I Am *NOT* a Viognier Guy

It’s not typical for me to like the things that everyone else likes. This holds true for TV shows, movies, restaurants, and cars, but especially true for wine. Most of the wines I adore don’t even get entered in competitions, let alone get medals or recognition. I don’t really mind being an oddball when it comes to my taste, and when something I truly love does get recognition, I feel like I got there first, and it’s like I knew it was special before it got trendy. It’s rather smug, actually.

So it is with Viognier. I almost never taste a Virginia Viognier (or any Viognier actually) that I like. It’s kind of funny to me – Viognier gets a ton of press about being “Virginia’s White Grape” (although Petit Manseng is overtaking it slowly but surely – I’m holding out for Albariño, which is coming up right behind). Wineries I visit always say “and just wait until you taste our Viognier!” How do you let the tasting associate who is so sure that you’re going to love this wine know that it’s really just not your thing?

To me, Viognier almost always tastes like liquid wood.

Maybe it’s because sometimes the winemaker will age it in new oak for a bit. Maybe it’s because the flavor profile simply isn’t made for me. Maybe I’m just weird. But whatever the case, I do not like Viognier.

Now, bear in mind, there is one I’ve written about that I adored and even brought home. Chester Gap has made some lovely Reserve Viognier. Every now and then I find one that is crisp and bright enough, clean, and has only the tiniest hint of woodiness to it. But to be honest, nearly everywhere I have gone, I just don’t like it.

I’m that way about a lot of things in the wine world too. There are wineries that people rave about that I walk away wondering why I spent the time and calories there. I rarely, if ever, write about them because I don’t like maligning someone’s hard work. Making wine is pretty much a form of art, and telling someone that their art is awful is, well, spiteful. So I avoid writing about them at all, or I just post pictures of the beautiful scenery and move on.

While I do love me some good Cabernet Franc, and I’ve even been drinking down some of my supply in celebration of Virginia Wine Month, I also don’t join the masses in favoring this grape as the perfect example of Virginia. I really line up behind Petit Verdot and Tannat as examples of the best that Virginia can bring forth for us – these grapes do some amazing things in our erratic weather and give us fantastic wine. I’m glad to see both getting more attention and love out in the world, and I am here to say I told you so. In tough years like 2018, Cab Franc could only put forward rosé as far as I could tell, whereas PV and Tannat still made some darned good wine, either single varietal or blended together (give me a good blend of PV and Tannat and I am your BFF fer real) (looking at you Jason Murray and Jake Busching).

One of the Virginia Wine gurus, Frank Morgan, writes a blog called “Drink What You Like.” At the end of the day, I love that sentiment, because it really is about finding what you like and enjoying it. I encourage people to keep exploring and finding other wines they will love too, because as I’ve expanded my Virginia Wine exploration, I’ve found so much more out there, so much that is interesting and exciting and creative. Exploration has actually tested the boundaries of what I thought I liked and didn’t like, and much to my shock, I have found a Chambourcin I like and a Norton I love.

And that’s the point of this post. You don’t have to love what others love, and view wine the way others do. Sometimes I think about taking a course to learn “how to taste wine,” or think about it. I think I’d enjoy the learning, but honestly, I almost prefer to enjoy and perceive wine in my own way. When you think about the Danger of a Single Story (a fantastic Ted Talk) – it applies on so many levels. I do not mean to take away from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s incredible message about the variety of human stories and experiences – that is such an important one, especially as some elected officials work to remove perspectives from history instruction. I think her message applies on so many levels. Wine tells a story of time and place. If we manipulate it so it always has the desired qualities we are supposed to taste, then we miss out on the actual story.

As Virginia Wine Month comes to a close – what stories are you taking in? What new experiences have you given yourself?

And before it is over, will you order yourself one of these amazing shirts that will be the envy of your friends?