Picture tasting in Lionel Faury’s cellar, high on a vine-covered hill in the very north of the northern Rhône. He splashes a sample of deep purple juice into your goblet: a Syrah that leaps out of the glass, as if ripe olives, violets, and an array of black fruits had been smooshed together with a granite mortar and pestle, its tooth-staining contents emptied out and strained to leave behind a vinous elixir teeming with life and vividly fresh aromas, coating the palate like stone-ground blackberry pulp with each velvety sip.

—Anthony Lynch