I am an unabashed Vioginer freak. Have been since I tasted my first glass of the hallmark white of that pastoral little elbow of the Rhone Valley, back in 1981. I’ve frequently been asked, by customers and readers, to describe Viognier, which many people approach as they would a scorpion, as though something weird might befall them. The best descriptions I’ve been able to muster have been, “Like Chardonnay, only moreso” and, when being glib, “Chardonnay on Steroids“. Neither is particularly accurate but, in trying to ease people past the yips of trying a grape they’ve never heard of, I oversimplified on purpose because, once they do take
