There is pumpkin-spice wine.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, especially if you were having a nice day.
Pumpkin spice has escaped the latte, breached containment and infiltrated everything from breakfast cereal to dog treats. Apparently, wine was the logical next victim. Because nothing says centuries of viticultural tradition quite like asking, “Would this pinot grigio be better if it tasted faintly of a craft store in October?”
But fall is not a flavor. It is certainly not one flavor—and it does not require cinnamon.
Here in the Coachella Valley, fall allows us to start living differently. It arrives when the overnight low finally begins with a seven; the patio furniture stops functioning as a griddle; and familiar faces start reappearing at the grocery store.
Wine fits into these moments beautifully—not because it tastes like pumpkin pie, but because it has always belonged at the table. Maybe fall was never supposed to taste like cinnamon. Maybe it tastes like whatever is in your glass when everyone finally wants to sit outside again.
October is also the month of Come Over October, a campaign built around the idea that wine is meant to be shared. Its message feels particularly relevant at a time when wine is increasingly flattened into a single category: alcohol.
Wine contains alcohol, and alcohol can cause harm. We don’t need to argue otherwise or pretend wine is a health food to recognize that context matters. There is an enormous difference between alcohol abuse and two friends splitting a bottle over dinner. Yet much of the current anti-alcohol conversation strips away every distinction: quantity, frequency, setting, intention and whether that glass is accompanied by food, conversation and other people.
Reducing wine entirely to its alcohol content is like discussing food entirely in terms of calories. The numbers matter, but they don’t tell the whole story. Food and wine also carry memory, place, tradition and human connection. Wine is agriculture and craftsmanship, but it is also hospitality—a reason to pull up another chair, pass a plate and stay a little longer.
That is the most compelling part of Come Over October. It isn’t about drinking more or defending consumption for its own sake. It is about remembering that wine is at its best when it is part of something larger than itself.
The timing feels especially appropriate here, when the desert starts to come alive again, and there is a genuine feeling of excitement for the months to come.
These wines taste like fruit, flowers, herbs, stones, earth and the places from which they come. Their autumnal character comes from texture and savory complexity—not sweetness or artificial flavoring.
The best wines for our version of autumn have texture, spice and earthiness without excessive weight. They acknowledge the season without ignoring the thermometer. You don’t need a formal tasting or an elaborate dinner. Open something textured, earthy and alive; put a few glasses on the table; and invite someone to stay awhile.
Start with godello, particularly the Alvaredos-Hobbs Godello from Ribeira Sacra in northwestern Spain. You may have not heard of godello, but it’s positioned to be your new favorite white. The wine has enough texture to satisfy the part of you craving something richer, while its bright acidity keeps everything energetic. Pair it with roasted chicken, mushroom risotto, seafood paella or grilled fish. It feels like fall without requiring you to pretend it is cold outside.
Grenache blanc offers a similar bridge between seasons. Priest Ranch grows its version on the hillside vineyards of Somerston Estate in Napa Valley. Aromas of citrus, pear and honeysuckle lead into green apple, white peach and a subtle mineral note. Try it with roasted cauliflower, grilled pork, blackened shrimp tacos or something with a little spice. This is white wine wearing a light cardigan—not a parka.
For red wine, país deserves far more attention than it receives. The grape traveled from Spain to the Americas centuries ago and became foundational to Chilean wine.J. Bouchon’s País Salvaje comes from old, wild-growing vines in Chile’s Maule region, some of which climb among native trees rather than standing obediently in vineyard rows.
The wine smells of wild strawberry, cherry, flowers and dry earth. It is fresh, lightly rustic and especially charming with a slight chill. Think of it like pinot noir with a Spanish accent. País has history, character and earthiness, but it doesn’t feel remotely heavy.
Then there is barbera, one of the great food wines of northern Italy. Vietti’s Barbera d’Asti Trevìe comes from the hills of Piedmont and offers sour cherry, red plum, a touch of vanilla and plenty of mouthwatering acidity. Its tannins are soft, which means you get the depth and comfort of red wine without the palate-gripping structure of something more imposing.
Barbera is practically begging for pizza, tomato-based pasta, sausage, mushrooms or a bowl of minestrone. It is proof that a wine can be cozy without being enormous.
Finally, consider a Rhône-style red from California: Land of Saints makes a grenache-syrah-mourvèdre blend from Santa Barbara County that’s layered with flavors of Bing cherry, pomegranate, pepper and dried herbs, with the brightness and moderate weight that make Rhône grapes so well suited to our climate. Give it a slight chill, and pour it with grilled sausages, roast chicken, lamb or mushroom flatbread.
These wines taste like fruit, flowers, herbs, stones, earth and the places from which they come. Their autumnal character comes from texture and savory complexity—not sweetness or artificial flavoring.
That is how we do fall in the Coachella Valley: a little lighter, a little later and quite possibly in sandals. It is an open door, an extra chair and a bottle placed in the middle of the table.
You can leave the pumpkin spice to the latte. Wine already knows how to taste like fall.
