Sometimes a single smell can conjure recollections so profound as to transport you back to a particular time and place. A song can beam you back to your teens, dancing with your high school honey. A flavor can carry you away to the house you grew up in, sitting down to one of mom's dinners.

And for those of us with the oenophilic affliction, the mere mention of a wine can fill the nose and coat the palate with aroma and flavor memories so distinct that you could swear you had the glass in your hand and the bottle within reach. The wine becomes the place where the vines grow; the place becomes the wine.

When it comes to Zinfandel, there are only two that convey such powerfully suggestive remembrance, that speak so eloquently of their origin, that blend the wine, the place and the memories into a single entity. Geyserville is one.

The other is Lytton Springs.