• The Star Staff

Grenache three ways, and over many decades


By Eric Asimov


Back in the 1980s, when I was learning about wine, I used to cherish Châteauneuf-du-Pape. It seemed like an important and wonderful appellation. Certainly the bottles impressed me, with their dignified crests embossed right on the glass and their imposing labels, often in Gothic fonts.


More to the point, these grenache-based wines from the Southern Rhône Valley were aspirational wines that I could afford. I had a particular affinity for Bosquet des Papes — considered an old-school producer even then — which offered the lift that comes with lively acidity.


I loved the gravelly red fruit and the herbal flavors that I found in these wines. But sometime in the 1990s, I lost the taste for Châteauneuf. Or rather, as the wines evolved stylistically to become fruitier and sweeter, sometimes bordering on syrupy, they lost me.


It was not just Châteauneuf. For a long time, its excesses seemed echoed in many wines made of grenache, or garnacha, as it is called in Spain, where the grape originated. Whether from other Southern Rhône appellations; Priorat, perhaps the leading garnacha-based wine in Spain; or myriad other expressions of the grape, they all seemed to be traveling the same multilane freeway of force and flamboyance.


I offer this background only to give context to what is now an entirely new age of grenache. All over the grenache- and garnacha-producing world, power has made way for wines of elegance and transparency. Fans of the big wines still have plenty of options, but it’s heartening to see a much richer spectrum of stylistic expressions of the grape.


What does history tell us? Efforts to narrow the stylistic or quality potential of many grapes are doomed to failure. Somewhere, an idealistic winemaker will pop up with wines that prove the narrative wrong.


We have seen this again and again, whether it’s to demonstrate that aligoté is not always thin and acidic, that zinfandel need not be heavy and alcoholic or that silvaner can be inspiring rather than insipid.


Here at Wine School, we never want to blame the grape. We try to keep in mind that the wine in the bottle is most often dictated not only by the grapes but also by the site in which they were grown, the character of the vintage, the farming, the winemaking and the choices made by the people in charge of production.


It’s not easy to keep all that in mind. If your ideas about wine were shaped, say, from 1995 to 2010, you may have thought that grenache’s character was meant to be fruity and alcoholic. Even with my own memories of counterexamples and earlier iterations of grenache, I concluded in those years that I was not a grenache fan.


I am sad to say that I have had to learn this lesson many times and no doubt will again. That’s why I try to catch myself when I think in fallacious generalizations, the same sort that I hear all the time:


“I don’t like red wine.”

“I can’t drink riesling, it’s too sweet.”

“Italian wines are not for me.”


At Wine School, because we understand how easy it is to fall into these traps, we periodically try to test our beliefs. If you think you don’t like a certain type of wine, try it again in a few months or in a year, or try a different producer. Over time, the narrow perception of what a wine can be evolves. So do our own tastes.


Grenache is an excellent example. Over the last month we have been examining three different expressions of the grape. I suggested three bottles:


A Tribute to Grace Santa Barbara County Grenache 2018,

Comando G Vinos de Madrid Sierra de Gredos La Bruja de Rozas 2018

Domaine Gour de Chaulé Gigondas Cuvée Traditions 2016.


The idea was to see how three wines made from the same grape from different parts of the world might differ. Let me be clear: This was not meant as a conclusive demonstration of three different terroirs.


The word terroir is thrown around a lot. I do my fair share of it, and I believe in its importance absolutely. But it is foolish to think that tasting three wines will reveal much of anything about terroir. Too many variables prevent us from coming to meaningful conclusions. Speaking knowledgeably about how any wine expresses its place of origin requires years of close-up experience.


But we can still learn by comparing these three bottles. The Tribute to Grace was fresh, energetic and lively with aromas and flavors of red berries, flowers and herbs. I loved the elegance of this wine. Over the course of several days it turned a little earthier but always retained a crystalline purity.


The Comando G seemed a little more intense and forceful than the California wine. It was likewise fresh and light on its feet and earthy from the start, with a sort of chalky mineral quality.


Both of these producers exemplify the new wave of grenache. They make wines that demonstrate freshness rather than power and they view grenache as a grape eminently capable of expressing minute differences of terroir, very much like pinot noir.


I know Comando G has been inspired by Château Rayas, a cult Châteauneuf producer whose wines have always been shimmering and pure regardless of the fads of the moment. I suspect that Angela Osborne, the proprietor of A Tribute to Grace, has been inspired by them as well.


While these two wines are entry-level introductions to the wineries’ styles, made by blending grapes from multiple vineyards, both producers also make exceptional single-vineyard wines that are fascinating to compare.


