The potential clicked when I caught a whiff of Thanksgiving from down the hall. So I put Tempranillo to the test–with herb-rubbed grilled turkey and herb butter-basted roasted turkey; with roasted garlic in the mashed potatoes, rosemary in the sweet potatoes, and orange zest and mustard on the green beans. It was all wonderful. The characteristic berries in the wine turned to cranberries, and the herbs to sage, in the face of Thanksgiving dinner. And a tangerine-like quality showed up in a match with citrus-laced cranberry sauce.

Tempranillo–especially when grown here–is both earthy and fruity. It can have a lot of plum and berry flavors, but they come along with spices and herbs and a core of bright, food-loving acid, all wrapped in velvet. Even if the wine is “big,” its tannins have no claws–like Pinot Noir without its noir side.

With such stellar qualifications, it’s a little puzzling that we haven’t discovered Tempranillo before now in this country, especially considering that Spain–through those Franciscan fathers planting missions up the West Coast two centuries ago–was the source of wine in California to begin with.