with other producers in the Galilee, are experimenting with early-picked Carignan, wild yeast fermentations, and amphora aging. They're producing kosher wines meant for sunshine and casual drinking. This is the future of chillable red wines in Israel. But let's talk about old vine Carignans, ancient bush vines, and terroir. Here is where things get serious. Some of the world's most captivating Carignan wines come from old bush vines, often 50 to 100+ years old, growing in dry-farmed vineyards with poor soil. Old vines produce less fruit, but that fruit has more intensity, lower sugar, and phenolic depth. The resulting wines are earthy, complex, and haunting, with savory undertones like black olive, dried fig, pencil shavings, and these are often found with an age-worthy core of restrained alcohol. In Chile, the Vigno Project is dedicated to preserving old-vine Carignans. These wines are soulful, minimal-intervention, and packed with terroir. In Israel, though we don't have Vigno-style associations yet, we do have vines planted in the 1970s and '80s, and some are being rediscovered.

Look out especially for single vineyard expressions coming from the Recanati Vineyard in the Upper Galilee. Now, let's shift gears. Did you know there's a white Carignan? That's right, Carignan Blanc is a real genetically distinct varietal. It's extremely rare, primarily found in Roussillon, and only cultivated by a handful of producers. This wine is textural, lightly aromatic, and often reminiscent of white Rhône varietals. They have notes of white peach, almond blossom, and salinity, and are sometimes fermented in neutral oak or in forest to preserve mouthfeel. This isn't a workhorse grape. It's a unicorn. In kosher winemaking, it hasn't yet found traction, but watch this space. Israel's interest in white Mediterranean varietals is growing, and it's only a matter of time before someone plants or imports Carignan Blanc. Now, here's a twist. Some producers in both natural and kosher scenes are making Blanc de Noir styles of red Carignan grapes. Asaf Pazin Vitkin Winery just introduced such a version, which is particularly spectacular. By gently pressing red Carignan and separating the juice from the skins quickly, you get a white or pale pink wine from red grapes, often structured like a white but with more body and depth. These wines are crisp and mineral-driven, while often lightly oxidative and fantastic with spicy Mediterranean food or aged cheeses. It's not yet mainstream, but in boutique natural cellars in both California and Cantalona, this style is making waves, and the kosher version is picking up a clear fan base in the Tel Aviv wine scene. And of course, Carignan rosé is a thing of beauty, artfully described as summer in a glass. It offers tart red fruit along with streak of earthy minerality and often a dry finish that pairs beautifully with spicy food. In Provence, it's used in blends, but in California, some winemakers like producing single-varietal Carignan Rosés. Zippy, clean, and perfect for chilled summer sipping. In Israel, rosé is trending upward, and a Carignan rosé with Israeli spices, olive oil-heavy cuisine is a natural fit. Let's take a quick world tour of some of the notable kosher Carignan producers and styles. Vitkin Winery in Israel has a Carignan-based Mediterranean red that's earthy, herbal, and long-lived. The Tepperberg Winery in Israel has a single varietal, Carignan, that's powerful and bold. Etsu Winery in California produces a small-lot, natural-style Carignan that's chillable, complex, with minimal sulfites. Capsanis in Spain offers some fantastic blends from Cantalonia that include an old-vine Carignan. And Domaine Latofah of Israel, while more focused on Rhône varietals, keep your eyes open for a very special Carignan project they have been working on. So whether it's bold or brambly, light or zippy, pink, flirty, or white and mysterious, Carignan refuses to be pigeonholed. It is without question one of the most stylistically diverse grapes in the kosher wine world today. So let's dive into the legends, turning points, controversies, and personal tales that shape the perception and the legacy of Carignan in both general and kosher wine worlds. To be honest though, wine history can be dry if you let it. But Carignan— Carignan's history reads like a novel, with chapters of rebellion, redemption, abandonment, and most recently, an inspiring renaissance. Let's start with a rebellion, literally. In 1907, in southern France, the Languedoc, is drowning in wine. Thanks to Carignan and its high