Gone Rogue By Generation Six
TASTING NOTES: “Our Mother Clone is a classic ‘Dry Creek’ Zinfandel with spicy aromas of cinnamon and white pepper along with red berries and a touch of vanilla. Black cherry flavors blend with vanilla, licorice, and warm baking spices with balanced acidity. The berry-spice combination, so typical of Dry Creek Zin, includes a round peppery finish which is a hallmark of our style. Enjoy now or cellar for three to five years.” (AbV 15%, pH 3.71)
VARIETALS: 88% Zinfandel, 12% Petite Sirah
BARRELS: 12 months in American Oak barrels, 30% new oak
PAIRS WITH: N/A
THAT REMINDS ME OF: The Mother Clone.
In genetics, a “mother cell” is the original cell that divides to produce daughter cells — the source material, the template, the ur-thing from which everything else is copied. It’s a clean, sensible term. But “mother clone” sounds like something else entirely. It sounds like the opening act of a thriller. The Mother Clone is clearly a 1970s science fiction novel with a lurid paperback cover — a woman’s face repeated six times in slightly different colors, each copy more sinister than the last. Roger Corman produced the film adaptation in 1978. It was shot in eleven days in a Burbank warehouse.
In reality, cloning in viticulture is genuinely fascinating and considerably less sinister than the cover art suggests. When winemakers talk about “mother vines,” they mean the original, oldest plants in a vineyard — the genetic source. Cuttings are taken from those vines and rooted to create new plants that are, technically speaking, identical copies. Pedroncelli has been doing this since the early 1900s, propagating the same Zinfandel genetics across generations of vines. The mother vine doesn’t divide like a cell; someone has to walk out there with pruning shears. But the idea is the same: preserve the original, carry it forward, don’t let it get away from you.
Which is actually the opposite of what happens in most clone-based thrillers. The copy always goes rogue eventually.
