I‚€™m in a bad mood tonight. I‚€™ve been tasting American syrahs.
I‚€™d looked forward to exploring these wines ever since my last visit
to Dry Creek Valley in 2006, when I tasted a few that shone with bright
blueberry flavors, velvety texture, and enticing balance.
So now I wanted to see if syrah has indeed found its voice in the
United States. And it has. It sings like Aunt Jemima. Or Mrs.
These wines taste like pancake syrup. They are thick, viscous
behemoths that typically top 15% alcohol. Flavors are ‚€¶ heavy ‚€¶
maple, mocha, some fruit masked underneath, but it is overwhelmed by
something ‚€“ and I believe that something is the alcohol.
I‚€™ve found a few that I like, but none that I love. I opened six
tonight, from California, Oregon, and Washington. There wasn‚€™t a dog
in the bunch, but none I wanted to curl up with and just finish the
Sigh ‚€¶ guess I‚€™ll have to try some more tomorrow.