yields, the market is saturated. Prices have collapsed. Entire villages are going bankrupt. Angry growers take to the streets. Over 800,000 people gather in Montpellier in what becomes one of Europe's largest peasant uprisings. They chant Vive le vin naturel! Long live natural wines! They're fighting against adulteration, overproduction, and government inaction. This was a Carignan revolt because Carignan was the grape being overplanted, overcropped, and exploited. And it didn't end quietly. Dozens were killed in clashes with the French military. A few soldiers even defected to join the protesters. This event changed French agriculture forever, and it painted Carignan for decades as the grape of conflict and chaos. By the 1980s, the European Union had had enough of low-quality overproduction. They initiated a massive vin pull scheme to reduce the continent's wine surplus. Carignan was public enemy number one. Over a span of years, tens of thousands of acres were uprooted, not because Carignan was inherently bad, but because it had become the scapegoat of overfarming. France alone reduced its Carignan plantings by more than 60% between 1988 and 2000. It was a culling. and much heritage was lost. But ironically, what survived— the oldest, most stubborn vines in remote hills— would go on to produce the finest Carignan wine we've ever seen. Let's zoom in on Israel for a moment. By the late 1990s, Israeli wineries were chasing prestige. Bordeaux varietals like Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot were all the rage. Carignan was seen as primitive. Farmers were offered incentives to graft over or rip out Carignan vines and replant noble grapes. Some winemakers caved, but not all. In 2002, a young Asaf Paz, later of Vitkin Winery, tasted fruit from a forgotten Carignan vineyard in Zichron Yaakov. Bush-trained and dry-farmed since the 1970s, he saw something the market didn't: incredible potential. Assaf became one of the first in Israel to champion Carignan as a varietal wine, showcasing it not as a workhorse but as a legitimate Mediterranean red. Today, his Vitkin Carignan is one of Israel's finest kosher wines, due to the power of vision and patience. Here's a fun anecdote from a winery in California. A winemaker pours a Carignan to a guest. The guest swirls, sniffs, and currently proclaims, "Mmm, Syrah, Northern Rhône, maybe Mendocino." The winemaker smiles, "Actually, it's 100% Carignan." 70-year-old vines, dry-farmed. The guests' jaw drops. It's been Carignan's fate for years— mistaken, misidentified, and underestimated. But that misidentification isn't always bad. In fact, in the glass, Carignan often echoes Grenache, Syrah, and even Barbera, depending on where and how it's grown. It's the chameleon grape, a master of disguise. Another myth: for decades, people assumed Carignan was a cousin of other southern French grapes like Cinsault or Grenache. But in the early 2000s, genetic mapping proved otherwise. Carignan is not closely related to Grenache. In fact, it has its own unique lineage. Closer to obscure Spanish varietals like Bhopal and Morastel. And then there's Carignan Blanc, long thought to be a color mutation of red Carignan, but as it turns out, it's a distinct variety altogether. This redefined how growers treated it, not as a curiosity but as something worth preserving. In 2019, a Carignan from Chile was named one of Wine Spectator's top 100 wines of the year. Think about that. A grape once destined for obscurity, now celebrated on the world stage. In Israel, wines like Tepperberg's single vintage Carignan, Vitkins Mediterranean Series, and a special amphora-aged Carignan from Agour's boutique winery are proving that this grape isn't just relevant, it's essential to Israel's unique terroir expression. And here's a little secret: some winemakers whisper that old-vine Carignan, grown with restraint, could one day be Israel's answer to the top Rhône reds. We're not there yet, but the idea is growing. From revolts to rediscoveries, from exile to exaltation, Karen Yan's story is one of resistance, resilience, and rebirth. And what could be more Jewish than that? All right, listeners, you've stuck with me this far. You know now that Carignan is a grape of grit, history, and extraordinary transformation. But let's lighten the mood a bit, because Carignan is also full of surprises. Here are some of the most fascinating, quirky, and unexpected facts about Carignan that even many wine lovers don't know. And I promise, a few of these will make you say, wait, what? What? Believe it or not, for