Schist, Silk, And A Little Sin: Why La Turque 2016 Messes With Your Head

You open certain bottles to be liked. You open E. Guigal Côte-Rôtie La Turque 2016 to be conquered. This isn’t table wine; it’s a ritual—equal parts perfume, power, and polite violence. The first swirl feels like someone turned the lights down and put on a record you didn’t know you needed. I tasted it and thought, “Oh. So this is what the hills whisper when nobody’s watching.” You want a reason to buy? I’ll give you half a dozen. But first, let’s pour.

Storm Lantern In The Glass

The color is nightfall concentrated—inky purple core, a narrow rim flashing garnet like a hot coal at the edge of darkness. On the nose it’s an aria of black cherries, boysenberry coulis, and violets pressed into a velvet bookmark. Then the Côte-Rôtie tells on itself: smoked bacon, black olive tapenade, cracked pepper, a lift of star anise and incense. There’s a cool breath of graphite and wet slate, like someone just broke open the hill with a chisel. Let the glass sit and it grows dangerous—truffle shavings, espresso crema, a whisper of cured duck skin. This is not “nice.” This is necessary.

Velvet With Teeth On The Palate

First sip: a black-silk curtain pulled across the tongue, then a precise blade of acidity that keeps everything standing tall. The texture walks a wicked line—supple but structured, the tannins fine-grained and prowling, never clumsy. Flavors move in acts: ripe black fruit and violets (Act I), savory bacon-pepper tapenade (Act II), then a long, slow fade of cocoa nib, iron filings, and cold smoke (Finale). It’s sumptuous without syrup, fierce without heat, and balanced like a dancer who knows exactly when to land. If you don’t feel your shoulders drop after the second sip, check your pulse.

The Steep Myth Behind The Label

La Turque is the temptress perched on the Côte Brune, those iron-laced schists that hoard heat and sharpen Syrah into a spear. The site is tiny, vertiginous, and cruel on ankles—precisely the kind of vineyard that produces wines people tell stories about. The blend here leans Syrah with a well-placed splash of Viognier co-ferment—a move that gilds the perfume and polishes the tannin. Guigal, high priest of patience, gives the wine an extended, lavish élevage in new barrels; somehow the wood vanishes like a stagehand, leaving light and structure without sawdust. The vintage? 2016 in the Northern Rhône was a cool-hand year: clarity, tension, ripe fruit held on a wire. Translation: purity with posture.

How To Stage The Feast

Serve it cool side of cellar—around 60–63°F (16–17°C). Decant a solid two hours if you’re drinking now; this wine opens like a black piano lid, slowly, beautifully, then suddenly all at once. Food? Don’t be shy. This is Côte-Rôtie—that savory line begs for crispy Peking duck with hoisin, lamb chops charred hard and brushed with rosemary-garlic, or a porcini-heavy ragù over buttered pappardelle. Feeling feral? Do a coal-grilled ribeye with anchovy-caper butter and watch the black olive note lock arms with the sauce. You came to dance; pick partners that can move.

Why It Belongs In The Vault

Let’s talk collector brain. La Turque is a blue-chip bottle with tiny production and allocation gymnastics. In 2016 it hit the sweet spot: classical shape, soaring aromatics, and the kind of structural integrity that makes serious critics very generous with superlatives—high-90s to near-perfect across the board. This has a multi-decade arc; you can drink with mania now after a proper decant, but the real opera will sing between 2028 and 2045+ as smoke and fruit braid into something you’ll tell your grandchildren about. Scarcity plus longevity plus pedigree—this is the kind of line item that behaves well on spreadsheets and even better in a glass. (Then again, you don’t cellar legends to brag. You cellar them to remember who you are.)

Final Word

If you’re hunting for another polite Syrah, keep scrolling. La Turque 2016 is for people who like their pleasure with a little danger—who understand that great wine should leave a mark and steal a night. You’ll regret passing not because prices creep (they will), but because chances to drink myth while it’s still warm from the forge don’t come often. Grab it, guard it, share it with someone who won’t Instagram the last sip.