The afternoon we stopped in, the flight menu contained a delicious 2017 Dos Padres Barbera, produced from a single patch of grapes, grown 100 yards from the patio where we sat. There was also a 2017 Gewürztraminer, sourced from a neighbor’s vineyard. It had a sweet aroma of pineapple juice, but was subtle and clean on the palate, and paired well with the spicy mustard that came with our charcuterie plate. (We fought over the last sips.)

Sitting across from us on the patio, Mr. Glomski held two wine glasses full of dirt. Both had been dug a quarter mile from the winery. He held them just like he was about to take a sip, but instead, he asked us to sniff them.

“We grow Grenache in this,” he held up the glass with light brownish sand, which had the scent of stale ginger and warm rock. “But we also grow Grenache in this,” he said, raising a glass with tart-smelling chunks of what looked like potting soil. “And they’re very, very different. I’m not saying other wine regions don’t have that, but it’s definitely a huge part of who we are. We have crazy diverse lands out here. We look at is as a blessing.”

When it comes to finding the“perfect” Arizona grape, Mr. Glomski said, Verde Valley is still very much in its experimental phase. So far, earthy red Mourvedre and rich Roussanne have proven themselves hardy enough to put up with the state’s late April frosts and unrelenting summer rains.

But grape growers like Mr. Glomski are still figuring out what’s possible to make in the region, and in Mr. Glomski’s mind, this willingness to invent only helps their cause. “One of the cool things about this phase of restoring the wine history in Arizona,” he said, “is that everyone is passionate and proud, and everyone wants to make a unique expression.”

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