Canary Islands Vol. 2

It's a real shame that with the closure of Roots, the selection of Canary Islands wines in Ukraine has dropped dramatically. Sure, Wine Bureau (think Goodwine and Sabotage) took over a few producers, but many remarkable bottles remain painfully out of reach. And what's still available feels more like leftovers than a reflection of active, thoughtful import. Why does this make me so wistful? Because Canary wines are brilliant - and absolutely unforgettable. They can be disarming in both the best and worst ways (especially if you're not used to them), but their character is magnetic. So here we are again - gathering to indulge in their strange and volcanic beauty.

The Canary Islands - a rugged, sun-soaked archipelago off the northwest coast of Africa - were once better known for cheap tourist wines than for any kind of vinous revelation. But a few decades and a wave of government subsidies later, the islands have become a serious playground for winegrowers. Their defining features? Soils of volcanic ash and basalt, coastal winds from the Atlantic, and a mild, constant climate that somehow manages to feel both tropical and alpine all at once.

Each of the major islands now has its own DOP (Denominación de Origen Protegida): La Palma, El Hierro, Lanzarote, and Gran Canaria. Tenerife even has five. In 2012, a unifying DOP - Islas Canarias Vino de Calidad - was introduced, allowing producers across the archipelago (including those from DOP-less Fuerteventura) to label their wines under a single appellation if they wish. Most use both - the broader name and the local one - a kind of dual identity that makes perfect sense here.

As for the grapes - they're as eccentric and volcanic as the terrain they grow in. Many are found nowhere else in the world. You'll hear about Listán Blanco, Listán Negro, Negramoll, Tintilla, Malvasía Volcánica, and the wildly aromatic Marmajuelo, among others. And here's where it gets even better: thanks to volcanic soils and island isolation, phylloxera never made it here. This means many vines are still planted on their own roots - pre-phylloxera, ungrafted, ancient. If you listen closely, these wines tell old stories, and they do so in a voice that's wild, saline, smoky, and alive.

So yes, I miss having more of them around. But every bottle we open is a reminder of why they're worth chasing.

Puro Rofe Chibusque 2019

To truly understand the quiet heroism of Puro Rofe, one must first understand the land they call home.

Lanzarote is the easternmost of the Canary Islands, just 100 kilometres from Africa. It is the warmest and driest of the archipelago, receiving barely 100 mm of rain per year (for comparison, Kyiv gets about 620 mm). And if drought weren't enough, Lanzarote is battered year-round by the hot, dry trade winds known locally as alicios, which blow across from the Sahara. Even without the volcano, it would be a harsh place to grow grapes. But add in one of the most devastating eruptions in recorded European history - six years of lava and ash from 1730 to 1736 - and you begin to see why Lanzarote looks more like the moon than any typical wine region.


Out of this apocalypse, a strange kind of viticultural brilliance emerged. Beginning in the 1740s, grape growers began to replant vines like Listán Blanco, Malvasía Volcánica, Listán Negro, Negramoll, and Diego. But nothing could grow on the surface - not with 3 metres of porous, arid volcanic lapilli covering the island. So they dug. By hand. Deep holes called hoyos, sometimes more than 3 metres down, each sheltering a single vine. The walls of the hoyos protect the plant from the wind, and the depth allows the roots to reach the scarce moisture that lies below. In the most exposed areas, these hoyos are ringed by protective abrigos - curved stone walls that break the wind even further. The resulting landscape is alien, breathtaking, and unmistakable: a vineyard made of craters.

It was in this improbable setting that Puro Rofe was born.

In 2017, Carmelo Peña, a young winemaker from Las Palmas, returned to Lanzarote after a stint in Portugal, eager to express his homeland through wine. He joined forces with Rayco Fernández, a sommelier and wine merchant looking to bring artisanal, terroir-driven bottles to his catalogue. Together, they met veteran grower Vicente Torres, and the project found its soul. The first harvest was Malvasía Volcánica from La Geria, and with it, Puro Rofe - "pure volcanic ash" - came to life.

