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Bien Nacido Syrah Vineyard, Santa Maria, California. Photo credit: Qupe Winery
Most American wineries have been rocked by the recession, but no category has been hit as hard as California Syrah. Sales for the variety have foundered, and many winemakers and Syrah enthusiasts are wondering why.
In researching the variety for a book on the American Rhone wine movement, I've come to believe that California Syrah might be going through an identity crisis and that no one – not consumers, not winemakers, not critics – is entirely sure what we're talking about when we talk about Syrah.
To help me get my head around my own confusion, I recently asked a number of the premier Syrah practitioners their opinion on the state of the grape – including John Alban, Bob Lindquist, Pax Mahle, Ehren Jordan, Justin Smith and Sashi Moorman – and will devote my first few pieces here at Zester to sharing their observations.
On sales trips, winemakers hear a common refrain from retailers and sommeliers: Consumers simply don't know what to expect from a bottle of California Syrah. Will it be a spice box – peppercorns and lavender, anise and mocha? A butcher's banquet – scents of organ meats and bacon fat and beef bones? A food fight at the jam factory – heady gobs of blueberries lobbed into the glass, textures as squishy as a pachyderm's tush?
"There's such confusion over what people are actually getting," says Syrah producer Justin Smith of Saxum Winery in Paso Robles. "There's such a diverse range of flavor profiles – even committed geeks like me don't know what to expect."
Their confusion isn't much assuaged by a guy like Pax Mahle, who with his brand Pax, founded in 2000, was routinely producing upward of two dozen Syrahs and Syrah blends in a vintage, an array that was bound to bewilder. Each of his bottlings offered wildly varying aromatics, ripenesses, textural nuances and alcohol levels. "I was known as ‘the Great Confuser,' " says Mahle, with a laugh. (Mahle and his winery partners parted ways in 2008; he's since founded a winery in Sonoma County called Wind Gap, producing, for the moment, just one Syrah.)
But the Pax wines that garnered the most attention, and the most critical praise from the Wine Advocate and the Wine Spectator, were the wines leading with power chords, big, heat-driven reds with barely sustainable alcohol levels and unbridled power. Oddly, Mahle gained a reputation as a producer of wines like these, even when they represented just a fraction of his prodigious, multifarious output. It didn't matter. What Robert M. Parker Jr. liked, sold.
"As Parker and the Wine Spectator rewarded riper wines with higher scores," explains winemaker Bob Lindquist of Qupe Wine Cellars in Los Olivos, Calif., "people started making it in riper styles." For Syrah, riper style means a bigger, fatter, richer wine, until it is akin to a pot of jam or a thick glass of port, virtually indistinguishable as a Rhône variety, but to some, irresistible anyway. Inevitably the fruit forwardness comes at the expense of the varietal's inherent wildness; that wildness gets "burned out" of the grape as it soaks up the sun. The wines tend to taste more or less the same. "For a while consumers tried them out because Parker told them to," Lindquist says, "but they realized they weren't getting much." That's a trend that can't do much for sustaining interest in the category.
"In my mind, 16% alcohol is not what Syrah is," says Ehren Jordan, who makes Syrah for Neyers Vineyards in St. Helena, Calif., as well as his own label, Failla. Jordan comes to his opinion honestly, having worked in the northern Rhône district of Cornas for two vintages. "I think they're pretty delicate wines," he says. "They've got more in common with Pinot Noir than with the Syrahs of Australia, which for me are a lot like Zinfandel."
Jordan's estate wine is planted to Syrah on Sonoma's outer coast, a climate that was once considered extreme for Pinot Noir. The resulting wine is a wild mélange of garrigue spices, pink peppercorns, Yunnan tea scents, its flavors more savory than fruit driven – not a pot of jam in sight. It's edgy, spicy, exotic and delicate all at once.
This range, in broad strokes, defines the state of Syrah in California in 2009 – or defines its lack of definition. I'm hoping you can contribute to this forum by weighing in on these questions, below:
What are you looking for in an American Syrah?
Is Syrah's range in this country troublesome to you, and does the fact that you don't know what you're getting ever give you pause? Or is your attitude more like vive la difference?
Next: Is Syrah's easygoing nature to blame? And the role of climate.
Ehren Jordan, winemaker for Neyers Vineyards in St. Helena, Calif., as well as his own label, Failla, in his Syrah vineyard. Photo: Failla Winery
Pax Mahle, formerly of Pax Wine Cellars, now makes Syrah under his own label, Wind Gap. Photo: Pax Mahle
A vat of just harvested Syrah grapes at Qupe, a Santa Maria, California winery. Photo: Qupe Winery
Bob Lindquist, owner of Qupe, is one of California's pioneering Syrah producers. Photo: Qupe Winery
A Bien Nacido Syrah vineyard near Santa Maria, California. Photo: Qupe Winery
Justin Smith produces Syrah and Syrah blends in Paso Robles for his own label, Saxum. Photo: Saxum Winery
The view west from Failla's estate Syrah vineyard near the Sonoma Coast. Photo: Failla Winery
Ehren Jordan, winemaker for Neyers Vineyards in St. Helena, Calif., as well as his own label, Failla, in his Syrah vineyard. Photo: Failla Winery
Pax Mahle, formerly of Pax Wine Cellars, now makes Syrah under his own label, Wind Gap. Photo: Pax Mahle
A vat of just harvested Syrah grapes at Qupe, a Santa Maria, California winery. Photo: Qupe Winery
Bob Lindquist, owner of Qupe, is one of California's pioneering Syrah producers. Photo: Qupe Winery
A Bien Nacido Syrah vineyard near Santa Maria, California. Photo: Qupe Winery
Justin Smith produces Syrah and Syrah blends in Paso Robles for his own label, Saxum. Photo: Saxum Winery
The view west from Failla's estate Syrah vineyard near the Sonoma Coast. Photo: Failla Winery
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