Greece has been making wine for something like four thousand years. In antiquity its wines travelled the Mediterranean in clay amphorae, and bottles from Chios, Thasos and Lesbos were genuinely prized. Then came centuries of foreign rule, phylloxera, war and emigration, and by the middle of the twentieth century Greek wine abroad meant cheap bulk and retsina.
The turnaround began in the 1980s and gathered pace through the 1990s, when a generation of Greek winemakers who had trained in France, Italy and Germany came home and started making estate wine from Greek grapes rather than imported ones. That decision is what makes the country interesting now. Greece has a few hundred indigenous varieties, many of them growing nowhere else on earth, and the best modern Greek wine is built on them. Quality wines are labelled PDO, for protected designation of origin, which works much like the French and Italian systems: a name tied to a place, a set of grapes and a set of rules.
What Greek wine tastes like
Greek wine tastes fresher and more savoury than its warm-sounding address suggests, largely because the best vineyards are at altitude, on islands, or both.
Assyrtiko is the white to know: bone dry, very high in acidity, with lemon and grapefruit rather than tropical fruit, and on Santorini a distinctly salty, smoky mineral edge. It has almost no sweetness and a surprising amount of texture.
The reds split in two. Xinomavro — the name means "sour black" — is pale in colour but tough and tannic, tasting of sour cherry, tomato and olive when young, then drifting towards dried fruit, mushroom and truffle after a decade. Agiorgitiko is the friendlier one: deeper colour, softer tannin, red plum and sweet spice, velvety rather than austere.



