Ash and Violet: E. Guigal Côte-Rôtie La Turque 2016

The first swirl of La Turque 2016 is a plunge into velvet darkness. In a tulip-bowled glass at 16–18 °C, the wine glows black-purple, a nocturne held to light. One hour in a decanter coaxes it into speech, the graphite edges loosening, the perfume rising—violet petals and smoked game, black olive and cassis. The tannin, that gentle drying grip born of grape skins, feels at first tightly wound, then yields like silk drawn taut over iron. To drink it too quickly is to smother its tale; patience is rewarded with a slow unscrolling of terroir.

From France’s northern Rhône, on the fabled Côte Brune of Côte-Rôtie, La Turque is a single-vineyard jewel of E. Guigal, master vintners whose name has become shorthand for Syrah at its most statuesque. The parcel’s steep schist slopes, streaked with iron, lend muscular depth. Primarily Syrah, with a trace of Viognier co-fermented for lift, the vines tilt eastward into the rising sun, where warmth by day and mistral winds by night forge a wine that is power framed by perfume—a paradox only this corner of Ampuis can deliver.

Smoke, Stone, and Song

The 2016 vintage in Côte-Rôtie brought balance rather than extremes. Where hotter years can push Syrah into exuberance, this season delivered structure—acid and tannin in harmony with dark fruit. The palate carries blackberry liqueur, licorice root, and wild boar charcuterie, all underscored by the taste of wet slate after rain. French oak lends a quiet brush of clove and sandalwood. The finish is long, violet and ash lingering like an incantation.

This is a wine built for decades—already vivid, but with the bones to deepen until at least 2035. Time will soften its grip, draw out black truffle from beneath the fruit, and weave the savory into a seamless tapestry.

Feasts of Fire and Flesh

La Turque’s gravity calls for dishes with soul. Consider venison haunch roasted slowly over juniper branches, the resinous smoke entwining with Syrah’s own gamey whisper. Or duck breast lacquered with cherry and cocoa, where the wine’s dark fruit finds an echo while tannins tame the meat’s richness. These are not pairings of convenience but of kinship—meat and flame answering the wine’s primal depth.

Journeys Beyond the Rhône

The wine also thrives when taken beyond its native soil. Persian fesenjan, a stew of duck with walnuts and pomegranate, laces earth and jewel-bright acidity into a dialogue with Syrah’s blackberry and spice. Korean galbi, short ribs marinated in soy, garlic, and pear, find their char mirrored in the wine’s smoky undercurrent while umami deepens its mineral line. These dishes do not compete; they converse in unexpected registers.

Gardens in Shadow and Light

The vine goddess loves her vegetal companions too. A mushroom and chestnut pithivier, its pastry golden and interior woodsy, is a mirror to the wine’s forest-floor murmur. Or grilled celeriac brushed with miso, where caramelization and umami coax out Syrah’s darker tones while the root’s sweetness lifts the floral violet. Such plates show that even in the absence of flesh, La Turque finds resonance in earth and fire.

Small Rites at the Table

Even modest companions can heighten the song. Black garlic mashed into potatoes offers sweetness and depth to soften tannin’s stern edge. A reduction of hare stock and redcurrant glazes vegetables and meat alike, tightening the knot between dish and glass. Each is a small rite, a libation to balance the weight of this wine.

The Descent and Return

As I pour, I recall: half the year I descend into the underworld, stylus in hand, keeping the ledger of the dead. Half the year I return with the green pulse of vines. This rhythm is written into La Turque—darkness and blossom, descent and resurrection. To drink it is to stand at that threshold where grief and joy entwine, where violet and smoke rise together.

Closing the Circle

La Turque 2016 is not a wine to be hurried. Give it breath, the right bowl of glass to unfold, the patience of an hour before the first mouthful. Allow it to grow with age, a companion for feasts not yet imagined. When venison roasts over juniper, when chestnuts crumble in pastry, when miso caramelizes on root—bring forth this bottle, and listen. The vine speaks in many voices, but here it sings as I once sang for my brother: a song deep as stone, fleeting as blossom.