White Wines of the Rhône Valley

    I visited the Rhône Valley in the summer of 2016, staying in Orange and Rasteau. I wandered around deserted stony vineyards, drank carafes of wine in restaurants that served indigestible cuts of meat, and experienced the terror of a giant bee flying up my shorts on a train platform. I love the region and, inspired by a recent book by Matt Walls, decided to do a spot of tasting. In this post I'm going to concentrate on whites, and will turn to reds another time.

A vineyard in Rasteau

    The 2018 E. Guigal Côtes du Rhône (£12, Tesco) has a lovely aroma of pear, peach and melon. It has plenty of body, befitting a wine that contains 60% Viognier plus sizeable doses of Roussanne, Marsanne and Clairette, and a noticeable bitterness on the palate. Like most whites from this warm and sunny area, there's not a lot of acidity, but it's not flabby, probably owing to the Roussanne and a splash of the acidic Bourboulenc grape. The alcohol is high at 14 percent, but it doesn't stick out. It's excellent value. 

 At £40 a bottle, the 2016 Jean-Luc Colombo Condrieu (Oddbins) certainly isn't cheap. Nor is it very good. I had this wine over two years ago and felt that the oak wasn't in harmony with the Viognier grape. The issue this time around was different: the wine is past its best. The aromas are elusive, and I was obliged to plunge my nose into the glass for a good sniff. The initial smoky Burgundian note proves fleeting and gives way to a very light tropical fruit aroma and a hint of petrol. The palate is rather watery, offering a suggestion of pineapple; the most interesting aspect of the wine is the kiss of tannin which you can sense on your front teeth.

    Guigal's 2017 Condrieu (£39.99, Majestic) is in a different league. It smells fabulous, like a super rich peach and apricot yoghurt overlaid with new oak. The wine has a wonderfully lush mouthfeel which, combined with the heady alcohol and stony/tropical flavours of the Viognier, brings to mind a Sauternes, albeit one with no sugar! There's enough acidity to make your mouth water, taking the edge off the booze. It's an immensely satisfying drink, and I kept thinking it would be the perfect wine to drink with a roast chicken. 

    In my opinion, whites from the south of the Rhône Valley can suffer from having too little Viognier in the blend, or perhaps none at all. The 2017 Chante Cigale Châteauneuf-du-Pape (£26, Woodwinters), is a case in point, Viognier being forbidden in this legendary appelation. The wine has many good points: it really fills the mouth and has a voluptuous texture, thanks to partial barrel fermentation. Despite the elevated alcohol, there's a notable freshness on the palate, courtesy of the 60 percent of Bourboulenc, Roussanne and Picpoul in the blend. It also has a distinct mineral touch. Still, I felt it lacked something. The fruit leans towards the tropical but the flavours are a little hard to pin down, and it doesn't have the explosive aromatic lift of a fine Viognier. 

Cairanne

    During a tasting in the wine village of Cairanne five years ago, I asked what flavours Grenache Blanc, the mainstay of white wines in the southern Rhône, brings to the table. 'Rien (nothing)', was the answer. The grape makes up half of the 2019 Boutinot La Fleur Solitaire Côtes du Rhône (£10.50, Woodwinters), and you can see where the man was coming from, for it's somewhat hollow on the palate. There's a nice pear character on the nose, though, which returns on the finish. A quarter of the wine is fermented and aged in used oak, giving it a touch of creaminess. The acidity is decidedly low, maybe due to the crazy heat of 2019, and you can sense the alcohol in your throat. 

    

   My last tasting sample was the 2019 Le Plan des Moines Les Silènes Cotes du Rhone (£10, Villeneuve), which has higher acidity than the average white from the southern Rhône. More typical are the abundant body and intoxicating alcohol. The stone fruit aroma is reticent, while the palate is more stony and salty than fruity. 

 The nature of the blend had me scratching my head. According to the wine merchant, it's 50% Grenache Blanc, with the other half Clairette. It seems too fresh to be a blend of these low acid grapes though. I think it's likely to contain some, perhaps a lot of, Roussanne, which has more acid and might account for the stony, mineral note. Evidence to support this comes from the back label, which reveals that Grenache (the red kind, I suppose) and Roussanne are the principal grapes used in the producer's wines. One thing's (almost) certain: there's no Viognier in this one.  

Note: Like the 'Emperor of Wine', Robert Parker, I purchased my own samples. In my case, of course, there was no alternative.