Syrah Could Be the Grape That Defines the Santa Ynez Valley
Ask winemaker Matt Dees the local spot where he’s most likely to take a bottle of The Hilt’s red wine, and he answers without missing a beat: Jalama Burger. It’s not the fanciest spot on California’s Central Coast, even if Lompoc is “on the edge of the continent,” as he describes it. But this local beach shack is a legend in its own right, a hole-in-the-wall set right on the ocean that’s accessible to anyone…if they know where to find it.
Dees and his crew from the winery regularly drive the 20 minutes or so down to Jalama after a long day in the vineyard, to blow off some steam and grab what he calls “an exceptional burger and great fries.” Sitting on the beach, they pair the burger with old vintages they’ve saved for celebrations, or occasionally, a bottle of their own syrah.
Located right on the edge of Santa Barbara County, the vineyards that define The Hilt’s estate in Lompoc are some of the most unusual in the region. Part of the Sta. Rita Hills AVA, landmark plantings like Radian and Bentrock Vineyards receive so much cool coastal air straight off the Pacific Ocean that the fruit translates beautifully into velvety pinot noir and sea-sharpened chardonnay. These bursts of cold, salty air, plus soil conditions like rare diatomaceous earth, have put The Hilt on the map as one of the region’s foremost producers.
But right alongside those two dominant cool-climate grapes, a tiny planting of syrah is slowly emerging as a star of the winery’s portfolio. “Everything about the vineyards goes against what common sense would say is a good place to grow syrah,” laughs Dees, who has been the winemaker at The Hilt since its inception in 2008 and its sister brand, Jonata, since 2004. “A lot of people in California talk about cool-climate syrah. In theory, our other estate, Jonata, produces cool-climate syrah. The Hilt makes cold-climate syrah. Syrah is so reactive and has so many different personalities, but here it’s at its coldest limit.”
The Hilt first planted a few rows of syrah—less than a third of an acre—back in 2017. It was such a small amount that the winemaking team actually forgot to pick the grapes during harvest, and the resulting tail-end crop was full of low-quality fruit afflicted with an encyclopedia of ailments. Still, Dees and his team opted to bring the grapes in and press them, including all the stems and seeds to get enough juice, and put a small batch of syrah into barrel. “We came back to it 12 months later, and it was one of the best syrahs we ever made,” Dees says. “A lot of winemakers brag about their wines and the winemaking process, but some of the greatest wines are made by mistake. We knew at that point it was because of the site, because it sure as shit had nothing to do with what we did to it.”
Syrah is by no means a new grape to the Santa Ynez Valley; the northern Rhône varietal is what many critics have latched onto when highlighting the area’s strengths. Pioneering families in the region, like Stolpman Vineyards and Beckmen Vineyards, work almost exclusively with Rhône wines, and syrah is a major focus for both. These forerunners were part of what spurred Dees to bring the grape into focus first at Jonata, then The Hilt, and he’s been championing it ever since I met him in 2023.
For three years, I listened intently, swirled the wine in my glass, and patiently waited until it was time to move on to the pinot noir. I didn’t understand his insistence that this grape was special. But after a week spent drinking shiraz (the Australian name for syrah) in the cool-climate Yarra Valley just outside of Melbourne earlier this year, something finally clicked. During a tasting hosted at the scene-y Brentwood steakhouse Baltaire this spring, I thought the 2023 Hilt Estate Syrah stood out above the rest, replacing my usual frontrunner, the Radian pinot noir.
The Hilt’s syrah blend has shifted a bit, too. Initially made with fruit planted in a few rows at the coldest edge of the property, Dees opted to balance it out by planting a few more rows on the warmest edge of the site. Now, their estate blend is a balance between the two plantings and a reflection of how they interplay. “Bentrock side brings depth, red fruit, black fruit, silkiness and suave, and the Radian side brings black pepper, gameyness, and the side of syrah that wants to crawl out of the glass and run across the table,” he explains.
The mix makes it more representative of how the rest of the Santa Ynez Valley functions; sometimes, wine made across this central valley is so dissimilar that constant change is the only connective tissue. Sure, an abundance of variety means there’s something for everyone, but it also means an overarching narrative that defines the valley’s top-tier output is missing. A lack of focus might be what’s holding the valley back. The Hilt’s experiments with syrah are convincing enough to indicate this grape might be what finally brings the region into focus on the international stage.
“You can make an argument that syrah is the grape that delivers the most quality pound-for-pound and dollar-for-dollar throughout all the regions of the Santa Ynez Valley,” Dees says. “Syrah is the only one that translates. By default, it’s the only thing we grow here all the way to the west—we are the westernmost piece, and we grow syrah. But then you go all the way to Happy Canyon, an hour from here, and they’re growing syrah. There isn’t much else that stretches that far.”
Another factor that Dees brings up with syrah is that when this grape is grown in a colder climate, it’s almost a different varietal. Nowhere is this more obvious than in Australia, where Barossa Valley shiraz is the bold, punchy red that plenty of wine drinkers will recognize from their days buying bottom-shelf bottles adorned with animal labels. A state over, shiraz grown in Victoria’s Yarra Valley is something else entirely—something most Americans haven’t ever tasted. It’s much more akin to Santa Ynez syrah. Cold weather makes this grape, known for its savory, green, peppery herbal flavor, into an absolute showstopper.
Or maybe it’s all just a matter of taste. For those who have fallen in love with syrah, chasing down its finicky, sometimes mysterious flavor profile can become a lifelong journey. “There are restaurants and other places with wine lists who say their clientele won’t buy syrah because the giant spectrum of style pushes people away from ordering them,” Dees explains. “They really don’t know what they’re going to get, unless they’ve spent the time and invested in understanding this wine. So there’s an insider’s club of syrah and shiraz dorks, who are my people.”
Joining this particular club means letting something vie with my preference for pinot noir, a palate expansion that feels both surprising and necessary. The state of grape-growing in Santa Ynez Valley might as well be an echo of my own palate, with pinot noir, and now chardonnay, taking top billing at most vineyards. But with pinot noir’s strong association with Oregon, and chardonnay as a divisive and ubiquitous California varietal, neither seems poised to define Santa Barbara County. Syrah, on the other hand, has the staying power and strangeness to do so.
Though Dees noticed restaurants claim guests won’t order this varietal with a meal, there’s almost no better wine for food pairing. During a recent trip to Santa Barbara, I remembered his recommendation for a burger and couldn’t resist. Curious, I stopped by The Hilt on my way out to the coast, grabbed a bottle of syrah, and brought it down to Jalama Burger for a beachside moment. With a burger dripping cheddar and losing shredded lettuce to the wind, I gulped down syrah out of a plastic coffee mug fished out of my trunk. Toes in the sand, no tasting notes in sight, it might’ve been the finest wine experience of my life. And nothing has ever felt more Santa Barbara.
