“What a wine”, I commented on the Instagram feed of a London wine merchant who had just posted a new import from Etna. “Good enough to give anything on Santorini a run for its money”, he gently teased, fully knowing my affinity for the wind-caressed Aegean rock. “…and at only three times the price”, I retorted, taking the bait.
Innocent social media banter aside – my interlocutor, after all, is every bit as much a fan of Assyrtiko as of Carricante – my response summarises neatly the situation Santorini Assyrtiko finds itself in. In its native market, it can feel too expensive, even unattainable – Greece does produce many decent white wines, sold domestically at a fraction of the price Santorini commands. But zoom out a bit and, by international standards, Assyrtiko remains a remarkable bargain. The terroir is a signal of quality that is a rarity in the global market. You can think of exceptional Chablis, and very poor Chablis. Most Etna whites are a far cry from Pietra Marina. But Santorini Assyrtiko on a label is such a guarantor of quality, that it takes a giant German discounter to water down.
Another element that keeps surprising me, despite more than two decades of following the island’s wines, is its relatively small vintage variation. While quantity oscillates, and often dramatically so, the quality variations seem to be smaller, and usually confined to this or that producer (often without even a discernible pattern). I’m increasingly thinking of good and bad
