Syrah– Cursed By Greatness

It would not be a unfair comment to say that the varietal most misunderstood in the minds of California wine consumers is Syrah. Not since the wonder expressed by so many upon discovering that Zinfandel actually made a red wine and not simply sweet rose’ has there been such misadventure in the marketplace. The curse of Syrah is the same as its beauty—that it thrives in so many places in California and it can express a broad range of flavors and aromatics depending on the multitude of places in which it does so well.

Unlike Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah does not have a particular origin from whence its greatness in California originated. For Cabernet, Napa Valley is the land of milk and honey. The problem is that the range of flavors expressed by Napa Valley Cabernet is not that broad. One $30 buck bottle is not going to be appreciably different from another. This is due in part to the fact that terroir difference in Napa is not all that great (though Napa has done a great job of marketing the difference), and also because wineries have come, over the last thirty years, to know exactly what consumers expect from a $30 bottle of Cabernet.  For most, this is a comforting assurance when walking into a wine-shop and being assaulted by the thousands of possibilities confronting the consumer in today’s rich and diverse marketplace.  There is no doubt that this is good for the consumer in some cases and also good for the many wineries.  It does, however, make a grape with so many expressions, multiple-personality disorder if you will, such as Syrah a wild-card compared to the expected solidity and quality expressed in many Napa Valley Cabernets.

When it comes to California Syrah, there is a much larger difference between wines grown on the coast and inland, from as far south as Santa Ynez to the cold ridges of Mendocino in the north. There is Syrah made like Cabernet, and there is Syrah made like Pinot Noir. The number of houses devoted to the grape are few and their styles tend to vary dramatically. For instance, put the powerful and enormous Rockpile Reserve Syrah from JC Cellars next to comparatively perfumed and elegant Peay Les Titans and anyone but an expert would be hard-pressed to tell you they come from the same varietal.

They are both great wines, but it is not a surprise to find that someone about to shell out $50 for either bottle really has no idea what they are going to get.

This poses a fundamental problem for producers of Syrah. For us, it is the amazing diversity of the varietal that draws us to it. I love that I can make such an amazingly different wine from the Old Lakeville Vineyard on the coast than from Kick Ranch on the backside of Spring Mountain. Also, since the parameters of how to make “quality” Syrah have been less defined by tradition and critical affirmation, there is a bit less risk in experimenting more with different ripeness levels, whole cluster fermentation, cofermentation, and oaking regimens. This make Syrah seem a bit like the Brave New World for California.

The problem is selling it.  Syrah is a notoriously hard sell in the market right now, having never collected the steam that so many optimists who planted the varietal in the last ten years hoped it would.  In most cases, it seems Syrah is easier to sell if you are an estate established at something else that happens to do a Syrah. Look at Colgin IX estate, Schafer’s Relentless, or Lewis Cellars as examples. Though good Syrah can certainly be made from Napa Valley, it would behoove the consumer to step beyond that comfort zone and discover some truly remarkable wines being made up and down the state.

For those of us who hope to make Syrah the varietal that pays for our families bread—and the butter to put on it—more excitement needs to be generated and more education on the varietal needs to take place. We are where Zinfandel was at in 1990 in regards to mind-share. Syrah is too-often listed as “other” or “miscellaneous” in wine-shops across the country, in wine periodicals and magazines, and as a result in the mind of the consumer.

In many ways, Syrah producers are blessed. There are very few large tracts of “Syrah” plantings that go into plonk examples of the varietal. Rather, Syrah tends to be planted by the quality grower, by the one with passion for the varietal (I mean, someone like Steve Beckman had serious balls when planting his vineyard to so many Rhone varietals a decade ago), or as the post-script to a vineyard planted predominately to more popular varietals. This tends to mean that the average quality of Syrah is high, even if styles fluctuate dramatically. If people buying wine can get their head around this it might be the best start in getting them to try more.

Among Syrah producers there are the cults—the Alban, Pax, and Sine Que Non’s of the world—and then there are the hordes of others making excellent wines but receiving relatively little recognition or reward (sales-wise) from it. It used to be that crossing the 90 point barrier from Spectator or Parker guaranteed good sales. With Syrah it seems that barrier has been raised to 92 or 93 points. A higher hurdle has to be jumped to generate the buzz to generate sales. It astounds me that such great producers as Copain, Stolpman, Novy, Radio-Coteau, Failla, and others might not instantly sell-out their wine when less deserving wines percolating out of the kingdom of Napa Valley seem to practically sell themselves.

It is ironic that Syrah’s ability to perform well in so many nooks and crannies of terroir across this Golden State seems more a curse than a blessing. It is going to be the battle of the next decade for us, the producers of the varietal, to show that this diversity is what makes Syrah a truly great varietal here on these unsettled lands lining the Pacific Ocean.