By now this is so well-known that repeating it enters broken record territory. The biggest story for Greek wine the past 20 years has been the rise of Assyrtiko. From a Santorinian oddity / best-kept secret to international fame, it did more than any other grape variety to put Greek wines on the map. It also built a certain perception of, and expectation from, Greek white wine: it should be sharp, acidic, mineral. Hellenic varieties that have a passing moment in the spotlight, from Vidiano to Roditis, Moschofilero to Robola, seem, at least partially, to want to play dauphin to Assyrtiko’s king.
Or at least, that’s the story abroad. I periodically write about the disconnect between the international and local market, a difference that is more pronounced in Greece than perhaps any other wine-exporting nation in the world. And, if I had to pick the biggest white wine story in Greece the past 20 years, I would be split between two options. One would be the expansion, explosion even, of Assyrtiko, not as a top-quality wine (we have known that well before the rest of the world caught up), but as something planted across the country. But I would be equally likely to go for something else: the rise of Malagousia. (The pendant in me wants to transliterate it correctly, i.e. Malagouzia, and I salute the producers that do it, but this fight is one of those I had to give up. I surrender to the hoi polloi.)
Malagousia comes with a cool, if not uncommon, story. It was saved by the very brink of extinction from a fortuitous meeting of minds in the late-70s between an agriculturalist, a viticulture professor, a winery owner, and the then young firebrand winemaker Vangelis Gerovassiliou. Delivering results almost immediately, it was soon planted by Gerovassiliou in his own vineyards, eventually becoming a major element in his landmark Estate white. Yet, in the international variety-focused 1990s, and the somewhat ambivalent 2000s, Malagousia was far from dominant: for a very long time Gerovassiliou was the go-to name for the variety. (Plus, for the well-informed, Roxane Matsa, arguably the most undersung figure in modern Greek wine).
And then, some time around the late noughties, this started to change. New labels started to emerge. Producers were planting it in places well outside Macedonia, where it had found a home (its actual origins are meant to be on the western side of central Greece). As Greek consumers were becoming both more educated about wine and more willing to make their native varieties the protagonists, Malagousia started climbing in popularity and impact.
For those who know Greek wine primarily via grapes such as Assyrtiko or Moschofilero, this might come as a surprise. In its most succulent versions, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call Malagousia the Yang to Assyrtiko’s Yin. Rich, generous, with summer and tropical fruits, it hovers somewhere between Semillon, Viognier, and Muscat, without being quite like any of them. In its drier, more herbal incarnations, it comes with echoes of Viura or Garnacha Blanca, but, again, being its own thing.
Why does this fit the Greek palate so well? Because, in many ways, it is the perfect summer wine: ideal with lighter food, such as most types of seafood, salads, or grilled vegetables, but equally comfortable with a plate of fruit. In its more glou-glou takes, it makes for easy drinking. I bow to no one in my love for Assyrtiko, but for me to pour it, it has to be good. I can offer someone a glass of an undistinguished Malagousia, however, and still feel I made a safe bet.
People back home seem to share my views. By 2020, it had caught up with Chardonnay in vineyard acreage, and had Moschofilero in its sights. I don’t have more recent data, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re about even by now. The number of producers working with it has certainly skyrocketed. So, take the recommendations below as a starting point: there are many more to explore – and even more to come.
Photo by Buddha Elemental 3D on Unsplash