The Northern Rhône produces some of the world's greatest Syrah from famous hillside appellations as Côte-Rôtie, Hermitage, and Cornas, as well as great white wine from Viognier, Marsanne, and Roussanne. Listen to my podcast on the region to find out more about what makes these wines so unique. You can also follow my podcast on Soundcloud or on iTunes.
Music by Bensound
Showing posts with label northern rhône. Show all posts
Showing posts with label northern rhône. Show all posts
Monday, 28 August 2017
Tuesday, 8 December 2015
Syrah and Shiraz
Grape varieties are known by many different names:
Tempranillo is also called Tinto Fino, Tinto de Madrid, Tinto País, Tinto de
Toro, Ull de Llebre, Cencibel, Tinta Roriz, and Aragonês throughout Spain and
Portugal. These different names come from local tradition and language
differences – another Spanish grape Garnacha is known as Grenache in France and
the rest of the world. The most famous name difference is Syrah, as it is
called in France, and Shiraz, its Australian name.
Syrah’s spiritual home is the northern Rhône, in the small, hilly appellations of Hermitage, Côte-Rôtie, and Cornas. This is as far north as Syrah will ripen, producing intense, gamey, long-lived red wines. In 1831, Scotsman James Busby travelled around England, France, and Spain, commissioned by the Australian government to bring back grape varieties potentially suitable for Australia’s warm climate. He brought nearly seven hundred grape cuttings, including Syrah, or Shiraz as it became known in Australia.
The name change has always been confusing: why did it develop a completely different name in Australia? I had always thought that because the Australian wine industry developed in relative isolation, the name of the grape had mutated locally, just as grape varieties had taken on different names throughout Europe. Australians also speculated that the grape had come from Shiraz in Persia (modern-day Iran, which is today the biggest grower of table grapes) rather than from France.
I was recently reading A History and Description of Modern Wines by Cyrus Redding, a textbook about wine first published in 1833, around the same time James Busby brought his cuttings to Australia. It’s an interesting book and still very readable. He lists dozens of different grape varieties grown across Europe, some of them now forgotten (Orleans, a grape once important in Germany), some familiar (Merlot, Grenache), and others that are familiar but spelt differently (Pineau, for instance). His description of the northern Rhône is the most surprising: "Hermitage is produced from the Scyras, or Shiraz grape." The name Syrah is not mentioned anywhere in the book.
This small detail would make it seem that the grape is called Shiraz in Australia because that was one of its French names when Busby was travelling around the country. Redding also notes that "it is said to have been brought from Persia," again showing that this theory about its origins is not an Australian invention, but one that had previously existed in France.
I went to James Busby’s account of his travels around France and Spain, Journal of a Tour through some of the vineyards of Spain and France (1833), to see what he called the grape. He spells it as Ciras, listing Scyras as an alternative. There seem to have been many spellings of the grape’s name. Busby spells it Ciras, Redding Scyras, and John Livingstone-Learmonth’s book The Wines of the Northern Rhône lists other spellings such as Syra, Chira, and Sirac. All of these spellings revolve around the word Shiraz, again suggesting that the origin for the Australian name is French.
Busby takes the story of the grape's Persian origins further: "the tradition ... exists in the neighbourhood [of Hermitage], that this variety was originally brought from Shiraz, in Persia, by one of the Hermits, who resided in the Hermitage of which the ruins still exist on the Hill where the celebrated wine of that name is produced." The theory that the grape came from Persia persisted until quite recently, but it was disproved by Carole Meredith of UC Davis. She discovered that the grape is probably the off-spring of Dureza, a grape found in nearby Ardèche, and Mondeuse, from Savoie to the east of the Rhône.
Modern-day clones of Shiraz (and Chardonnay, which Busby calls Pineau Blanc or Chaudeny) in Australia can be traced back to Busby's original cuttings, but the grape nowadays grown in the northern Rhône is probably quite different from that of the 1830s. Cloning since the 1970s has focused on developing grapes with bigger berries, producing more expansive and riper flavours. The original, smaller Syrah still exists, called Sérine in Côte-Rôtie (as Redding himself notes) and Petite Syrah in Hermitage – not to be confused with California’s Petite Sirah, whose origins are yet another story.
Syrah’s spiritual home is the northern Rhône, in the small, hilly appellations of Hermitage, Côte-Rôtie, and Cornas. This is as far north as Syrah will ripen, producing intense, gamey, long-lived red wines. In 1831, Scotsman James Busby travelled around England, France, and Spain, commissioned by the Australian government to bring back grape varieties potentially suitable for Australia’s warm climate. He brought nearly seven hundred grape cuttings, including Syrah, or Shiraz as it became known in Australia.
