Chile is a ribbon of a country: more than four thousand kilometres from top to bottom and narrow all the way, with the Pacific on one side and the Andes on the other, the Atacama Desert to the north and ice to the south. Those barriers did something no other wine country can claim. Phylloxera, the vine-killing aphid that wrecked Europe's vineyards in the late nineteenth century, never got in. Chilean vines still grow on their own roots rather than grafted onto American rootstock.
The other Chilean story is a case of mistaken identity. For almost 150 years growers believed they were tending Merlot. In November 1994 the French ampelographer Jean-Michel Boursiquot, visiting vineyards near Santiago, noticed the vines were something else: Carménère, a Bordeaux variety assumed lost. Chile recognised it as a separate variety in wine law in 1998. Chile's own denomination system dates from 1995, and since 2011 labels may add Costa, Andes or Entre Cordilleras to say where in the valley the grapes grew.
What Chilean wine tastes like
Chilean red wine tends to land in a comfortable middle: riper and rounder than Bordeaux, yet with more grip and freshness than a warm country suggests. Cold Pacific air rolling inland and cool Andean nights keep acidity in the grapes even where the days are hot.
Cabernet Sauvignon from Maipo gives blackcurrant and dark plum with a distinctive minty, eucalyptus-like lift and a graphite edge. Carménère is softer and lower in acid, all dark plum and black pepper, with a green herbal note that tips into bell pepper if the grapes were picked before they were fully ripe. Merlot is plush and easy-going. Syrah from cool coastal sites turns peppery and savoury rather than jammy. Sauvignon Blanc is sharp and grapefruity, and coastal Chardonnay stays taut and citrusy.




