The barn out here in Sonoma faces west, and most evenings around six Susan and I sit on the porch with a pour of something. Last week it was a Cotes du Rhone from a producer near Cairanne we have been buying since 1991. The week before that, a Vermentino from a little place in Liguria. People ask me what a varietal is so often that I figured I would write down the answer the way I would tell a friend across the table.
A wine varietal is, simply, a wine named for the grape that went into it. If the label says Pinot Noir, that wine is made mostly from Pinot Noir grapes. If it says Sauvignon Blanc, same idea. The label is telling you the grape, not the region, not the producer, not a fanciful brand name.
The 75 percent rule, in plain English
In the United States, if a producer puts a single grape name on the label, federal rules (the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau, the folks who regulate this) require that at least 75 percent of the wine come from that named grape. There are a few quiet exceptions for native American varieties like Concord, where the floor drops to 51 percent, but for the wines most of us actually pour, 75 percent is the working number. That has been the rule for decades and has not changed.
Europeans handle naming differently. A bottle of Chablis is 100 percent Chardonnay, but the label says Chablis because that is the place. A Sancerre is Sauvignon Blanc; a Barolo is Nebbiolo. The grape is there, you just have to know the code. I spent a lot of my working life translating that code for American buyers, and I still do not mind doing it now.
Varietal versus blend
A blend is a wine made from two or more grapes, and these days the better ones list the percentages on the back label. A Bordeaux-style red, for instance, will typically marry Cabernet Sauvignon with Merlot, sometimes a little Cabernet Franc or Petit Verdot. A Cotes du Rhone, the one I mentioned, is usually Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvedre in some combination.
Blends are not lesser wines. They are a different idea: the producer is using each grape to do a specific job. Cabernet for structure, Merlot for the soft middle, Cabernet Franc for the lift. A well-made blend can be more complete than any of its parts. Some of the most expensive wines in the world are blends.
What actually shapes the flavor
The grape matters. But anyone who tells you it is the only thing that matters has not spent enough time in cellars. Three other factors carry weight:
- Where the grapes grew. The same Chardonnay vine produces a different wine in Chablis than it does in Sonoma. Soil, altitude, daily temperature swing, all of it shows up in the glass.
- The vintage. A cool year and a hot year are not the same wine, even from the same producer with the same grape.
- The hand of the producer. When to pick, whether to use oak, how much, for how long, native yeast or commercial, filter or do not. Two producers two miles apart make wines that taste like different countries.
The grapes most worth knowing at 60-plus
You do not need to memorize a hundred varietals to drink well. Twelve will get you almost anywhere. Here are the ones I find myself reaching for most often.
White grapes
Chardonnay. Grown nearly everywhere wine is made. Crisp and lean in Chablis, riper and rounder in California. A good Chablis is one of the great food wines on earth; pour it with roast chicken or any fish that has not been doused in cream.
Sauvignon Blanc. Grassy and bright. Sancerre and Pouilly-Fume from the Loire are the classical examples. New Zealand's Marlborough region makes a more tropical, in-your-face style. Both pair beautifully with goat cheese, summer salads, and anything green on the plate.
Riesling. Often misunderstood as a sweet wine. It can be, but the dry German Rieslings labeled trocken, and the Rieslings from Alsace and New York's Finger Lakes, are among the best food wines you can find for spicy dishes. It keeps remarkably well in the bottle.
Chenin Blanc. Worth a fresh look. This grape was scaled back in California for years while Chardonnay took over, but a small wave of producers has been reviving it, and South Africa has been quietly making excellent Chenin for decades. There was a Chenin festival in Berkeley in May of 2025 that pulled a real crowd. Versatile grape, dry to sweet, sparkling to still.
Pinot Grigio (or Pinot Gris). Same grape, two countries' worth of style. The Italian version tends to be light and easy. Alsace and Oregon make richer, more textured versions that can stand up to a charcuterie board.
Gewurztraminer. Rose petals and lychee, often. Pairs with Thai food and other dishes where heat and sweetness meet. Alsace is the homeland.
Red grapes
Pinot Noir. The heartbreak grape. Burgundy is the original, Oregon and parts of California do it beautifully. Light to medium body, red fruit, soft tannins. Goes with roast chicken, salmon, mushroom dishes, and Thanksgiving turkey better than almost anything else.
Cabernet Sauvignon. Full-bodied, structured, ages well. Bordeaux is the classic blending home; Napa is where it became a varietal star. A good Cabernet wants red meat, hard cheese, or a winter stew.
Merlot. Took a beating after a certain movie in 2004 and is still recovering, which is a shame. A well-made Merlot from Saint-Emilion or Pomerol is among the most pleasing wines on the planet.
Syrah / Shiraz. Same grape, two naming traditions. Northern Rhone (Cote-Rotie, Hermitage) is the elegant version, peppery and savory. Australian Shiraz tends to be riper and bolder. Either pairs with grilled lamb or anything with black pepper.
Zinfandel. California's signature, even if its DNA traces to Croatia. Brambly, jammy, a touch spicy. Good with pizza and barbecue, and old-vine Zin from Lodi or Dry Creek can be surprisingly serious.
Gamay. The grape of Beaujolais. Worth knowing because Oregon has been planting more of it lately, partly because warming weather has been making Pinot Noir harder to grow. Light, juicy, slightly chilled in summer. A wonderful weeknight red.
One last thought
If you want to learn varietals, pick one grape, buy three bottles from three different regions, and drink them within a week. A Chablis, a Sonoma Coast Chardonnay, and a Macon-Villages will teach you more about Chardonnay than any book. Susan and I do this still, four nights a week and a notebook on the kitchen counter. There is no test at the end. Just better dinners.