most of the 20th century, wine educators literally advised against using Carignan for premium wine. But why? Because of its natural high acidity, elevated tannins, and its tendency to overcrop if not severely pruned. It was seen as a nightmare in the winery. But here's the irony. Those same flaws are now considered features when managed right. High acidity? That's great for food pairing and aging. Firm tannins? They add structure. The lesson: no grape is inherently flawed, only misused. Here's one for the hipsters and minimalists. Carignan is a darling of the natural wine world. Why, you ask? Because it's often grown organically or biodynamically. It's already present in old vine bush plantings, which don't require trellising. It's naturally disease resistant, so it needs fewer chemical interventions and produces wild, energetic wines with punchy acidity and vibrant aromatics. If you've ever picked up a funky bottle with a hand-drawn label from Spain, Chile, or California, there's a decent chance you were sipping Carignan and didn't even know it. Carignan was also once a sparkling wine. Yes, you heard that right. In parts of southern France during the mid-1990s, winemakers actually experimented with sparkling Carignan. It was blended into cheap fizzy reds sort of a rustic, poor man's Lambrusco. Most of those wines are now extinct, but some innovative producers are bringing the idea back. Imagine a Carignan pét-nat—fizzy, wild, herbal, with bright red fruit and savory edges. Someone in the kosher world, please make this happen. By 1988, Carignan covered over 160,000 acres in France alone. More than all the vineyards in the United States combined at the time. It became known as the grape of quantity, not quality. In fact, jokes circulated among French winemakers that Carignan would grow even in the cracks of the sidewalk. That's how aggressive its growth can be. Today, many of those vines have been pulled out But the old survivors are now among the most prized heritage plots in Europe. Let's talk genetics. Let's talk genetics. Carignan's closest relative is a grape called the Mazuelo, which, plot twist, is actually another name for Carignan itself in Rioja, Spain. But there's also a rare-graped called Moristel Boucher, which is a cross between Carignan and Graciano, grown in small amounts in southern France. It's darker, fruitier, and even more obscure. Basically, Carignan has extended family members lurking in unexpected places. You can chill Carignan, and you should. This one catches a lot of people off guard. Carignan is a red grape, yes, but in its lighter expressions, especially when whole cluster fermented, is fantastic with a slight chill. Not ice cold, but cool like a Pinot or Bourgogne. Why does it work? Because its high acidity stays sharp and its red fruit notes become juicier and its tannins soften just enough for refreshing sips. So if you're drinking a light kosher Carignan from Judea or California, try it at 14°C. It's a game changer. Here's another concept to blow your mind. Carignan has a stronger sense of place than almost any other Mediterranean grape. You can take genetically identical Carignan cuttings and plant them in Roussillon, France, and get savory and peppery notes. Or if you planted them in the Maule Valley in Chile, you receive earthy and rustic tasting notes. In Sonoma, California, you get more vibrance and floral notes. And in Israel's coastal plain, herbal, spicy, and mineral notes stand out. By changing your location, you get wildly different results. That's terroir in action, and Carignan amplifies it. It's like a talented actor able to perform in any genre depending on the script. Many Côtes du Rhône wines contain unlabeled Carignan. This is a wine industry secret. Carignan is not officially sanctioned as a primary varietal in many appellations like Châteauneuf-du-Pape, for example, but it is quietly permitted in small quantities in other Rhône blends. So while your bottle label may list Syrah, Grenache, Mourvèdre, that peppery smoky edge, that unexpected tang might just be Carignan whispering from the shadows. Surprisingly, there are still undiscovered old-vine Carignan vineyards in parts of northern Spain, rural Italy, and even in Israel. There are abandoned and misidentified old vineyards that were once planted with Carignan, some of which are now being rediscovered. This is part of a global movement rescuing lost vineyards and giving them new purpose. Kosher winemakers could benefit hugely from joining that movement, identifying legacy vines, farming them cleanly, and