The Why of Australian Viognier

A generation ago on the 15th and 16th of August 2002, Australia’s first Viognier—say VEE-YON-YAY—symposium took place at the Hill-Smith family’s Yalumba winery in Angaston. It’s fair to say that the cultivar hasn’t quite gripped the imagination—or stimulated palates—as much as many of the enthusiastic wine trade, wine makers, marketers and writers attending had hoped, but there are still many delicious examples grown around the country today nonetheless. And now both Generations Y (Millennials) and Z are old enough to partake of a glass or two—if they dare.

The selection of Viognier offerings out there is not as as vast as those of Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling, Chardonnay, or Pinot Gris/Grigio—even Fiano these days—but the producers fashioning wine from this capricious cultivar take the growing and vinifying of it most seriously, even at modest price-points (see my 23’ Yalumba Y review here).

And the wines Viognier creates are certainly less predictable—read boring—than so much blanc (especially), gris (there’s a lot of seriously grey grigio out there) and even—I’m a heretic to utter it—way too much lime-acid-cordial-simple rizza.

Wine Australia’s bland 'Australian Wine’ branded website states: ‘Australian Viognier is a wine like no other – from its heady perfume to its exotic fruit and floral flavours. A variety on the rise, the best Viognier wines walk a thrilling line between elegance and power.’ While I’d contest the observation that Viognier is a ‘variety on the rise’, I can’t fault the enthusiasm of the rest of this statement.

That said, I do have a few issues with this generally bland information portal—federal government and industry-funded—which adds little to the appreciation of the diverse, exciting wines grown across this vast, fascinating land. Not at first landing anyhow, although there are some detailed wine guide pdfs for download which provide meaningful insights. And there are some excellent winemaker / winegrower profiles to be found on the website also.

But it’s the lack of engagement when first accessing the site which irks me. Australia is making exciting wines in beautiful places, although you wouldn’t immediately know it. We need to be on the front foot about this. And one wonders how much thought really gone into some of the content.

On a 'How to pair wine & Thai food' page, for example, where I would have placed Viognier as a potential candidate incidentally, the listing spells Gewürztraminer incorrectly (with two Ts), suggests 'Provence-style' Rosé with Thai Beef Salad, and Sparkling/Champagne with Spring Rolls & Moneybags!

Wine Australia is obviously aware that we cannot legally use Champagne on an Australian wine label, so are they suggesting we drink the real thing? And why would we promote Provence which is another wine region of France? ‘We have a wine for that’ is the latest Wine Australia marketing tagline, so too do the French clearly.

Seriously, when you look at what our closest winegrowing neighbours geographically in New Zealand provide, and also the compelling online presence that Wines of Austria, our nearest wine neighbours alphabetically have created, the Wine Australia welcome to Australian wine offering is—to paraphrase the organisation's 2019 $50 million Export and Regional Wine Support Package 'Far From Ordinary’campaign tagline—‘Less Than Inspiring'. But back to Viognier—Australian Viognier’s—deliciousness.

Apricots, Cream and Delight

According to the internationally authoritative and much lauded ampelographical volume, Wine Grapes (Jancis Robinson, Julia Harding, and José Vouillamoz; Penguin and Harper Collins (ecco), 2012), ‘…Viognier in Australia…develops flavours of apricot, peaches, white flowers, occasionally ginger, and luscious texture in these wines.’

How’s that for an emphatic shout out to Viognier’s distinctive charms in our neck of vine woods? The Yalumba Viognier Symposium (referred to above in my intro) gets a nod too, and also Yalumba winemaker and Head of Sustainability,  Louisa Rose, who’s passionately advocated Viognier’s cause in Australia throughout her vinicultural life.

While I’m not a fan of the generic ‘white flowers’ descriptor used above, which is deployed for many wine styles by innumerable wine communicators and influencers—even those with some acuity—Viognier can definitely be up there in the floral, terpenoid compound department. Frequently I’ve noted jasmine, chamomile, rose—Turkish Delight—among the concentrated ‘apricottiness’ found in the most intense examples (such as the Charlish and Co. below).

