Thierry Allemand didn't inherit Cornas — he rebuilt it, buying up scraps of abandoned terrace in the 1980s and restacking the granite walls by hand while the appellation was still an afterthought. Reynard is the summit of that work: a steep, southeast-facing granite cru planted to ancient Syrah, some of it well over a century old, farmed with an obsessiveness that borders on the monastic. The winemaking is famously plain — 100% Syrah, whole clusters, native yeasts, old wood, and about as little sulfur as anyone dares — and the results age like almost nothing else in the northern Rhône. The 2020 is Reynard in a warm, generous key: dark, fleshy and deeply perfumed, but with the iron-and-granite spine that keeps Allemand's Syrah taut no matter the year. Violets, black olive, cracked pepper and cured meat sit over deep black fruit, the tannins fine-grained but entirely serious, the finish enormous. Give it a long decant if you're opening one now; it will reward another decade in the cellar. The label on this bottle is lightly marked — a cosmetic matter only, and the wine inside is untouched.