The American wine industry's B.C. era - Before Chardonnay - can seem more myth than reality, such has been Chardonnay's long and total dominance of white wine territory.

Yet there was a time when Riesling was the king of white wines in America. This was back when the rule requiring that white wine be served with white meats and red wine with red meats was inviolable, in part because crisp, dry Riesling paired so perfectly with roast chicken, baked salmon and sole, even lobster.

Then came the "Judgment of Paris," the world-changing Paris blind tasting of 1976 at which several American wines, including a California Chardonnay, Chateau Montelena 1973, outscored their French counterparts, to the shock of incredulous French wine critics. Overnight, Chardonnay was lifted from obscurity to champion. By the end of the decade, Chardonnay had overthrown Riesling completely, and then came the real Dark Ages: successive invasions of Riesling's old empire by Sauvignon Blanc, Viognier, Semillon, even Gewürztraminer and Chenin Blanc. By the mid-1980s, Riesling had been banished by American winemakers to a sweet-fruity wilderness, a downscale cocktail wine wearing rags. Many wine consumers who don't like Chardonnay began ignoring white wine altogether.

What a shame. A glass of well-made Riesling remains one of the greatest pleasures in all of winedom, a sensual mouthful of rocky minerality decorated with delicate, gorgeous filigrees of lemon, melon, apples and spices of the mysterious East. Now, finally, Riesling has returned to grace, thanks in large measure to Washington.

For one thing, the state is home to some of the oldest still-producing Riesling vineyards in North America. The oldest vineyard in Chateau Ste. Michelle's portfolio, the 660-acre Cold Creek property near Yakima, was planted in 1973 under the direction of Walter Clore, the "Father of Washington Wine," in part with Riesling due to the varietal's winter hardiness.

"A good chunk of our Riesling comes from 20- to 25-year-old vines," says Bob Bertheau,

head winemaker at Ste. Michelle. The older vines produce fruit enhanced by a minerality drawn from deep in the soil that joins with high acids and bright, light flavors to produce balanced, food-friendly wine. "The key to the minerality is to get the hang time on the fruit without too much sugar," he says. "When the tannins and sugar are lower, the flavor of the fruit pops up in the middle." Nicolas Quillé, winemaker at Pacific Rim, where 95 percent of the production is Riesling, says that "an uninterrupted or pure character comes through on these older vines, because they are on their own rootstock. They're not grafts or clones."

Bertheau, who drank Riesling grown in the Livermore Valley east of San Francisco when he was growing up in the Bay Area, adds that vineyard location can be just as important, and sometimes more so, than vineyard age. He's intrigued now by some sites on the eastern slope of the Cascades, high elevations with weak, chalky soils. "There's so much space in eastern Washington, we can still find just the right location for Riesling. That's not true in California," he says.

Rick Small, who founded Woodward Canyon winery in Lowden, Wash., in 1981, is one of the pioneers in Washington's New Wine Age. He, too, is a believer in old Riesling vines. Small and winemaker Kevin Mott produce their delicious Dry Riesling from grapes grown in the DuBrul Vineyard in the Yakima Valley, also one of the oldest vineyards in the state. "I think it's a site-specific thing. We wouldn't want to grow Riesling in Walla Walla, for example; it's too hot there," says the voluble, energetic Small, who is the Washington Wine Commission's chairman this year. "What I'm interested in now is north-facing slopes, and we don't have many vineyards planted in that direction. But I think that Riesling on north slopes, whether in Washington or Oregon or Idaho, could be great. Overall, though, we've been lucky to have some really good locations for Riesling here."