There’s a piece about these contributing aroma compounds, identified as geraniol, linalool and nerol, on the Wine Australia website. The piece, which is a summary of lead researcher Leigh Francis’s paper for the Australian Wine Research Institute (AWRI), also makes mention of the esters responsible for the creation of ‘peach-like’ aromas too, as well as the more general ‘stone-fruit’ like characters brought about by these monoterpenes frolicking in cahoots with lactones.

There’s a link to download the complete paper should you wish to delve deeper into the detail.

In the paper, ‘Sensory-directed characterisation of distinctive aromas of Sauternes and Viognier wines through semi-preparative liquid chromatography and gas chromatography approaches’, from A journal of Chromatography we find the observation, ’In Viognier wine, monoterpenes linalool, α-terpineol and geraniol as well as benzaldehyde were found to be associated with the ‘apricot’ character.’ Benzaldehyde is an interesting one. To me it’s the cracked stone character, rather than a flesh.

Interestingly, there’s no mention of zingiberene among the nominated terpenes out there in any paper I can readily access, so I’m assuming this isn’t on the Viognier GCMS assessment run sheets. But, as the authors of Wine Grapes indicate above, ginger is perceived as a characteristic—and desirable—contributing aromatic in Viognier and is not uncommon in more complex expressions of the variety (check out my review of the 2023 Soumah Equilibrio).

I’ve even encountered a gingery character in a some vintages of Clonakilla’s much lauded and adored Shiraz Viognier over the years. Even once or twice in the O’Riada Shiraz which had me puzzled as I understood it to be straight Shiraz (it’s quite pronounced in the ’22, but I made no note of it in the ’23). But apparently it is not always, and may get a little deselected Shiraz Viognier added to it also. So Viognier’s zingiberene can be that pervasive.

Tim Kirk with a Shiraz Viognier in hand, alongside his father, John, at Clonakilla’s 50th celebrations in October 2022. Pic: Tim White

Monoterpene deep diving

In Nose Dive: A Field Guide to the World’s Smells (Penguin Press/John Murray, 2020) Harold McGee writes that ‘…ginger emits a distinctive, fresh smelling terpenoid dubbed zingiberene, along with fresh-woody pinene and eucalyptol, as well as lemony neral (sic) and geranial (sic), floral linalool, and a woody note from terpinolene.’ Little sensory wonder that it may find good company among all the more fleshy apricottiness.

McGee notes g-deca- & g-dodeca-lactones and linalool among the apricots’s principal flavour molecules and in a table in the ‘rose-family’ stone fruit section, lists these ‘component smells’: floral, peach, creamy, geranium leaf, and cucumber. In many a Viognier tasting note—long before encountering McGee’s entry on apricots—I’ve noted cold green tea, jasmine, snow pea—and cucumber rind—in addition to the more primary impact aromas.

Almost all the descriptors in the paragraph above could be found into my collective reviews of Yalumba ’s entry-level Y Series Viognier over the vintages. This frequently delightful wine is made with minimal intervention, is primarily tank fermented, and 100% wild yeast apparently.

Pic: Tim White

Sometimes it’s hard to get your head—in the orthonasal and retronasal senses of smell—around the fact that all these miraculous compounds we perceive are just—JUST—from a liquid which is created solely from bunches of carefully tended grapes, crushed and fermented in tanks of steel—and/0r—casks of wood. How could you not be entranced by this magic of nature. And then not want to be consumed in it?

If you were a craft brewer looking to create—say—an ‘apricots and cream sour’, you’d need build this complexity with multiple hop types—almost certainly imported, not grown in Australia—adding other ancillary local fruit and cereal ingredients. This I mention as just weeks ago I overheard an excited younger person assessing the decals at my local hostelry, The Gilbert Street Hotel, and then asking the bartender as to whether one of the beers tapped, a Ministry of Beer Mango and Cream Sour tasted ‘delicious’?

