Liquid Sunshine in the Sunshine State

(Warning: references to old television culture and throwbacks to the 1970’s may cause confusion among Millennials and nostalgia in Boomers. Emotional caution is advised.)

Cocoa Beach, Florida The Space Coast of Florida brings to mind images of blazing white rockets standing like towers waiting for that flight of a lifetime that we all wished we could take. We can still see Neil Armstrong bouncing around on the black and white surface of the moon. It’s Cape Canaveral and Cocoa Beach, where the flight leading to that infamous quote “Houston, we have a problem” originated. It evokes memories of sparkling blue water rolling onto white sand beaches, neon signs and green, blue or red spotlights in the ground pointing up the trunks of palm trees. And for those of us who, ah, remember that long ago, it brings back nostalgic images of Barbara Eden in her cushioned bottle and Flipper cackling away through his toothy smile. Unlike the glamor and bling of Miami, the Space Coast feels like the Florida of my youth. Of a softer, gentler time during the sixties and seventies, when a horizontal-striped tee shirt, frayed cut-off shorts and canvas shoes was the daily outfit of every kid. In other words, the good ol’ days.

Courtesy of Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Courtesy of Biography.com

But while Cocoa Beach may cause one to dream of Jeanie, it doesn’t make one think of wine. Wine in steamy Florida? No way, you say. And you are partially correct — but not completely. Because I’m not talking about “Wine” — meaning grapes — I’m talking about “Fruit Wine” — meaning all the other stuff

Now I know what you're thinking. We all have those unfortunate memories of when we managed to get our teenage mitts on a bottle of strawberry or blueberry “wine.” We passed around that flask of forbidden fruit and drank without even wiping it off — a sign of true conspiratorial camaraderie. And we often regretted it before even finishing the contraband we so coveted. You now it’s bad when you feel a hangover coming on before you even finish drinking. So fruit wine from Florida can’t be good, right? The all-too-many bottles of Boone’s Farm from my past proved that point, I thought, as I veered off the road upon seeing the Cocoa Beach Winery sign. And was I really about to revert back to those early wine-ignorant days just to suffer through it all again? Damn right I was. Because when you’re foodwalking you never know when you’re going to be surprised by something that you think shouldn’t be good; can’t possibly be good. But is.

I will admit that, walking up to Cocoa Beach Winery just a few miles south of the stack of rockets at Cape Canaveral, I was cautiously pessimistic. Fuzzy visions of apple and blueberry bum wines flashed-backed in my mind accompanied by (thankfully) distant recollections of nausea. I immediately recalled the jingle that rang prominent in those foolish, derelict days of my teens: “What’s the word? Thunderbird! What’s the price? Fifty twice!” Still, I proceeded through the door. 

Inside, shelves lined the walls with real glass wine-shaped bottles with smart looking labels and actual corks. What was this place, selling an entire lineup of fruit wines that look legit? My fear of an unfortunate tasting began to subside as the first of what became a significant selection of samples was offered by Lori, the welcoming woman who runs the show at Cocoa Beach Winery. It was a Florida Sunset Pineapple Wine, light amber in color and which started not with the the Hawaii-Five-O sugar blast I expected, but instead a tart attack followed by a slightly sweet yet quickly-drying finish. I could taste pineapple, but it was subdued and at a distance. That bratty cartoon kid from old Hawaiian Punch commercials was nowhere to be found. Turns out that I am not the only person who thinks it is pretty good; this pineapple wine has been awarded any number of gold medals in wine competitions around the country.

A White Gold Peach Wine was next up, delivering a soft sense of Spring on my palate. My first impression was of Pinot Grigios that I’ve enjoyed in the past. Though I had a pronounced awareness of peach, it was more complex, hinting of honey and floral notes. It rolled smoothly over my tongue, cool and wet and not the least bit cloying. This was easily a wine that I would pair with grilled shrimp in the summer.

A taster of Key Limen Key Lime Wine was presented to me. I gingerly took a sip, and was instantly engulfed in a delicate bloom of fresh squeezed limes with a fermented, winey upturn at the end. It was clean and bright, the citrus bite having tempered to just a hint of hot Florida sunshine amidst a grove of plump little key limes. With apologies to Anita Bryant, this could easily replace my morning juice because — I now know — a day without key limes is like a day without sunshine.

Next, Lori slid a taster of Black Gold Semi Sweet Blackberry wine in front of me and I thought to myself “Okay, here we go.” Picturing myself careening back to those reckless hobo-in-a-paper-bag wine days, I was sure that this was not going to end well. But I lifted my glass anyway because, y’know, Foodwalkers.... And almost to my chagrin, that first sip was less reminiscent of Mad Dog than it was of, well, a soft, fruity Merlot — with dryer than expected fruit and a firm, well-structure mouth feel. This was not the blueberry jug-o-wine that I expected to be assaulted by. It was, instead, a dulcet drink that would happily compliment fresh melon wrapped in prosciutto. 

