The man behind Barnard Griffin: Rob Griffin's wines are some of the region's best

Rob Griffin has been making wine in Washington since the 1977 vintage, which makes him the ranking godfather of the grape hereabouts. A fourth-generation Bay Area native, he was an aspiring young vintner just two years out of the University of California, Davis, when he accepted a job making wine for Preston Wine Cellars.

His faculty adviser cautioned him that although "the Washington thing was exciting, it's too cold up there," Griffin recalls. "Don't do it!" It was advice he chose to ignore. "I was anxious to be captain of the ship, the winemaker," he says. "I figured I'd invest a year or two, get my name on the marquee, and come back to California in a blaze of glory. And here I am all these years later, living a mile and a half from where I started!"

Griffin is given to such self-effacing humor; it suits his style in the same way that his wines do. He is exceedingly bright, exceedingly modest, yet stubbornly dedicated to a firm conviction that "quality and price are almost unrelated in the wine business." And he sets out to prove the point with each new vintage, determined to make wines that perform far above their modest prices.

In Washington in 1977, the challenges of the wine business were more fundamental, less global. There were just a handful of wineries in the state, and Preston was the largest family-owned. The vineyard was planted to wine grapes because Bill Preston believed that they would bring a higher return than alfalfa. A little bit of everything went into the ground: riesling, chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, chenin blanc, gewürztraminer, muscat, merlot, cabernet and what was called gamay Beaujolais (actually pinot noir).

That first harvest was not an easy one. Cold and late, the grapes came in with acid levels off the charts. Gewürztraminer, which is often picked in August, didn't ripen until October. Zinfandel from Sagemoor didn't get picked until mid-November — "berries the size of golf balls, and frozen solid," Griffin remembers.

Despite it all, he crafted beautiful wines, including a 1977 chardonnay that won a gold medal and Best of Show from the Pacific Northwest Enological Society. Seven vintages later, Griffin moved to Hogue Cellars, another family-owned (at the time) winery intent on expanding a major-league farming business with wine grapes. At the same time, he and his wife, Deborah Barnard, decided to embark on a new project, a winery of their own.

Barnard Griffin (writers of wine lists, please note, the name is not Bernard Griffin!) debuted with just a few hundred cases of three wines: a riesling, a chardonnay and a fumé (sauvignon) blanc.

"We started the winery as an artistic outlet, to be able to do everything absolutely my own way," Griffin explains. "I haven't been a slave to a business plan, I often say. But our goal was to make as good a wine as we possibly could, sold at as reasonable a price to the consumer as we possibly could."

Griffin left Hogue in 1992, and Barnard Griffin, which had no address (or even a phone number) at the time it was begun, was truly launched.

Today, with production at right around 45,000 cases annually, the Richland winery is "right in that awkward area where everyone says you shouldn't be; too big to be small, too small to be big," notes Griffin with a wry grin.

Yet he's quite content to be where everyone says he shouldn't be, as he has been from the day he first headed north to make wine where it shouldn't be made.

Barnard Griffin is a true regional brand, selling most of its wines right here in the Northwest. For some years he hasn't even had a wholesaler in California, and he proudly notes that the winery can sell more wine in two hours in Tacoma than in two weeks in New York City.

Barnard Griffin wines are consistent, flavorful expressions of ripe Columbia Valley grapes. Griffin is not shy about oak, but he does work quite hard to keep his alcohol levels in check, and he makes wines that are not only delicious young, but may be cellared for some years as well. Some of the limited-production wines, which are mostly sold out of the tasting room, belong with the best in the state.

By all means grab a bottle of Barnard Griffin's 2001 "Ciel du Cheval" Merlot ($30) or the 2001 Cabernet Franc ($30) if you can find them; these are dense, smoky, sweet and juicy wines with layers of flavor. Were they made by another winery they would certainly be priced significantly higher.

But Griffin admits that "I wouldn't be comfortable asking $50 or $60 for a bottle of wine just because somebody else is doing it. I can go to sleep at night thinking that anybody that buys a bottle with my name on it is going to get more than they paid for."

The wine industry needs more Rob Griffins. And brand-new wineries, many of whom seem to think that a quality statement necessarily begins with a high price tag, might want to consider what sort of a message such hubris sends to consumers. These days, consumers place value on value, and that is what has made Barnard Griffin one of this state's most successful brands.

Paul Gregutt is the author of "Northwest Wines." His column appears weekly in the Wine section. He can be reached by e-mail at wine@seattletimes.com.