Deliciousness is, of course, under the nose and in the mouth of the beholder. She was offered a taste of same and another fine ale—a Mountain Culture x BentSpoke Full Suspension IPA, which I was pondering and much enjoying from the fancy in front of me. But the Mangoes and Cream won over. The Full Suspension being too hoppy bitter to her taste that day (as I eavesdropped the chat).

All things nice

Why mention this? Well, in the same way that some wine producers now have a ‘Buttery Chardonnay’ label in their portfolio as an emphatic and familiar statement of character about the style of wine to be found in the bottle. Perhaps, we might eschew traditional—formal, procedural—varietal labelling to provide immediate and familiar indications as to a wines potential deliciousness.

‘Buttery Chardonnay’ is becoming most popular in some parts by all accounts. De Bortoli’s is going so well at that have also recently debuted a Pepper and Spice Shiraz to partner it. What gastronomic aromatic emotions and excitement might be stimulated by—say—a statement of Apricot, Ginger and Cream on a label? Upfront I mean: that is above or below, alongside, a varietal indication on the front label.

This could be more effective in evoking—prompting, recalling in a Proustian manner—familiar, adored, absorbed smell and taste memories. All this without resorting to the winespeakery often found on back labels.

However, I’ve encountered numerous wine purists—including winemakers—who laugh, are aghast—mock—such marketing effrontery as the ‘Buttery Chardonnay’ thing. To me, if it makes people curious enough to stick something new in their mouths and get pleasure from the experience, it can only be a good thing.

Pic: Tim White

And then—randomly—seriously randomly—just two weeks ago (June 2026) I found this sticker on one—just one—of the bottles of my ‘house white’ in the fridge at Hurley Cellars Parkville. That wine being the Yalumba Y 2023 cited above. So what’s going on here? And why the descriptors in French? Maybe it was part of a cancelled export order, but heading to where? New Caledonia? Mauritius? Surely not France.

I’m making enquiries to the Hill-Smith family wine folk at Yalumba. But the Viognier universe is obviously speaking to me. En Français.

Gert Lusciousness

What’s responsible for, or contributes to, the ‘luscious’ observation from ‘Wine Grapes’ cited above—an excellent descriptor methinks. If any wine could be described as 'gert lush’ it’s Viognier. Also a fine Gewürztraminer from Alsace (gert lush examples of Gewürz in Australian are rare).

Yet, I’ve not been able to source any papers to date that provides any detailed indication as to how this slinky, silky viscosity develops in the most complete examples of the cultivar?  In my native tongue at least. Perhaps someone has access to words of authority in French?

So, conjecturing: are there compounds in Viognier skins or juice which, once fermentation is underway, creates this lusciousness alongside the slight, phenolics-derived bitterness that accompanies it in the best examples? That slightly bitter grip which keeps the slipperiness—lusciousness—in check.

Alcohol obviously has a role in this, but not the only one. Because I’ve encountered plenty of ‘greasy’ textured Viognier which are not super-high in the alcohol department, or at least no higher than other examples with excellent balance.

Elevated glycerol levels are cited out there if one Duck Duck Go’s with AI assist. But we know this to be of doubtful validity and there’s a succinct treatment explaining glycerol’s (extremely minor) textural role in vino to be found in The Oxford Companion to Wine (Jancis Robinson and Julia Harding, with Tara Q. Thoms (eds.), Oxford University Press, 5th Edition 2023).

In her cookbook, Bitter (Jacqui Small/10 Speed Press, 2014) Jennifer McLagan writes, ‘I find apricots become more tannic with cooking, which gives them a slight bitterness.’ Having poached—in sugar syrup—a good few kilos of apricots myself over the years, I concur. And as they begin to kick off the aromatics more resemble what you might find in a really delicious Viognier.

McLagan’s observation does make me ponder if the Viognier cooking process—fermentation that is—somehow emulates it. That there is a relationship between these flavour compounds and Viognier’s latent slippery bitterness. Phenolics, low acidity, alcohol in just the right balance.

