My negative feelings about viognier used to be quite strong: I hated it. Some good domestic examples in the past year or two have reduced that to ambivalence. I no longer hate it, but I'd prefer almost anything else. That's as good as it is going to get. But I just had one more thing to do before I wrote the grape off completely--splurge on a really good French version. Which I did a week ago when I tripped over a bottle of 2004 Eric Texier Condrieu at the most improbable little wine and cheese shop ever, Slough Foods, in the tiny little middle-of-nowhere, hook-in-the-road town of Bow-Edison of which the main drag consists of this store, a bread bakery, and a biker bar. I kid you not.
But back to the wine--THIS IS VIOGNIER? Viognier can do THIS? I did not recognize it. There was nothing here that reminded me of viognier as I know it, either in smell or taste. Light yellow color. On the nose there was that diesel thing that reminds me of many Chablis, honeydew melon, sweet white flowers and papaya. In the mouth, white nectarine with a hint of lime peel, plus the kind of creaminess I associate with malolactic fermentation and which muted the ample-enough acidity until you swallowed your sip and then went BANG! in your mouth. It was just this elegant little ride of restrained but exotic smells and tastes and then it exploded in you mouth, after which came one of the longest finishes I can recall on a young white wine. And that's verfifiable: I was actually sitting there trying to think to myself how to describe that bang when Bob commented on exactly the same thing.
Stunning. Exquisite. I cannot heap enough praise on this wine. It was not flabby, it was not heavy, it did not smell of dead old ladies and Estee Lauder perfume. It was unlike anything domestic viognier had ever prepared me for, and it reminded me of the kind of subtle force and delineation I love about Austrian whites. If this is viognier, I want more.