Look, just because your winemaking history dates back, like, 6,500 years doesn’t automatically mean that your wines are going to be popular (or even known) around the world. Yes, I’m talking to you, Greece.
I wish I could tell you conclusively why this is the case. I mean, you make enough of the stuff, being the 17th largest producer in the world. You have something like 1,617 wineries and over 7,500 individual brands. With more than 300 indigenous grape varieties (plus a growing number of non-indigenous ones) you can make wines in any style for every palate, whether that palate wants red, white, rosé, sparkling or sweet.
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Your new breed of winemakers are passionate, creative, and in many cases, have been trained in some of the best vineyards in Europe. And from what I’ve personally tasted, they’ve certainly learned from top winemakers how to adapt both traditional and modern vinicultural and viticultural practices to their home soil. Your wines are generally very good; occasionally truly exceptional. So, Greece, what’s stopping your wines from being more in the limelight? If you’ll indulge me, I can guess a couple things.
First off, it wasn’t until the 1980s that your wines started showing up on these shores. Greece has always been a coveted vacation spot. North American tourists who indulged in the gastronomic and oenophilic glories of the country looked to recreate the “Greek experience” back home, stimulating demand for Greek wines.
But perhaps one of the downsides of the Greek experience was the “retsina experience.”
Retsina is Greece’s most famous (or infamous) wine. Essentially a tipple made from grape must treated with pine resin, often so much resin that one got the feeling that they were drinking pine sap rather than wine. The wine’s decidedly odd character kind of works when you are dining on olives and fresh seafood at an oceanside taverna, but something definitely gets lost in translation at a North American dinner table (perhaps in the dead of winter).
However, the fate (and reputation) of retsina is changing.
“Retsina used to be made without much thought,” notes Steve Kriaris, President of Kolonaki Group of Companies, one of the leading importers of Greek wines into Ontario. “The amount of resin legally permitted ranged from .5 parts to one part per 35 ounces or so of must. That’s quite a range.” Of course, a good dollop of resin can mask numerous wine flaws, and bulk producers of the style tended to go heavy on the pine and light on the wine, as it were. And, unfortunately, this was this style of retsina that ultimately hit the export market. In Kriaris’ words, “The bad juice left the country. Ultimately what happened is that every major producer had to have a retsina in its portfolio, and the huge increase in volume resulted in an equally huge decline in quality.”
Also, as every winemaker reading this knows, wine – any wine – is effectively a “garbage in, garbage out” situation. You can’t craft great wine from substandard fruit. And you can’t make a respectable retsina with lousy juice as the base.
Today, serious retsina producers start with high-quality wine, often made from a single varietal, and the resin used (sparingly) comes from a specific strain of pine tree grown in limited areas. I’ve tasted some of these “modern” retsinas and can assure you that they are nothing like what most of us have probably experienced. They are typically floral, fruity, and fragrant, with subtle notes of pine being a team player rather than the captain of the flavour profile. Still, retsina remains too “out there” for most wine lovers, experienced or otherwise.
“The regionality of Greek wines has just begun.” – Steve Kriaris, Kolonaki Group of Companies
International recognition of the quality of Greek wines isn’t going to rest on the (somewhat narrow) shoulders of a wine that hints of a pine forest. It’s going to have to be table wines or bust, preferably from grape varieties consumers recognize. And therein, Greece, lies yet another challenge.
Agiorgitiko, Assyrtiko, Limnio, Malagousia, Monemvasia, Avgoustiatis, Mavrotragano, Xinomavro – the names of your indigenous grape varieties, to the uninitiated, don’t exactly roll off the tongue like Chardonnaaaaay or Merlowwwwww. However, consumers with a bit of perseverance will be rewarded. Kriaris notes that not only are wine aficionados becoming more savvy when it comes to some of the more prominent varieties, they are also starting to link specific grapes to specific regions.
“The regionality of Greek wines has just begun,” Kriaris maintains. “Now it’s not just Assyrtiko or Malagousia, it’s Assyrtiko from this area, or Malagousia from that area.”
If you’ve become used to linking cabernet sauvignon to Bordeaux, pinot noir to Burgundy, gewurztraminer to Alsace, riesling to the various regions of Germany, nebbiolo to Piedmonte, sangiovese to Tuscany, and malbec to Argentina, then the grape-to-region association with Greek wines shouldn’t be seen as that much of a stretch; but it’s still a bit of a stretch for most of us.
Maybe the best way to bring yourself up to speed is to immerse yourself as much as possible. Travelling through Greece is probably the most enjoyable way to do this. It’s also the least practical. An easier (and more affordable) way might be to find a restaurant that specializes in Greek wine and actually takes it upon itself to educate its customers. A place like Toronto’s Mezes, for example.
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The wine list at Mezes is entirely comprised of Greek offerings. This might seem like a bit of a risky approach given the general lack of familiarity with these bottles, but a diner at Mezes is presented with some serious assistance. First, the establishment is committed to providing as authentic a Greek gastronomic experience as possible – and wines play a starring role in this experience. Second, sommelier Drew Innes has put together a physical list that reads like a textbook on Greek wines.
Each wine is accompanied by a vividly detailed descriptor, and major grape varieties are given standalone coverage. So you’ll learn that “Moschofilero has improved drastically, leaving behind the memories of bland, watery versions made cheaply to penetrate export markets without concern for quality,” and that its “…orange zest flavour backed by zippy acidity helps to cut fat and oil from breaded seafood dishes and oily cheeses.” Suddenly Greek wine noobs care less about pronouncing Moschofilero properly –- they just want to try it; and yes, bring on said seafood and cheese.
Yes, there’s a lot for the newcomer to Greek wines to take in…but the homework is extremely enjoyable.
– Tod Stewart is a contributing editor with VineRoutes