The Gigondas was entirely different from the other two. If anything, it was a throwback to the sort of wines from the Southern Rhône I recall from the ’80s. The techniques used are time-honored: fermenting whole bunches of grapes, stems intact, rather than destemming, and long aging in large oak vats.


The result is a wine that is by no means sleek. Rather, it’s rustic in the best way, structured with grippy tannins, and spicy, herbal and floral along with flavors of red berries. Like all Gigondas, it’s not made entirely of grenache. It’s a blend: 80% grenache with the remainder equal parts syrah and mourvèdre.


These wines are not shy. Tribute to Grace is 14.2% alcohol, and the other two are 14.5%. But that’s less than the 15% to 16% monsters. (By the way, Comando G also uses whole bunches of grapes; A Tribute to Grace is about 80% destemmed.)


What I love about these three wines together is that they all show the personality of the grenache grape while also telling us something about their places of origin and the producers’ styles. I suppose I could have included a wine demonstrating the extravagant powerhouse approach for the sake of contrast. But the fact is, I would have spent much more time griping about that style. This way is more fun.


Quite a few readers found similarities to pinot noir in the Tribute to Grace and Comando G wines. Not in terms of flavors, but I think in their graceful freshness and seeming transparency. One reader, Gunnar Stahl of Iceland, enjoyed A Tribute to Grace 2012 with salmon, a classic pinot noir pairing.


Others, like George Erdle of Charlotte, North Carolina, found these wines difficult to match with foods.


Several interesting questions came up in the comments. Chris of Brighton, Michigan, took to task wine writers who “ignore the importance of yeast in determining the flavors of wine.”


Chris is partly right. Winemakers can use types of yeasts to enhance various aromas, flavors and other qualities of wines. You see this with processed wines in particular and sometimes with producers that purport to aim higher. But you would not see that level of manipulation in wines, like these bottles, that are intended to express their places of origin.


Angel Delgado of Barcelona said he was “unpleasantly surprised” that I had chosen a wine from the Sierra de Gredos as “representative of such wines in Spain.”


Just to be clear, none of these wines are meant to represent anything other than themselves. I could easily have chosen a garnacha from Navarre, as Delgado would have preferred, or maybe even a grenache from Sardinia, where, as Mikael of Amsterdam pointed out, it’s known as cannonau.


Finally, Keith W. Hall of Steelton, Pennsylvania, drank the Gour de Chaulé and asked, “How can a wine lacking complexity, with no distinguishing or compelling characteristics, taste so good?”


It’s simple. Wine is not just a collection of characteristics. That’s why efforts to define a wine by breaking it down into component parts are so unsatisfying. It’s the whole of its parts, best experienced in unity. In this case, the wine was delicious. That’s a pretty good outcome.


—When you need a wine under $10


Over the years, we’ve defined wines most often by appellation, occasionally by grape and, once in a while, by popularity.


But many readers have suggested that we look at wines by price. Essentially, this group resists all but the cheapest bottles possible.


Most of the time for Wine School, that’s not practical. If you want to explore the world of wine, to really get to know it, you have to be willing to spend some money. You do not get to know Bordeaux, say, or Napa Valley, or anywhere else, really, by chasing the cheapest options. But I do try to avoid excessively costly bottles and to seek value in my suggestions.


So what is available at the low end of the price spectrum? Where do the wines come from and what do you get for the price? This month we’re going to explore red wines that are under $10 a bottle. Here are the three bottles I recommend:


La Vieille Ferme Vin de France Red 2019 (Vineyard Brands, Birmingham, Alabama) $8

Masciarelli Montepulciano d’Abruzzo 2018 (Vintus, New York) $9


Los Vascos Colchagua Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 2018 (Taub Family Selections, Boca Raton, Florida) $9


Now, I know someone, somewhere, is saying: “$9 for a bottle of wine? Nobody has to spend more than $5!”


For $5, you will most likely get some pretty bad wine that has been heavily manipulated, farmed industrially or perhaps sold extremely cheaply on the bulk market for some other reason.


I’m very curious about these three roughly $10 wines. For years my position has been that the best values in wine are between $15 and $25. Good wines in that range cost enough (barely) to finance conscientious farming and non-manipulative winemaking. Once you get below $10, compromises are inevitable.


I expect that will continue to be my position after this month. Nonetheless, I hope that these wines will all be honest expressions, even if they turn out to be not the most complex bottles and are unable to articulate a sense of place. They ought to be relatively simple and satisfying, nonetheless.


Each of these bottles is well distributed. But if you can’t find one of them, the solution is easy. Pick a red wine that’s equally inexpensive.


Enjoy — and no complaints about the prices.