Walls: Discovering St-Joseph estate Martine & Christian Rouchier

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking up at some terraced vineyards in St-Joseph with an Australian friend. He remarked that he’d never seen a steep vineyard like this in his home country.

Who could afford to rip out the trees, build the access roads, construct the terraces, and plant the vines, without being certain beforehand that the resulting wine could be sold at prices high enough to recoup the investment?

It might not be the most romantic way of looking at it. But that’s the modern reality.

In the oldest regions of the Old World, tradition and history give us stories, methods, and a sense of belonging – all of which are priceless. But these deep-rooted traditions also protect and deliver the actual vineyards themselves – some of which, like the vineyards of St-Joseph, would never get built today.

And there are vineyards in these ancient wine regions that create surprising and delicious wine by chance – happy accidents that make these places so peculiar and fascinating.

Scroll down for tasting notes and scores of 10 Martine & Christian Rouchier wines

Take Christian Rouchier’s Puat vineyard. It’s 80% Syrah, 20% Chasselas.

It exists because the previous owner made wine from the Syrah and sold the Chasselas grapes at market. Today, Rouchier picks it all and ferments it together to make a distinctive, fresh, tonic style of Syrah. Who would design and plant a vineyard like that today?

After tasting Christian’s 2015 St-Joseph La Chave two years ago (one of my wines of the year) I decided I had to track him down. He’s based in Saint-Jean-de-Muzols, a commune within St-Joseph that’s renowned for its steep granite vineyards. It’s secreted in the valley of the Doux, a tributary of the Rhône, just over the river from the hill of Hermitage.

We took a drive to his Chave vineyard (nothing to do with the Hermitage domaine of the same name), and walked the rows, with cow bells, roosters and barking dogs sounding in the distance. It was planted in 1958, but the vines are still surprisingly skinny.

This vineyard isn’t on the slope, but towards the top of the hill. It’s cooler here; he says his father’s wines struggled to hit 10% alcohol. His wines naturally reach between 12% and 13% today. ‘With global warming it’s better to be higher up now,’ he says.

Christian studied as an industrial mechanic and worked at a nearby factory, but he gradually realised that what he really wanted to do was make wine like his father. He started with some small-scale vinifications in 2007 – just a few hundred litres. By 2014 he had built his own winery, and could finally devote himself to his true calling. He now has 2.7ha which he farms organically.

He’s not sure how many years his family have been making wine. His father did, and now his son helps him out, so that’s three generations. But it’s probably more.

‘The paysan way of life is still going strong’

We descended the wooden stairs to taste his 2021s in the cramped barrel room under his house, bumping my head on the freshly-made saucisson hanging from the ceiling.

I asked Christian what training he did. ‘Four days with a winemaker!’ he replied. The paysan way of life is still going strong in the Ardèche. Making wine is just one ancient skill, one willingly shared by neighbours, but for locals it seems almost instinctive.

One local tradition is to join the tops of two neighbouring Syrah vines together to make a pont or bridge. You only see it in the southernmost vineyards of the northern Rhône. He explained it was to do with the flow of sap, but ‘I can’t remember exactly why I started doing it,’ he says. The important thing is that his methods work.

Following a traditional path in the cellar, he doesn’t destem his crop as he says it brings more complexity. He ferments in concrete, and ages the wine for two winters in old barrels.

Christian makes three wines labelled as Vin de France – a Marsanne, a Viognier and a Syrah from vineyards 50km south in Antraigues, all of which are very good indeed. His Vin de France Puat – the Syrah and Chasselas blend – is even better.

The two red St-Josephs are especially captivating. Luc is the less reliable of the two, but can be fragrant, peppery and expressive in successful vintages. Though made the same way, La Chave consistently produces wines of depth and beauty.

The essence of St-Joseph

Christian doesn’t make a lot of wine and he sells most of it locally. Luckily for us, he also exports a small amount. He has nothing to prove and doesn’t need to impress. You can taste it in the wine; no excess extraction, pushed ripeness or overt oak. Like many of the best winemakers, Christian somehow removes himself from the wine, leaving something that tastes entirely of its place.

Wines like this expose the weakness of the 100-point scale. They don’t always have great complexity, power, longevity or an endless finish; they have no truck with the idea of perfection. Do critics score saucissons out of 100?

But these wines are the essence of St-Joseph, and bring great satisfaction and joy, despite any imperfections. And for that, I believe they deserve high praise.

See Matt’s tasting notes and scores for 10 Martine & Christian Rouchier wines:

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