Volcanic Island Wine pt 1
Wine growing in places like this is nothing short of extraordinary. Far removed from the picturesque rows of grapevines gracing Pinterest boards, this is true island winemaking. The terroir? Broken-down volcanic rock, as seen in Lanzarote during my last visit.
Interest in island wines has virtually erupted in recent years. Corsica, the Canary Islands, Crete, Sicily, Sardinia, Santorini, Mallorca—the list goes on. What makes these wines so special? For starters, their remote origins and the volcanic history of their soils. These soils, composed primarily of decomposed magma rock and ash (often called basalt), lend a distinct minerality to the wines. This same volcanic composition gives Hawaii its famous black sand beaches and imparts a refreshing, super-drinkable quality to wines grown in similar conditions.
From a chemical perspective, volcanic soils boast high levels of magnesium, silica, sodium, and iron, which contribute to the wines' unique flavor profiles. But let’s move from the science to the sip.
Minerality in wine is tricky to articulate. Unless you were that wild kid licking rocks after a rainstorm, it’s a hard taste to pinpoint. When I describe a wine as "flinty" or "salty," what does that actually mean? It’s more of a sensation—a crisp, clean finish that feels as though it’s been kissed by the earth itself.
The photo above is where grapes are grown at Los Bermejos, a winery founded in 2001 in Tenerife closest to the African coast. Though part of Spain, these islands are worlds apart from the mainland. Here, the vineyards are shaped by a microclimate of Atlantic breezes, Sahara desert winds, and terrain that resembles the moon—a stark, otherworldly landscape of black and brown soils. The absence of vegetation and the ferocity of the winds have led to a unique solution: crater-like holes dug to protect the vines from being battered.
The vines are grown organically, and while there’s a delightful myth about grapes being harvested by basket-clad camels, what’s true is no less impressive. Thanks to the sandy, ashy soils, the dreaded vine destroyer Phylloxera can’t survive here. This means many vines are over 100 years old, producing what’s known as "Pie Franco" wines—another reason island wines are so intriguing.
At Los Bermejos, much of the wine is enjoyed locally, often in sweeter styles. On the rare occasion their wines make it abroad, as they do to New York City, they’re typically the dry, mineral-driven, crisp bottles we adore. Strikingly packaged in Italian glass resembling old oil bottles, these wines are as pleasing to the eye as they are to the palate.
Two standouts to seek are their Rosé of Listán Negro, a pale, salty, and tantalizingly drinkable wine made from a thin-skinned indigenous grape, and their white wine made from Diego, a light, semi-floral grape with balanced acidity. These epitomize island wines, perfect as aperitifs with friends, alongside chilled pasta salads, or sneaked into a (reusable) water bottle for beachside sipping—semi-responsibly, of course.
