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The vineyard, like the wines of the appellation, doesn’t reveal itself easily. “Saint-Joseph is a wine of a certain restraint, in the image of the land. We are Ardèche farmers,” says Joël Durand, president of the Saint-Joseph growers.
At the crossroads of Burgundian and Mediterranean climates, this is where the mistral is born, before losing strength further south. It runs along the Rhône and funnels into every small inlet cutting through the steep hillsides where the vines cling on. They are held back from sliding down by a succession of dry-stone walls known as chaillés. This spectacularly graphic sight—hanging gardens shaped by the undulations of the terroir—makes any mechanisation impossible. It is estimated that on the steepest slopes (up to around 60%), one hectare of vines requires the construction of 1 km of chaillés. Production costs are stratospheric, working conditions athletic: “We wouldn’t do much if we waited for an immediate return on investment,” admits Stéphane Montez.
An AOC since 1956, its qualitative revival took place in the 1990s. While the neighbouring appellation of Crozes-Hermitage expanded, Saint-Joseph contracted, cutting its potential area by more than half (from 7,000 to 3,300 hectares). A matter of vision. The criteria for including vineyard blocks were redefined: only parcels planted south–southeast, at elevations between 130 and 330 metres above the Rhône, remained—excluding some players along the way, though they were given until 2021 to replant within the new boundaries. They say the finest terroirs are still not cultivated…
Saint-Joseph stretches over 60 km, a long narrow strip no more than 2 km wide, bringing together 460 growers, 120 private cellars and 40 merchants, unified by granite terroirs. Today, 1,400 hectares are planted, mainly with Syrah (87%)—its only red grape variety—supplemented by a little Marsanne and Roussanne for the whites, which are steadily on the rise. It is Syrah’s expression on these granite soils that gives Saint-Joseph wines their distinctive stamp: tension; smoky notes of graphite and burnt chocolate layered onto the grape’s own register—berries, black pepper, liquorice and menthol (see the article “Syrah, first name Carmen”).
What explains the enduring success of these timeless “St-Jo” wines? “You’re never disappointed,” says young winemaker Corentin Pichon. “Good when young and good when old,” adds Stéphane Montez. In youth, the wines are structured and proud, driven by fruit and spice, and often benefit from ample aeration before tasting (pour them into a decanter one to two hours before the meal). After a few years in bottle, their aromatic range broadens and develops a graceful patina, turning towards deep notes of dried flowers, forest floor and smoky spices. One can only be delighted, too, by the exemplary pleasure-to-price ratio. Gone are the days when Victor Hugo mentioned it in Les Misérables under its former name, vin de Mauves, served to Jean Valjean: “My brother made him drink a little of that good Mauves wine which he does not drink himself, for he says that wine is very dear.” Today, from €15 you can buy a bottle of superb quality with a cellaring potential of 10 to 20 years—and the appellation’s stars for €30. “When I talk about Saint-Joseph, I say I’d like to be forty years older. I don’t see what could stop the appellation from gaining in notoriety,” enthuses Philippe Guigal, a leading grower and merchant of the appellation.
Even the Pope himself announced it in a speech: 2021 is the year of Saint-Joseph. Everything seems set fair for this jewel of the Northern Rhône.
