My long, strange trip with Viognier

I had become a real fan of many of the Rhône varieties that had been produced in Washington state, so my dislike of Viognier was confusing.

For sure, I had tasted delicious examples of the wine. While judging in Dallas one year, I adored a Texas version of Viognier.

I thought it strange that I had this love/hate relationship with a variety that seemed to garner so much adoration from the public — including my wife. But I had seen stranger things when it came to vinifera proclivities.

There was the judge who couldnʼt stand the taste of Malbec, a noble Bordeaux variety I tend to venerate.

Another judge thought Oregon couldnʼt produce good Pinot Noir. And then there was the one who didnʼt care for Riesling, the greatest and most versatile grape on Earth. (I simply adore Riesling in all its forms and would be hard pressed respecting anyone who disagrees. Saying you donʼt like Riesling is tantamount to launching a holy war.)

As I further explored my apparent dislike for Viognier, I found some common themes. First of all, it lacks acidity, giving it little natural backbone or much of anything to prop up its naturally floral and citrus flavors. To me, it ends up tasting kind of soapy.

In France as well as in the Northwest, winemakers will co-ferment Syrah with a bit of Viognier. Remarkably, it gives the red wine some volume as well as a bit of complexity in the finish. I can usually pick this out in a blind judging, but I will say that approach earns a few, but not many, points.

Viognier, it turns out, often puts me in a bad mood.

Back when I was writing for The Seattle Times, my first editor would go on and on about how much she loved Viognier. I liked the gig, so I just bit my lip and kept my mouth shut for once.

It turns out to be a tricky grape in the vineyard as well as on the table. Thereʼs a short harvest window for Viognier. Pick a little early and it produces a wine with bitter notes on the flavors. Pick a bit too late, you can end up with a wine that has a lot of oiliness on the palate.

I’ve enjoyed some late-harvest and even ice wine examples of Viognier from Oregon, so I thought maybe here was where the grape would shine.

I learned that when I expressed my opinions to other judges, they tended to agree with me, professing that the world of wine was filled with too many other interesting wines to bother spending much time or effort on Viognier.

That said, every grape variety has its fans. I, for example, enjoy Tannat, but I may be alone in that perspective. Some wineries make wines that I believe are so good, I would drive six hours out of my way and cross international borders to buy a case. I also would drive to the coast to eat at my favorite restaurant, which sadly, is now closed. I don’t much care if you agree with my adventurous attitude. Feelings can be irrational, and that applies double for wine.

But I thought it my professional duty to give Viognier every opportunity to change my mind. To further educate my palate, I tried examples from the grape’s historical home in Condrieu.

I even acquired some bottles from the Paso Robles region of California, an area noted for its superb Rhône varietals.

Alas, I found those wines lacking as well, so I consigned myself to being an advocate for Riesling in all of its glorious forms. When I went to a judging, I was honest with the organizers about my dislike for Viognier as a variety. They gave those wines to other judges to score. Everyone was happy.

Then a strange thing happened. While judging one year in Wenatchee, we awarded a Viognier from Jones of Washington the trophy for Best in Show. I was sort of horrified, so I went back and tasted the wine several times. It was delicious, balanced and worthy of our praise.

I had to understand the secrets of this particular wine to better understand why it earned my high praise. I tracked down the winemaker, Victor Palencia. He agreed that Viognier can be a tricky grape to grow and even a harder wine to make.

His secret, it turns out, was the vineyard location, where so many great wines begin. For Viognier, he gets his grapes from Washingtonʼs Wahluke Slope, an especially warm, dry region in the middle of the state. This allows him to pick his grapes a little early to retain acidity and flavor.

It turns out the oiliness I had encountered in other Viogniers came from grapes with a bit of rot. Victor also does a bit of lees aging to give the wine more body. It started to make sense that I would like that one from the arid plains of Texas.

Now Iʼll be on the lookout for hot-climate Viogniers to test these findings. Maybe there is a future with me for the grape.