I just finished tasting a flight of Syrah, and every sip was a journey all its own.
There was the unctuous, lusciously ripe style, loaded with stewed fruit, baking spice and smoked meat, with ample acid and tannin to balance the heft. There was the delicate, floral approach, light on its feet with elegant aromas of violet and lavender floating atop a chalky, chiseled frame. And then there was the more extreme expression, laced in iodine, bay leaf, olive tapenade and cracked peppercorn, those savory elements far outshining a backdrop of elderberry jam.
I wasn’t surprised. Syrah flights are like that every time—sliding from hedonistic and rich to angular and intellectual, occasionally touching on all of those points in the same glass. No matter the style, they’re almost uniformly of a high quality, scoring consistently better than their red wine counterparts, at least on my scale. And that’s without any extended aging, but I’ve found Syrah to be the most interesting performer from the cellar, as time tends