Perhaps over-simplification. But vinification decisions pertaining to juice turbidity, time on skins in the press—which relates to the extractions of phenolics of course—and then duration, warmth, and nature of the ferment, as well as the size and type of the pot you’re cooking is all similar and familiar. If a bit more complex than poaching apricots.

Or we could just put this (sometimes) fabulous textural transformation down to what me and my friend Stephen Pannell refer to as ‘weird wine shit’. A term he first deployed when we were putting a shiraz blend together—the multi-award winning ’97 Eileen Hardy blend of various McLaren Vale and Padthaway components—in 1998.

Before moving on—and concluding—I’d add that to define Jennifer McLagen’s work, Bitter as a ‘cookbook’, is a little demeaning. Because it is so much more, containing essays with themes such as ‘A History of Basic Tastes’, ‘Memorable Taste’, ‘The World’s Most Expensive Vegetable’, ‘Drinking Bitter’, ‘Hearing Taste’, and ‘Smelling Taste’—the latter containing the question, ‘Can a food smell bitter?’ YES!

These musings are sandwiched among numerous highly stimulating recipes and other pertinent observations. If you’re puzzling about what to eat with Viognier then McLagan’s Fernet-Branca Chicken Livers makes a perfect accompaniment for such as the ’23 Yalumba Y. A curious omission from McLagan’s work is any mention of quinces which, to my palate at least, is both sweet and bitter at the end of the long slow poaching process (assuming that the skins are retained—and they should be!). A spicy quince and pork tagine works with Viognier too I reckon.

Bitter should be in every food and wine lover’s reference library, and while long out of print there are editions aplenty to be found at AbeBooks (where I’ve sourced a few copies as gifts). My original copy I acquired from Melbourne’s fabulous thought for food emporium, Books for Cooks. So check there too. It is a work which is both thought provoking, salivation creating, and appetite stimulating.

Faith, Hope and Clarity

Tim Kirk and I spoke recently of Viognier’s remarkable aromatics and lusciousness. He was also unaware of any credentialed work on the matter of its beguiling textural properties. We both exchanged observations about the miracle that is contained within grape berries and the wondrous things that are conjured from them.

I conclude with this as it was with he and Michael Andrewartha, proprieitor of Adelaide’s East End Cellars, that I travelled to the Barossa on that first day of Yalumba’s Viognier Symposium. It was a divine winter’s morning and we stopped at the sculpture park atop Mengler’s Hill so that Tim might take in the lie of the land below.

It was his first visit to the Barossa and he surveyed the geological miracle about him, genuinely moved. Now Kirk is an individual of considerable faith, and he knew darned well that I am a most secular individual; but he turned towards me—beatifcally beaming— and observed, ‘You see Tim, there is a God.’

Despite my agnosticism I do pay absolute homage to the wonder and beauty of Mother Nature’s gifts. And this grape—Viognier—and the places that have grown it sometimes leave me spellbound.

I was a bit awestruck too when a representative of the good people at Yalumba got back to me on the  mysterious matter of the sticker which appeared on that one—one—bottle of Yalumba’s viognier among a dozen or so others in the fridge at Hurley Cellars.

It transpires that it was not a cancelled order to a French language speaking country, but a fulfilled one to the territory of Quebec. The Canadian bottling run took place just before the domestic bottling, apparently, and so it appears a small number of bottles in the local market had the export sticker applied.

What are the chances of me, while writing these words—half-way through pulling this story together—happening upon this one bottle in a fridge that I know to be replenished often? While not exactly the face of God appearing on a tortilla in Mexico (to appropriate some dialogue from a vintage episode of  the Simpsons), it’s a minor miracle. The Viognier universe has evidently spoken to me.

So, leaning into Yalumba’s own Y series ‘Find your Y’ tagline, I can now answer the eternal question: Is there a Why in Viognier? An emphatic, Yes. And I earnestly hope that it reaches out to other lovers of the luscious of wine within them.

Written and published by Tim White, June/July 2026