Last year, I had the unique opportunity to attend a trade tour of the Rhone (even better, it was on someone else’s dime!) The itinerary covered vineyards from north to south, with the majority spent in the Cotes du Rhone Villages within mini-bus distance of southerly Avignon. But the brief days I spent in the Northern Rhone were a heavenly slice for this Syrah-lover.
The Northern Rhone region of France is my Mecca for Syrah. Considered wines that “stand shoulder to shoulder with the Crus Classes of Bordeaux in terms of pure quality” by influential authority Tom Stevenson, the deep purple colored reds of Cote-Rotie and Hermitage are sought out by many as standard-bearers of the true expression of traditional Syrah.
My favorite wines have long been from the Hermitage AOC. Their provocative earthiness, their sweet fruit, and their exotic price tag all add to their appeal. But for me it’s more—the place taught me terroir.
It starts with the name, Hermitage. I knew the name first as a beginning wine drinker, the name being used on Australian Shiraz, whose wineries up until the late 1990’s could use the moniker interchangeably with Shiraz. Hermitage wines were spicy, rich, fruity, high alcohol, and ripe, all the attributes one looked for in an “in-your-face” New World red. My palate at the time needed that kind of up-front flavor profile (not to dis Aussie wine--I just couldn’t see any of its subtleties at the time.)
In those early days, I didn’t connect the dots back to its namesake in France, or to the world of difference that existed between the two. That would come later with a bottle of Jaboulet’s “La Chapelle” Hermitage. The famed bottle, courtesy of my brother’s seemingly limitless wine budget, was pure revelation. The ruggedness, the finesse, the white pepper and spice that I tasted in that one bottle jiggles my sensory memory even today. And was my light bulb moment for what is terroir.
After lunch we went to the train station, located at the base of the vineyards, and got a better look. I glared at that communications tower and sadly snapped a few photos. It kind of ruined my romantic vision of my epiphany wine. But it also brought the region into reality, in a way that dispelled many marketing inspired illusions. One, that France hasn’t stopped small quaint villages from morphing into larger towns, regardless of famous vineyards. Moreover, that terroir exists in ignorance of its human surroundings, even in spite of it. The wine I so loved had been made from a place not so well preserved, but was just as expressive and as important as my cherished vision. And I’m going to keep that in mind ever cork I pull.
