By Kelly Garrett
This story first appeared in Vine Times magazine.

Those nonagenarian Zinfandel plantings up at Savannah-Chanelle Vineyards, on the eastern slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains above Silicon Valley, have been around for most of a remarkable century of grape cultivation and winemaking on the premises. The old vines were there soon after the turn of the last century, when the feuding Pourroy brothers worked the land. And they were still there at the turn of this century, by which time Michael and Kellie Ballard–who bought the property in 1996–were producing some wonderful Chardonnays, Cabernet Francs, Zinfandels and Pinot Noirs.

Spelling oddities mark both ends of the story. The first was your garden-variety misspelling, the kind any French 1A student might be guilty of. Except the committer was himself French, one of a bevy of Gaelic immigrants who helped turn the Santa Clara Valley and the mountains above it into an early wine region of note.

Pierre Pourroy came to California in the 1890s from the Paris suburb of Montmartre. When he settled on a sunny hill above Saratoga, he understandably wanted to christen his new piece of the promised land to honor his hometown, which he did. Omitting only that pesky first silent "t," Ville de Monmartre was born.

The building is still there, a modest but fine-looking Mediterranean chateau. So is the old (circa 1910) redwood winery building that the Ballards salvaged and opened to the public as a tasting room. Also still there–though perhaps not for much longer–is a dilapidated shack that was the original Pourroy homestead.

cabin in a canyon
Not still there is the granddaughter of Pierre's brother Eloy. When les frères Pourroy fell out, they lived on adjacent properties, uncomfortably forced to share some amenities, including an access road. After prohibition did to the Pourroy wineworks what it did to most such operations in California, i.e., shut down production, it was Eloy's offspring who stayed put. As the story's told, the granddaughter occupied her cabin back in a canyon well into her (and the 20th century's) 90s.

She might be the symbol of some kind of continuity, or the irrepressible imperative of the Chaine d'Or zone of the Santa Cruz Mountains, to hold onto its winemaking potential. The fact is that not much went on at the Pourroy property after Prohibition. The Chaine d'Or was a chained door.

Enter, in 1976, one Daniel Gehrs, something of an oenological icon who resurrected the estate as Congress Springs Winery. The name recalled the nearby Congress Springs Hotel, a turn-of-the-century bathing resort and trendy destination of Bay Area burghers. The hotel soon burned to the ground, as such hotels tend to do, but the place name lives on.

Gehrs gets credit for rescuing the neglected old Zinfandel and Cabernet Franc vines on the property. He also gets credit for producing over the next 15 years some fine wines from the existing vines, his own plantings, and grapes from nearby vineyards, such as Paul Masson, La Cresta and Novitiate.

When Gehrs moved on in 1990 to work his magic with Zaca Mesa in Santa Barbara County, the winery fell into the hands of a British conglomerate, which promptly over expanded the operation and collapsed it. Then the Mariani folks took over and discovered that grapes don't behave like prunes.

By 1996, it was time for another rescue. The Ballards bought the 57 acres and changed the name to Savannah-Chanel, after their two young daughters. A nice gesture, one would think, redolent of family values and the purest of intentions. The litigators at Chanel Inc., the fashion and cosmetics company, didn't see things that way and, in 1998, filed suit for trademark dilution.

We'll resist the temptation to comment on the mindset that leads a corporate giant to go after a small (under 10,000 cases) winery for this kind of alleged transgression. Let's just say that, as things now stand, Chanel (the daughter) is reportedly pleased. The new spelling that her parents voluntarily adopted–Chanelle–promotes the correct stressing of the second syllable of her name, making it less likely that people will pronounce it like something selected with a TV remote control.

The Ballards were aware that, along with the vineyards and wineworks, they had bought history and tradition, not to mention a strategically located hilltop of rustic beauty bordering on the spectacular. Small wonder, then, that there's a lot of emphasis on special events-weddings, corporate dinners, seminars, Sunday recitals, private parties, and (in the planning stages) jazz nights in the tasting room.

Drop-in visitors to the ancient and spacious tasting room get to enjoy the beauty (and the wine) of the place without having to sit through a corporate dinner. A very nice touch is the well-stocked children's bookshelf and drawing table in one corner. One of life's great challenges--what to do with the kids when you make a detour to do some winetasting-is thereby met.

As laudable as the Ballards' restoration efforts are, wine is what Savannah-Chanelle is all about. Their first priority is to make it good. To do that, they brought in a dedicated winemaker named Mike McNeill. He'd been the oenologist at Chalone in Monterey County before following the Pinot Noir trail up to the Willamette Valley, where he served as the winemaker at Silvan RIdge/Hinman Vineyards.

strategic apostrophe placement
One can learn a lot about Pinot Noir in Oregon. One also learns what Oregonians have been trying to tell us for decades-that California natives are usually happier in California. When McNeill found out about Mike Ballard's need for a first-rate winemaker, the native returned.

"I learned I need a certain number of sunny days to keep my sanity," McNeill said. "And I realized I missed some warmer climate varietals, as well as the warmer climate itself. The old Zinfandel vines are definitely one of the things that attracted me to Savannah-Chanelle."

McNeill is one of those passionate craftsmen who'd rather talk about the inside of a grape than a market share report. About 12 of the 58 acres are planted-yielding estate Chardonnay (from the Mt. Eden clone), Cabernet Franc (also from very old 1923) plantings, and Carignane, as well as the Zinfandel.

Some new Pinot Noir plantings on an absurdly steep slope should yield by 2003, according to McNeill. But perhaps Savannah-Chanelle's most enjoyable available bottle-the 1999 Pinot Noir-uses grapes from the Santa Lucia Highlands. To be specific, they're from a vineyard partnered by Gary Pisoni and Gary Francioni, named (with strategic apostrophe placement) Garys' Vineyard.

This Pinot Noir offers nothing but sensual pleasure, unless you count the departure of $37 as part of the experience. McNeill's wine notes are well-regarded, and we'll quote him verbatim on this one: "Forward aromas and flavors are cherry, cranberry, cola, vanilla, cigar box and sweet oak. The mouth-feel is rich and supple, but has enough ripe tannins and balanced acidity to benefit from some moderate cellaring. I think this wine will be at its best through 2004."

Though by no means the only laudable wine that McNeill makes for Savannah-Chanelle, the 1999 Pinot Noir is emblematic of this relatively young winemaker's approach to his craft. "I look for qualities like balance and elegance, instead of hitting you over the head," he said. "Wine writers and the media seem to reward intensity and power. So people are looking to say, 'Wow, that's tannin,' or 'Wow, that's dark.' But Pinot Noir and wine in general should be about something that engages you, draws you in, so you want to drink it again, instead of moving on to some other 'big' wine."

The only argument that might be made with this eminently reasonable and informed winemaker-who is obviously and justifiably proud of his Pinot-is that his Zinfandel is even better.

See Vine Times Winery Guide in the San Francisco Bay section for location information on Savannah-Chanelle.

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