But it was the Florida Fever Passion Fruit Wine which really caught my attention. Because of the complexity of passion fruit flavor — concurrently sweet and tart, fruity and spicy — it is perfect for making fruit wine. Like the grape skins of wine, the color of passion fruit wine reflects the amount of time the deep yellow/orange pulp and seeds remain in the juice during the initial phases of maceration. Like tannins in wine, the acidic bite of the passion fruit softens over time, leaving a dry but smooth attack, followed by an exotic, semi sweet flavor which instantly transported me to a cool, tropical jungle. Excellent to drink alone, it’s richness — almost a sauce on its own — might clash with creamy food on a dinner plate. But paired with grilled halibut, sea bass, or boldly-cooked pork it could be excellent. So, being on the Sunshine Coast of Florida, I naturally bought a bottle and made a mental note to stop by the fishmonger on the way home. It did not disappoint. 

The tasting continued, with blends of fruit forming sangria and colada-like flavors, and even a straight-up Muscadine grape wine. And like at any wine tasting, some wines admittedly were better than others. But overall I came away with a new-found respect for fruit wines of Florida and the serious approach to making them. Gone are the relapses flashing in my mind of flask-shaped bottles and headaches the next morning — oh, the headaches.... So now my collection of good things to drink includes not only the noble rot of the grape, but also the gentle aging of other excellent fruit, made much the same way and suitable for any white, rose or light bodied red occasion. And when in Florida, hey, why not keep it local? Because if life hands you a lemon, make lemon wine!

A Brief Primer on Florida Wine

It’s not that grapes don’t grow in Florida, nor even that it’s a new thing. In fact, some believe that the earliest vineyards producing New World wines date back to the mid-1500’s right there in the Sunshine State area now known as Jacksonville. Franciscan monks got in on the action back then, too, in their San Luis Mission near today’s Tallahassee. And their muscadine grapes are still grown there today making big, semi-sweet wines that are, frankly, not too shabby. 

In the world of grape growing in the US, Florida falls within Zone 10. This is the most hot and humid region, which is very good for many tropical fruits, but not so good for grapes. That’s because humidity is the enemy of the grape, preventing most varieties from thriving. So unlike the wide selection of grapes we all love to pluck between vineyard tastings in milder zones, Florida’s varieties are limited to just two: Muscadine (Vitis rotundifolia Michx.) and Florida Hybrid Bunch Grape (Vitis vinifera x Vitis spp.). Even the Hybrid Bunch varieties themselves suffer in their own home since their grapes grow in, well, bunches, where the humid air fosters crippling rot and fungus. So it’s the Muscadine, with its looser bundles and greenish bronze glow, that’s the Florida vintner’s grape of choice. Only problem is it’s distinctive and especially fruit-forward “grape-y” taste can be overpowering. But blend in some citrus or other tropical fruit with that juice, carefully ferment it for a while, and you can end up with fruit wine that will appeal to all but the driest of wine lovers.

There is a surprising number of wine makers in Florida despite the tough conditions and limited grapes. But the trend that has taken root is to produce wine made from the tropical fruit that Florida is famous for. Makes sense, really: grapes are a fruit that, when undergoing a controlled fermentation process, becomes wine. So why can’t other fruits be treated the same way? Well, at the Florida Orange Groves Winery they are, with results good enough to have been discovered by vintners and connoisseurs outside of the Sunshine State. Now they are sold throughout the state at places like Cocoa Beach Winery, with great success. Fruit wines are wines made of fruit that are specifically not grapes but the process is essentially the same. Take some fruit and squeeze its juice. Add some yeast and allow it to consume the sugars in the juice. The reduction of sweetness through the fermentation process — along with malic acids or other selected additions to direct and control the flavor transformation — changes the juice into a complex elixir of fruity alcohol, which can be aged in barrels and bottles. Sounds like wine, right? Yes — yes it does.

I won’t deny that there is a certain something in wine made from grapes that gives it a greater range of depth and complexity than fruit wines. Scientific parlance aside, grape wine is more sophisticated. That’s why red wines often evoke sensations of cherries, plums and even — don’t judge — road tar. In the white wine world it’s common to hear exclamations of pear, artichoke, green grass and stones. And that’s even before the oenophiles whisper sweet nothings about terroir. Unlike grapes, fruit wines tend to display a closer relationship to the fruit from which they derive. Apple wine, for example, tastes distinctly like apples. Mango wine screams mangos, but with a boozy, deeper twist. Offering a more in-your-face flavor, well-made fruit wines are interesting explorations of fruit without the overt sweetness of it’s origin. A peach wine, for example, will not mislead you to think it came from asparagus or river rocks — it’s all peaches all the time — but it can be dry and crisp with a tannic-like attack, a softer bouquet and a long finish. Sometimes you even get a little oakiness from the barrel. Sound familiar Robert Parker? 

Cocoa Beach Winery, 6110 North Atlantic Ave, Cocoa Beach, FL