Everybody who stays abreast of local wine news knows that the syrah grape is destined to be Washington’s Next Big Wine Thing. Unfortunately, that conviction is based less on tasting results than on the high prices commanded by syrah grapes and the rapid pace that syrah vines are being planted. Because a lot of the syrah wines made in Washington so far are not very good, and some are downright bad.
Bad Washington cabernet sauvignon, coarse and tannic, is still recognizably cab sauv; bad Washington merlot is just dull and flabby, not actively unpleasant to drink. Washington syrah is all over the place. One winery’s version will have a nasty medicinal taste, another a rank vegetable overtone; some otherwise excellent bottles fall down because a hot alcohol tang veils their fruit and finish. Granted, syrah hasn’t been grown here long, so most vines are still immature; but the prices Washington syrahs command rival, and sometimes exceed, those from France. Why are consumers so often not getting at least serviceably good wine?
Part of the problem may be an inappropriate notion of what a syrah “ought to be.” Washington’s vineyards are in areas with a hot climate, most of them; so, some reason, Washington syrah ought to be like the other leading hot-country syrah, Australian shiraz (same grape, different spelling). But for some reason, our “big” syrahs don’t turn out anything like Australia’s huge, mouth-filling, liquid-berry-jam wines. Coarse, yes, and cooked-tasting, sometimes, but rich? Not often.
One winemaker who does consistently get big, rich results, Cayuse’s Christophe Baron, doesn’t go looking for size; on the contrary, he says his model for vinifying syrah is the cautious, delicate approach needed for success with Burgundy’s notoriously fickle, finicky pinot noir. Rough treatment will saturate the wine with rough tannins, he says; during aging, anything but the very best oak (and not too much of that) can take the bloom off the best-made wine. “Syrah is feminine, romantic,” he says. “You must be a gentleman with her. In French she is, after all, la syrah. . . . “
Ste. Michelle head winemaker Bob Betz agrees, though he doesn’t appeal to “the language of love” to make his point. For him, syrah is “a chameleon; more than either cab or merlot, it reflects the place where it is grown.” For Betz, the proper template for syrah is its region of origin, the Rhône Valley of southern France, with its cooler northern and warmer southern reaches. Betz follows suit at his own winery (Betz Family Cellars) by making two syrahs, one (la Côte Rousse) from grapes grown at warmer sites in Eastern Washington, the other (la Serenne) from vineyards in cooler areas. Betz agrees with Baron that good syrah requires finesse during vinification to ensure that sweet (skin) tannins don’t get overwhelmed by bitter seed tannins. “I’m sure that ultimately you’ll see a lot of fine syrah being produced in Washington,” he says, “with a little more noodling and experience.” We the consumers can only hope that it doesn’t take a lot longer.
