THE COLOR PURPLE
Sirah: Petite & XXL
I look in the mirror and recoil. Smiling back at me is a native of one of those lands untouched by modern dentistry. Even my supposedly immune upper veneers are stained deep purple. Just one of the risks of tasting Petite Sirah.
Others include a numb mouth and staggering dizziness, despite having spat every drop. What’s up with this wine?
Long-time reader Ted Dewald has this to say:
“Leave it to the damn French to call a 290-pound linebacker a pansy ass wide receiver. Why do they do that!? First thing I noticed was that it looked like red crude oil but it still poured like liquid. Not petite.
“I stuffed my nose into the glass and it smelled very, very red but not especially menacing or heavy. A little dusty though, so I figured it was robust. Still, not anything petite about it.
“Then I took a swig, held it a bit and the tannin was immediately apparent—as was the weight. Definitely NOT petite.
“Then I swallowed. Zinfandel, Grenache: take a seat. The big dog has arrived. And it leaves some cotton to clean off the tongue...and the cheeks...and the lips. This ain't petite. This is definitely XXL, at least.
“Some American should give this a manly name and it would reach a manly market. I bet a lot of women try it and never drink it again and men just won't try it. I'm thinking of putting it in a bottle labeled something like Bite Me or Serious Shit or Manly Red Wine or maybe just XXL.
“I've had half a glass and I already feel it. You're right about the alcohol...”
So, why “petite?” Petite Sirah (no, the “i” isn’t a typo) is one of those stealth grapes, like Carmènere in Chile, or Zinfandel in California, mistaken for something they were not until exposed by DNA tests. When DNA isn’t busy solving murders and tracing family trees, it’s hard at work sorting out wine grape confusion.
Petite Sirah turns out to be the offspring of Syrah and a very old variety from France’s Rhone valley called Pelousin. It’s also known as Durif, after the French nurseryman who bred it. So it’s petite only the sense of being Syrah’s love-child.
It migrated to America in the 1890s where it was quite the hit. In those days, many wines were field blends from a handful of varieties all growing together in one vineyard. Even today, many old California vineyards are full of weird mixtures.
P.S. grows in big clusters of small grapes with thick skins. This anatomy, as I shall explain, was its destiny:
Come Prohibition, most vineyards were pulled up. Except when owners negotiated good contracts with the church, since the amendment coincided with an enormous rise in communion-taking church goers.
A few vineyards survived selling grapes for juice or the newly popular “flavorings,” often sold in casks suitable for fermentation. Grapes were shipped around the country fresh as well as in dehydrated “bricks,” labeled with the stern warning: "Do NOT add this to five gallons of warm water, and do NOT add ten pounds of sugar, and yeast, or it will become wine, which would be ILLEGAL!"
Traveling for weeks in un-refrigerated boxcars meant many grapes WERE wine by the time they arrived. Petite Sirah held up better than most, due to its thick skin and its tannins, which act as a preservative.
They also act as sandpaper. Early Petites could be brutal on the mouth and throat. But modern hand-harvesting and wood-aging produce smoother wines with better mouth-feel and balance.
P.S. has long been a good blending grape for punching up flavor, body and color. Rumor has it a key ingredient in Gallo’s Hearty Burgundy.
Since it thrives in hot climates, P.S. can get pretty ripe. That means concentrated flavor as well as more sugar in the grape, and sugar is what ferments into alcohol. Hence my dizziness. Most of the Petites I tasted list 14.5% to 15.5% alcohol—pretty high to begin with, without even considering the 1% leeway allowed. Wines closer to 17% can have more in common with Port than with table wine.
All in all, it’s an intense experience. You can learn more at www.psiloveyou.org. But first, buy some really good toothpaste.
