No longer produced solely for Jewish holidays, kosher wine in its current incarnation is far different from the sweet, unpleasantly pungent flavours of its past. Aside from offering a fascinating window into the birthplace of wine, kosher laws dictate that most of these wines are also suitable for vegetarians, and sometimes even vegans.

The Middle East is the origin of the vitis vinifera species of grapes (to which all the commonly consumed modern varieties—Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Chardonnay, and so on—belong), but after the rise of Islam in the eighth century, wine production declined dramatically, as Muslims were forbidden to consume alcohol. Middle Eastern wine fell into obscurity for centuries, and the Western demand for kosher wines was met largely by sweet, heavy American wines. (Think Manischewitz and Palwin.)

The generative, neon 1980s saw a kosher wine revolution: the fall of sweet wines and the rise of high-end vinifera, dry Israeli wines, and their international counterparts.

Modern winemaking technology kickstarted this process, and though the majority of the commonly available kosher wines are still of the sweet American hybrid variety, there are a few producers who have embraced the new style, such as California’s Herzog, France’s Château Valandraud, and Spain’s Capçanes. Even Canada has a few kosher wine producers, though in Alberta you’ll probably only find the fruit wines from Rodrigues of Newfoundland. (Yes, even the Newfies are making wine!)

Orthodox Processes

Kosher wines gain much of their esoteric, almost mystical nature through the methods in which they are produced. The wineries follow strict rabbinical practices that meet the basic requirements of kashrut law: essentially, kosher wines may be made from any grape, in any style, but only Sabbath-observing male Jews may participate in the production process. (This rule encompasses all aspects of winemaking, from planting and harvesting to fermenting and bottling.) 

Kosher wines made in Israel are even more strictly regulated, as they must conform to rigid agricultural laws, among them:

• Vines cannot be used to make wine until their fourth year.

• Every seventh year, the land must be left fallow. (Though in practice, vineyards are symbolically “sold” to a non-Jew to allow continual production.)

• Barrels must be cleaned three times before use.

• There must be a ceremony in which just over one per cent of the wine is poured away, in honour of the 10 per cent tithe set aside for Levites and priests in the days of the Jerusalem Temple.

While wines labeled “kosher” meet all standard requirements, those labeled “kosher for Passover” meet additional criteria: they have not come into contact with any bread, dough, or grains. The third level of kosher is the Mevushal standard, which dictates that the wine has undergone a boiling process, rendering it fit to be served by non-Jews or non-observant Jews at Jewish functions.

Tasting The Red Sea

I started my own inquiry into kosher wine at the very top, with the Capçanes Peraj Ha’abib ($55). Made under the strict supervision of the Rabbi of Barcelona, this wine’s warm, earthy notes, combined with ripe red fruits, are a dead giveaway of its Spanish origins. With quite pronounced, well-integrated tannins, this wine could easily age for another 10 years. Unfortunately, the price tag prohibits its use as an everyday drinking wine, but it would certainly hold a valued place at any special occasion.

I also tasted the newly-released Galil Mountain wines. They were quite tasty, and at around $20, a good value. The 2006 Pinot Noir was pleasant, albeit a little hot. Very New World in style, it should be served slightly chilled to fully appreciate its fruit characters while numbing the aggressive alcohol component. The 2005 Shiraz-Cabernet was by far the star: juicy, delicious, and just as good as any Australian Shiraz at the same price point.

If you have a sweet tooth, pick up a bottle of Rodrigues fruit wine—I recommend the Blueberry ($15). It isn’t terribly complex, but it isn’t terrible, and it’s a far cry from mass-produced Mansichewitz.