Excuse Me Waiter, There’s Terroir In My Glass

It may seem odd to start a discussion on Greek wines with a French word, but Greek wines are anything but normal. The French word in question is: terroir.

Now, I know a lot of you smarty-pants out there are at least familiar with concept of terroir, so just bear with me to let the others catch up. Terroir takes into consideration everything surrounding the growing of grapes and the making of wine, which in turn can make a wine unique. It’s a long list of factors: a particular year’s weather, general weather patterns, position of the vines in the vineyard, elevation, the types of soil, drainage capacity, customary agricultural practices, customary winemaking techniques….you get the picture. Oh, and of course, the type of grape, but to a lesser extent than you might think.

You put all these influences in a blender and hit purée to produce a product as distinct as people from different lands. And maybe that’s a good way to think of terroir. Let’s say you have twin baby girls and you plop one into a loving family in Cobb County and the other into an equally loving family in Bangalore. Come back in 11 years and you can have two great kids who may look alike, but among other things, have very different outlooks on life.

I avoid using the term terroir because it is such a turn off to so many wine lovers, but if you want to understand why some folks gush about certain wines, it is important to understand terroir.

The inspiration of this column came to me in a crowded and stiflingly hot backroom of a restaurant in Santorini, a gorgeous island in the Aegean Sea. Prior to my arrival in Santorini, I had tasted a number of assyrtiko wines, but they were from the northern regions of Naoussa and Amyndeon. Assyrtiko is the pride and joy of the Greek winemaking industry—and the assyrtikos from the pastoral, mountainous north were very good—but they weren’t Santorini assyrtikos.

With sweat dripping from my brow onto my brand new computer, I knew I was tasting something quite different as I swirled and sipped my first Santorini assyrtikos. These wines were simultaneously rich and crisp. They had a simple refreshing side, but were also complex with multifaceted flavors, aromas and a distinct “mineral” quality (another term I try to avoid).

Genetically, the assyrtiko grapes were more or less the same as those in the north, but you merely had to look out the window to see the stark differences that manufactured these one-of-kind wines. First of all, Santorini is hotter than the face of the sun and twice as dry…or at least it seems that way when you’re standing out in the vineyards. Secondly, as you stare down at your sweltering feet in the vineyards, you imagine what Neil Armstrong saw as he made his giant leap for mankind. Barren is too generous a word for this rocky wasteland.

Yet out of these stones and pebbles something grows. It is a vine, but a very peculiar vine. The growers create a “nest” by training the vine in a circle so the grapes hang on the inside and the leaves on the outside. This protects the grapes from the fierce Aegean winds and searing heat.

Different place, different techniques, different wines. That’s terroir.

Now I know a lot of you are saying: “Sure, Gil, you can taste the difference, but I surely could never tell.”

If you think that, I’m here to tell you that you’re cutting yourself short and you can distinguish nuances found in a bottle of wine. If you stubbornly resist this notion and insist “it’s only wine,” then you deprive yourself of the mysterious and magical aspects of this God-given beverage. It’s kinda like shielding your eyes from the Mona Lisa and saying “it’s just paint on canvas.”

There is a general understanding that wine tasted among the vines from which it sprang, always tastes better. That’s true. So, I tried to recreate my Greek terroir epiphany in my kitchen. I lined up a bunch of assyrtiko wines and put them in paper bags labeled 1 to 12. Most of them came from Santorini, but I sprinkled in a few wines from northern Greece.

The results, however, were the same. I enjoyed the wines, but the ones from Santorini were clearly and deliciously different. It’s as if they were treated specially or sprang from the hands of some mad, genius winemaker. And while I don’t want to diminish the contributions of the men and women who produce the wine, it’s clear: the land—or should I say terroir—makes the wine.

Paris Sigalas lifts up a “nest” of assyrtiko grapes in his vineyard on Santorini with the Aegean Sea in the background.


2007 Boutari Santorini, Greece


• $22

• Two Thumbs Way Up

• Inviting aromas of creamy, chalk-like notes with juicy citrus fruit. Lots of lemon, lime, pineapple and peach ice tea with a touch of rich apricot and honey. Long, long spicy finish.

2007 Sigalas White Wine, Barrel, Santorini, Greece


• $30

• Two Thumbs Way Up

• Complex, inviting aromas of chalk, toasted almond, honey, flowers and lime. It has searing acidity but with a counterbalancing of honey and cream soda quality. Also a lemon, lime with peppery finish.

2005 Boutari, Kallisti, Santorini, Greece


• $30

• Two Thumbs Way Up

• A wonderfully complex aroma of honeyed lemon, kefir lime and a note of toasted walnut. Flavors of toasted walnut, lemon, lime, orange, honey, mango and chalky mineral. A fun jalapeño finish.