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So, Syrah?

Rod Smith

So, Syrah?

SO WHAT’S UP W/SYRAH?
          I’m pleased to have a guest spot on this site. Sommeliers have become a powerful positive force in the wine world and I’m glad to participate in your discourse.
          I’ve been thinking about California Syrah lately, and how disappointing it’s been. More than two decades ago it was so up-and-coming—but it never really got here. The grape and its wines are wine royalty, yet few California producers hang their hats on it, and fewer still have made consistently strong showings.
          I remember when the first “true” Syrahs (as opposed to Petite Sirah or whatever) came out of the gate in the early 1980s. It was really exciting, to a new generation of wine geeks at least. We’d plan dinner parties around new releases from Duxoup or Joseph Phelps. (Fred Dame—do you remember how intense that early Syrah scene was?) In fact, it was Joe Phelps, the inveterate Rhone ranger, who established our first significant true Syrah plantings.
Within a few vintages there were enough varietal Syrahs on the market to mount meaningful comparative tastings. Those early wines were exciting, not just as novelties but as credible echoes of the Rhone. I was particularly interested because I’d been getting Syrah religion at the source in Rhone caves with vignerons like Clape, Guigal, and Jaboulet, tasting with the Druids (that’s how it felt, anyway) through barrels of wine that clearly spoke of varying terroirs and vintages. If California could produce expressive Syrahs like that, I thought, we might actually have a new dimension in California wine.
          Then we all watched in horror as the early promise—of a new tool for exploring and expressing different terroirs in our magnificent coastal and mountain terrains—was broken by a flood of rather syrupy, high-octane red wine labeled Syrah for no apparent reason. Many strike me as little more than grape-flavored booze. Perhaps not coincidentally, I’m hearing reports from the field that Syrah is increasingly a tough sell. (Note: I feel like something similar has happened in eastern Washington, although that’s probably a topic for another post.)
          Can we count the paving stones on the downward path? Start with indiscriminate planting, overcropping, and excessive manipulation—particularly oak overkill. (Why do so many California winemakers think they have to make Napa Valley cabernet out of every grape variety?) I’m aware through contacts in various cellars that quite a number of highly-regarded winemakers freely doctor their wines with enzymes, tannin, concentrate, etcetera (all of which I consider substance abuse). And of course, these days it’s pretty par for the course to pick the grapes overripe and then add acid and water, which is like trying to balance a table by sawing a little off this leg and a little off that. And then there’s what I consider excessive ripeness. I’ve heard several winemakers say, “Twenty-six brix is the new twenty-four!” Personally, I liked the old twenty-four. If the variety matches the site and the vines are balanced, the grapes will be plenty ripe and the wine won’t taste like a mess of mismatched adjectives.
          Voila--there in my glass the other night was an Arnot-Roberts Syrah (Clary Vineyard ’06). It had that whole peppery, leathery, minerally thing going on, intense but not dense, with cut-glass definition and brisk natural acidity that cut right through my friend Sebastian’s pork rillette. All at just 13 percent alcohol, without de-boozing. And I thought of other classically-styled Syrahs I’ve enjoyed recently, from Dehlinger, Edmunds St. John, and the like. I wonder whether Syrahs like that will always be anomalous, or if they finally signal a trend toward the coalescence of some Syrah ideal?
          So where’s it all going? Will California Syrah producers continue following the score-mongers toward one size (extra large) fits all? Or will they rally around nuanced expression and distinctive character, perhaps leading the way toward the paradigm shift so many of us have been hoping for?
Parents

  • Shayn, I’m betting that Arnot-Roberts you’re describing was the Clary Vineyard, the same one that blew me away recently. That vineyard does experience the kind of diurnal temp swing that you mention in connection w/Walla Walla’s continental climate, though we get it around here (western Sonoma County) as a marine influence. Good point, but I think it’s more than just preserving the acidity. It seems to galvanize the fruit in a way that’s hard to mimic in the cellar w/acid additions or other manipulation. Deeper color, for example (although you can do that w/enzymes). And Greg, I agree that syrah is a lot more like pinot than cab in character, and in how much manipulation it will tolerate. Thanks for the insight into the nerves of steel it takes to make a wine that expresses (insert the T word here, if you dare), as we all seem to agree the Gramercy wines do. It takes experience, faith and conviction to know that a greenish-smelling fermentation can ripen into a luscious wine. I’m surprised that knowledge isn’t more common—even in my limited experience working a few crushes it seems axiomatic that a fermentation that smells jammy will yield a jammy wine. Of course, jammy wines tend to nail the scores…

Comment

  • Shayn, I’m betting that Arnot-Roberts you’re describing was the Clary Vineyard, the same one that blew me away recently. That vineyard does experience the kind of diurnal temp swing that you mention in connection w/Walla Walla’s continental climate, though we get it around here (western Sonoma County) as a marine influence. Good point, but I think it’s more than just preserving the acidity. It seems to galvanize the fruit in a way that’s hard to mimic in the cellar w/acid additions or other manipulation. Deeper color, for example (although you can do that w/enzymes). And Greg, I agree that syrah is a lot more like pinot than cab in character, and in how much manipulation it will tolerate. Thanks for the insight into the nerves of steel it takes to make a wine that expresses (insert the T word here, if you dare), as we all seem to agree the Gramercy wines do. It takes experience, faith and conviction to know that a greenish-smelling fermentation can ripen into a luscious wine. I’m surprised that knowledge isn’t more common—even in my limited experience working a few crushes it seems axiomatic that a fermentation that smells jammy will yield a jammy wine. Of course, jammy wines tend to nail the scores…

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