showcasing Israel's agricultural history through Carignan. Another relatively unknown fact is that Carignan might be the perfect grape for climate change. Let's close with this. In an era of rising temperatures, water scarcity, and unpredictable weather, Carignan is stepping into the spotlight. Why? Because it thrives in heat, handles drought like a champ, is resistant to mildew and rot, and matures with balanced sugars and acidity, even in extreme vintages. In other words, It's a grape for the future, especially in warm regions like southern Israel, California, Chile, and Spain, where sustainability is no longer optional but essential. So while the wine world races to adapt, Carignan has already been there, waiting and ready. So we've traveled a long way with Carignan today, from its tangled origins in Aragon, Spain, To the sun-soaked slopes of Languedoc, to the dusty, training vineyards of early Israel, to the new generation of winemakers reclaiming its voice, this grape has lived a thousand lives. And through it all, one thing becomes clear: Carignan is not just a grape, it's a symbol. It's a symbol of resilience, For surviving decades of overplanting, economic pressure, and global disdain, and still being here, it's a symbol of transformation for how a once dismissed varietal can become the foundation of world-class wines. And for us, especially in the kosher wine community, it's a symbol of rediscovery. We live in a moment where kosher wine is no longer just about ritual. It's about quality, artistry, and expression. Carignan shows us how a grape, like a people, can wander, can be misunderstood, even rejected, and still rise again, stronger, prouder, and more rooted in its truth. That's not just a wine story. That's a Jewish story. So what now? What does this mean for you, the listener? It means that the next time you're shopping for kosher wine, don't just reach for a Cabernet or a Merlot. Look for a bottle labeled Carignan. It might be bold and structured. It might be light and juicy. It might even be pink or white or sparkling. But it will never be boring. It might come from the Upper Galilee, or Pirat, or a dry farm vineyard in Sonoma. But wherever it's from, it tells a story, and by choosing it, you will become part of that story too. Let's recap a few key points before we go. Carignan is one of the oldest cultivated varietals in the Mediterranean basin, likely dating back over a millennium. It was once the most planted grape in France and the backbone of Israel's early modern wine industry. It nearly disappeared due to overproduction, but old vines survived, and now they are producing some of the most exciting wines in the kosher world. It comes in many styles: rich rustic reds, fresh chillable natural wines, elegant rosés, and even rare white expressions. It's climate resistant, terroir-expressive, and perfectly poised for the future of sustainable artisanal winemaking. In short, Carignan is no longer the underdog, it's the comeback kid. So, as we close this episode of The Kosher Terroir, I want to leave you with a challenge. Reimagine your wine shelf. Make room for something surprising. Ask your local wine shop if they carry Carignan— Israeli, French, California, Spanish, whatever. Taste it. Think about where it came from. And then share it. Share it with friends, with family, and with your community. Because wine is meant to be shared. And stories, especially stories of redemption, deserve to be told. If this episode inspired you, share it with someone curious about wine. Leave us a review on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you're listening. It helps our community to grow. And visit our website, thekosherterroir.com, for wine recommendations, upcoming tastings, and bonus content, including a future Carignan pairing guide. And don't forget to subscribe. Because we have some incredible guests and grape spotlights coming up. In future episodes, we'll be talking with winemakers, sommeliers, and thinkers who are shaping the future of kosher wine. But for now, raise a glass to the rebels, to the survivors, to the vines we almost lost, and to the wines that we are beginning to understand. I am Simon Jacob, and this has been The Kosher Teruah. L'chaim! See you again next time. This is Simon Jacob again, your host of today's episode of The Kosher Teruah. I have a personal request. No matter where you are or where you live, please take a moment to pray for our soldiers' safety and the safe and rapid return of our hostages.

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