The name change has always been confusing: why did it develop a completely different name in Australia? I had always thought that because the Australian wine industry developed in relative isolation, the name of the grape had mutated locally, just as grape varieties had taken on different names throughout Europe. Australians also speculated that the grape had come from Shiraz in Persia (modern-day Iran, which is today the biggest grower of table grapes) rather than from France.
I was recently reading A History and Description of Modern Wines by Cyrus Redding, a textbook about wine first published in 1833, around the same time James Busby brought his cuttings to Australia. It’s an interesting book and still very readable. He lists dozens of different grape varieties grown across Europe, some of them now forgotten (Orleans, a grape once important in Germany), some familiar (Merlot, Grenache), and others that are familiar but spelt differently (Pineau, for instance). His description of the northern Rhône is the most surprising: "Hermitage is produced from the Scyras, or Shiraz grape." The name Syrah is not mentioned anywhere in the book.
This small detail would make it seem that the grape is called Shiraz in Australia because that was one of its French names when Busby was travelling around the country. Redding also notes that "it is said to have been brought from Persia," again showing that this theory about its origins is not an Australian invention, but one that had previously existed in France.
I went to James Busby’s account of his travels around France and Spain, Journal of a Tour through some of the vineyards of Spain and France (1833), to see what he called the grape. He spells it as Ciras, listing Scyras as an alternative. There seem to have been many spellings of the grape’s name. Busby spells it Ciras, Redding Scyras, and John Livingstone-Learmonth’s book The Wines of the Northern Rhône lists other spellings such as Syra, Chira, and Sirac. All of these spellings revolve around the word Shiraz, again suggesting that the origin for the Australian name is French.
Busby takes the story of the grape's Persian origins further: "the tradition ... exists in the neighbourhood [of Hermitage], that this variety was originally brought from Shiraz, in Persia, by one of the Hermits, who resided in the Hermitage of which the ruins still exist on the Hill where the celebrated wine of that name is produced." The theory that the grape came from Persia persisted until quite recently, but it was disproved by Carole Meredith of UC Davis. She discovered that the grape is probably the off-spring of Dureza, a grape found in nearby Ardèche, and Mondeuse, from Savoie to the east of the Rhône.
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| the Hermitage chapel, which dates back to the 1200s; photo from foodwineclick.com |
Modern-day clones of Shiraz (and Chardonnay, which Busby calls Pineau Blanc or Chaudeny) in Australia can be traced back to Busby's original cuttings, but the grape nowadays grown in the northern Rhône is probably quite different from that of the 1830s. Cloning since the 1970s has focused on developing grapes with bigger berries, producing more expansive and riper flavours. The original, smaller Syrah still exists, called Sérine in Côte-Rôtie (as Redding himself notes) and Petite Syrah in Hermitage – not to be confused with California’s Petite Sirah, whose origins are yet another story.
Thursday, 11 December 2014
The Rhône
Driving down France from the cold, grey, almost English north through the gradually brighter Burgundy, all of the sudden the weather and the country change after Lyon. The sun is bright, constant, and warm; the land is vast and dramatic. You can sense that northern Europe has been left behind for good, and that the glamour of the Mediterranean is not too far away. These changes are reflected in the wines, which get bigger, bolder, and warmer as the Rhône, one of France's great rivers, winds it way down from Lyon to Avignon, city of Popes, and Arles, where van Gogh somehow lost an ear.
The Rhône is divided into four different wine-producing areas, the most significant of which are the northern and southern. The climate of the northern Rhône is still moderate, only just warm enough for Syrah to ripen fully. The south is hot, the sun baking the galet stones which retain heat in the cool nights.
There are also three appellations dedicated to white wine. Condrieu, next to Côte Rôtie in the north of the area, is all Viognier, heady, aromatic, and arguably overpriced. Within the appellation is another, France's smallest, called Château Grillet after its only producer. Right at the other end of the region is St-Péray, a small appellation dedicated to Marsanne and Roussanne, my two favourite white Rhône grapes.
The most famous appellation is without doubt Châteauneuf-du-Pape, so called because nearby Avignon was the home for the Papacy in the 1300s. Châteauneuf was the very first appellation to be created in France in order to counteract fraud, in 1923. The rules are quite broad - 18 different grapes are allowed for the production of both red and white wine - and standards have risen and fallen. There has also been a trend, led by demand in the American market, for high alcohol wines aged in lots of new oak, which can be too much for the more delicate palate.
More consistent, less fashionable, and better value is neighbouring Gigondas, which is very similar to Châteauneuf-du-Pape but more reserved. Next door to Gigondas is Vacqueryas, a more rustic, less hygienic, but appealing version of its two neighbours.
