Notes from the Cellar: Qué Syrah! (What Syrah?)

The aromas deliver on the alluring, purple promise that fills the glass: sun-baked, deliciously rustic, with a telltale waft of smoky bacon that says syrah.

Syrah is hot. Long regarded as a solid but uninspiring member of the “Rhône Ranger” posse — grenache, mourvèdre, carignane (love is coming to us all) — syrah has been reinvented. It is quickly supplanting merlot as a marketing darling and varietal brand du jour. Hell, it’s almost as hip as pinot.

I pour another glass of my humble Côtes Catalanes. Wow. What a difference 15 minutes of breathing makes. White pepper and raspberry notes of grenache are unleashed and the foundation of syrah begins to flex its violet, earth and black fruit-laced muscles.

It packs plenty of pure satisfaction, this humble, $11 dollar bottle of “country wine,” with its exuberant flavors of sun, earth and vine on a Bacchanalian rampage. That sauvage thang. It literally reeks of syrah. Oh yeah.

But the wild thang in my glass is a completely different animal than the “new, improved” syrah whose fruit-bomb hosannas are sung by choirs of teeming demographics.

Why? What’s the difference? What is this ascendant Syrah? An extreme makeover with a whole new lease on life? The American Idol of varietals? A purple phoenix?

All I can tell you is that this tastes like syrah, while that (let’s call it Qué Syrah!*) doesn’t. And that’s just the point. Syrah is distinctive, earthy, even animal, the sort of flavor that’s not for everyone.

Qué Syrah! transcends that earthy, take-it-or-leave-it character. It’s Über-Fruit, a juicy candy store with something for everyone and nothing not to like. Unless you love syrah.

Qué Syrah! is pure ego, strutting its full-throttle berry flavors as it panders and preens. Like a baby-kissing politico, it is always accessible, pleasant, never elusive and rarely profound. But syrah is a different story, a brooding, earthy id with one foot planted on the dark side, its heady aromas of violets and fruit essence riding a primal, almost carnal undercurrent.

But baby-kissing politicos come with a price. Top-ranked titillation means big-ticket prices, even for first-release mediocrity. Of course, many renowned northern Rhône crus also command significant tariffs, but the cost gets you a depth of character that only generations of tradition and experience provide.

Meanwhile, my Côtes Catalanes continues to evolve in the glass, telling a tale of a year in the vineyard. It’s a pleasure to drink, with an implied walk on the wild side that its dark purple, earthy fruit barely conceals. This is the sort of wine I can drink on a daily basis — and I’ll take a walk on the wild side over a stroll to the candy store any day.

* Not to be confused with K Syrah, Charles Smith’s delicious Walla Walla syrah.