At the bottom end of the scale is Côtes du Rhône, a large area which takes in 42,000ha of land. The wines, often made using some carbonic maceration, are simple, straightforward, and fruity, but can offer good value at the entry level. The next level up is Côtes du Rhône-Villages, wine made in one of twenty villages that have the potential to become their own appellation one day. These wines can offer a very good value alternative to the more famous appellations.
There are plenty of other appellations in the area, including the interesting Costières de Nîmes on the western side of the Rhône, all offering local variants on the constant theme: wines with red fruit, highish alcohol, dusty tannins, a meaty depth, and some ageing potential. Not surprisingly, they pair well with the local food: rich, hearty, meaty dishes.
Far less common (2% of the Côtes du Rhône appellation; 7% of Châteauneuf-du-Pape) are whites. I love the rich, creamy, nutty textures of these wines, made from any combination of Roussanne, Marsanne, Viognier, Grenache Blanc, Picpoul, and the wonderfully named Bourboulenc.
The Rhône also has an appellation solely for rosé, Tavel, which serves as a pink equivalent to Châteauneuf-du-Pape (where rosé is not allowed): full-bodied, fruity, and earthy. A distinguished appellation, but not one that is to everyone's taste.
Tasting these wines from the Rhône left me thirsty for more, and I had a blind tasting of three other wines to hone my Rhône recognition skills further.
The most important thing to consider when tasting Rhône wines is the tannins. If the wines come from the Rhône rather than the New World, there is going to be a dry dustiness to the tannins, especially in the hotter south. These tannins give the wine great structure, making them perfect with robust food dishes. There is also a romanticism to the wines of the Rhône which I can't avoid falling for, even in the formal educational settings of a WSET Diploma course. The sunshine, the lifestyle, the river are all reflected in the wines: this is a place which gives and then gives some more.
the regions
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| from winefolly.com |
northern Rhône
This is France at its most dramatic and unforgettable, the grand river bending back and forth as huge, steep slopes rise from its banks. These slopes are home to some of the most famous, and expensive, vineyards in the world, including Côte Rôtie ("roasted slope") and Hermitage. These south-facing slopes allow enough sun and heat to hit them for Syrah to grow. The Syrah here is far removed from the Shiraz of Australia: meaty and gamey, with a restrained fruitness and several years of oak ageing, designed to be drunk at least five years after the vintage, and often much more.There are also three appellations dedicated to white wine. Condrieu, next to Côte Rôtie in the north of the area, is all Viognier, heady, aromatic, and arguably overpriced. Within the appellation is another, France's smallest, called Château Grillet after its only producer. Right at the other end of the region is St-Péray, a small appellation dedicated to Marsanne and Roussanne, my two favourite white Rhône grapes.
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| Hermitage |
southern Rhône
After a small break along the river where nothing much happens in wine terms (apart from sparkling wine production in Die, just east of the Rhône), the climate becomes startlingly hot and Mediterranean. A huge variety of wines are made in the southern Rhône, including the delicate fortified wines of Beaumes-de-Venise, but this area of France is known for its high-alcohol red blends based on Grenache.The most famous appellation is without doubt Châteauneuf-du-Pape, so called because nearby Avignon was the home for the Papacy in the 1300s. Châteauneuf was the very first appellation to be created in France in order to counteract fraud, in 1923. The rules are quite broad - 18 different grapes are allowed for the production of both red and white wine - and standards have risen and fallen. There has also been a trend, led by demand in the American market, for high alcohol wines aged in lots of new oak, which can be too much for the more delicate palate.
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| the galets of Châteauneuf-du-Pape |
More consistent, less fashionable, and better value is neighbouring Gigondas, which is very similar to Châteauneuf-du-Pape but more reserved. Next door to Gigondas is Vacqueryas, a more rustic, less hygienic, but appealing version of its two neighbours.
At the bottom end of the scale is Côtes du Rhône, a large area which takes in 42,000ha of land. The wines, often made using some carbonic maceration, are simple, straightforward, and fruity, but can offer good value at the entry level. The next level up is Côtes du Rhône-Villages, wine made in one of twenty villages that have the potential to become their own appellation one day. These wines can offer a very good value alternative to the more famous appellations.
There are plenty of other appellations in the area, including the interesting Costières de Nîmes on the western side of the Rhône, all offering local variants on the constant theme: wines with red fruit, highish alcohol, dusty tannins, a meaty depth, and some ageing potential. Not surprisingly, they pair well with the local food: rich, hearty, meaty dishes.
Far less common (2% of the Côtes du Rhône appellation; 7% of Châteauneuf-du-Pape) are whites. I love the rich, creamy, nutty textures of these wines, made from any combination of Roussanne, Marsanne, Viognier, Grenache Blanc, Picpoul, and the wonderfully named Bourboulenc.
The Rhône also has an appellation solely for rosé, Tavel, which serves as a pink equivalent to Châteauneuf-du-Pape (where rosé is not allowed): full-bodied, fruity, and earthy. A distinguished appellation, but not one that is to everyone's taste.
the wines
Guigal Condrieu 2012 ($70)
From Côte Rôtie and Condrieu's most famous producer, this is a wine of beautiful floral and stone fruit aromas. The wine has also seen some oak giving it a light smokiness, and it has a dry, mineral finish. I personally thought this wine was outstanding, but the overall, and quite harsh, conclusion of the Diploma group I tasted this wine with was that its fruits lacked concentration and the finish wasn't long enough. It's hard to imagine a wine more delightfully aromatic than this, though I do prefer the rounder, creamier wines made from Roussanne and Marsanne elsewhere in the Rhône.Cave de Tavel Lauzeraies Rosé 2012 ($14)
Our Diploma tutor confessed that he wasn't a huge fan of the rosés of Tavel, but nevertheless it's a style which he have to appreciate and understand. Tavel produces full-bodied rosés far removed from both the sweetish blush wines of California and the pale rosés of nearby Provence. This wine had lots of red fruits which were a little too candied and juicy watermelon, together with a wet earthy feel. Full and fruity, but lacking complexity.Château du Montfaucon Côtes du Rhône 2013 ($12)
This was a good, fruity example of Côtes du Rhône at an extremely reasonable price. No oak and quite simple, this is nevertheless a good entry level wine. The producer is from Lirac, one of the Rhône's many appellations.Clos St. Jean Châteaufneuf-du-Pape 2011 ($35)
Tasting this wine with a group of American students was interesting. These students described the wine as well integrated and balanced; in contrast, I found the whopping 16% level of alcohol burning and out of control. The only non-fortified wines that reach this level of alcohol are Amarone and Zinfandel. The tannins weren't ripe or the fruit jammy enough to be a Zinfandel, and it was much closer to a modern, powerful Amarone, with its dry, dusty tannins and lots of new oak to try and integrate the excessive sugar of the fruits. If I wanted to make a wine with this high alcohol, I'd just make it fortified - at least then there'd be greater control over the nature of the alcohol.Guigal Brune et Blonde Côte Rôtie 2010 ($70)
Back to the opposite end, and style, of the Rhône with another wine from Guigal. This is a blend of Côte Rôtie's two famous slopes; wines from the 'Blonde' slope are softer and more likely to be blended with Viognier (there was 4% Viognier in this wine), while those from the 'Brune' are firmer and age longer. I loved this wine, its fruits restrained and use of oak just about in balance. The subtle flavours slowly drew out, a savoury gameiness behind the black fruits and slightly coarse, drying tannins. This is still a young wine, however, the flavours needing plenty of time to develop and mature. One student complained that the finish wasn't long enough, but the lingering toasty, pepper finish is exactly what Syrah from a moderate climate should taste like.Tasting these wines from the Rhône left me thirsty for more, and I had a blind tasting of three other wines to hone my Rhône recognition skills further.
Prat Sura Vacqueryas 2012 ($28)
The more rustic element of Vacqueryas was clear in this wine, with an earthy, homely appeal. The tannins were proper Rhône, dry, gripping, and teeth-staining, but with good red fruits to flesh the wine out. In true French mode, I later drank this with steak - a perfect match.Torbreck Cuvée Juveniles Barossa 2011 ($20)
GSM is not a term used in France, but it refers to New World Rhône blends featuring Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvèdre. The latter doesn't get used much in the Rhône, more so in Provence and Spain (where it's called Monastrell), as well as in California and Australia (where it's called Mataro). This Australian GSM is surprisingly herbal, but its main difference from actual Rhône wines is that the fruits and tannins are much riper. There is enough structure to balance out those ripe fruits: one of those Australian wines that reveals unexpected layers with each taste.Mas de Gourgonnier Les Baux de Provence ($20)
Les Baux is one of my favourite villages in Provence, a stony hilltop village with small chapels and shops to dip into to escape the beating sun. It also produces great wine, an appellation created in the early 1990s to incorporate Cabernet Sauvignon - a grape that traditionalists believed shouldn't flourish in the heat of the Provençal sun. This is a blend of Grenache, Syrah, Cabernet, and Carignan, but falls a bit short. The nose is disappointing and medicinal; the mouth, however, has good, dry tannins and red and black fruit, but the finish fades too quickly.The most important thing to consider when tasting Rhône wines is the tannins. If the wines come from the Rhône rather than the New World, there is going to be a dry dustiness to the tannins, especially in the hotter south. These tannins give the wine great structure, making them perfect with robust food dishes. There is also a romanticism to the wines of the Rhône which I can't avoid falling for, even in the formal educational settings of a WSET Diploma course. The sunshine, the lifestyle, the river are all reflected in the wines: this is a place which gives and then gives some more.
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