But this isn't just a winery. It's more of a private cooperative, a kind of island-scale collective. Rayco, his partner Silvia Viot, Carmelo, Vicente, and a network of organic growers work together to craft wines that channel Lanzarote's brutal elegance. The goal is as much preservation as creation. By working with old vines and historic techniques, they keep the island's viticultural memory alive - but their wines are never stuck in the past. Puro Rofe is an example of how collective energy, deep respect for terroir, and low-intervention winemaking can yield something truly electric.

Puro Rofe Chibusque 2019 is one such example.

Chibusque is a wine that speaks softly but carries centuries of resilience. It's made from Vijariego Blanco - more commonly known as Diego on Lanzarote and La Palma - a grape with Andalusian roots that arrived in the Canary Islands during the early colonial period. It's a curious variety: capable of ripening fully at just 11.5% alcohol while retaining bracing acidity.

For Chibusque, the team selects fruit from some of the island's oldest Diego vines, planted in the island's signature volcanic sands. The wine is fermented and aged entirely in a decommissioned Manzanilla cask - an ex-sherry barrel - which adds texture and a subtle savoury edge to the otherwise lean, mineral frame of the wine.

Just 650 bottles were filled in June 2020. A rare wine from a rare place.

You can feel it's starting to fade. Sulphur, honey, propolis, brine laced with dill flowers, sea breeze, iodine, and salted nuts. There's not much fruit left, which feels a bit of a shame, but it's still fascinating. On the palate, the decline is even more apparent - decent acidity, but it's really the saltiness that lifts the experience. Chamomile, a touch of sherry character, lovely dryness. It leans into something almost medicinal, and while the body feels a bit heavy, it's still an intriguing and thoughtful wine.

Bimbache Vinicola Tinto El Hierro 2018

Bimbache Vinícola is a quiet yet compelling presence on El Hierro -- the smallest, wildest, and most remote of the Canary Islands. Making wine here is less about chasing acclaim and more about preserving identity. The project began not from commercial ambition, but from a sense of duty - a desire to protect and elevate the native grape varieties that have survived, in near isolation, on this volcanic outpost at the edge of Europe.


The winery is led by Pablo Matallana, a winemaker with deep respect for the terrain and its traditions. Alongside a small group of collaborators, Pablo set out to make honest wine in a place where almost everything must be coaxed from the land with patience. Backed by a patchwork of support - from banks, friends, and family - they chose to keep things intentionally small. That restraint matches the island itself, home to just over 10,000 people, where rugged cliffs and volcanic ridges have shaped life for centuries.

The team farms a handful of plots in the north of the island and works with growers who share their low-intervention, soil-first philosophy. There's little glamour in the process - just quiet persistence and the belief that this place, too, has something to say.

One expression of that philosophy is Bimbache Vinícola Tinto El Hierro 2018. It's a blend of Listán Negro and Vijariego Negro - two local grapes that aren't household names, but carry the scent and pulse of the island in every glass. The vines, some over a century old, grow at around 800 metres on sandy clay soils, tended without chemicals. Grapes are harvested by hand, destemmed, and fermented spontaneously in tank - no temperature control, no tricks. A two-week maceration follows, then 12 months of quiet ageing in tank before bottling, unfined and unfiltered.

The result is a wine of grace and delicacy - not shy, but thoughtful. The sort of wine that whispers rather than shouts. And like the island it comes from, it rewards those who listen.

Oh come on - what an incredible nose! A touch of smoke, dried fruits, roasted bacon, pepper, dried red flowers, and a hint of raw meat. On the palate it's super fine, delicate, almost ethereal, complex, and deeply mineral - beautifully crafted and delicious. You just want to keep drinking it. The fruit here is gorgeous - like hibiscus tea mixed with wild strawberry jam, with a lovely bitterness running through it. A stunning wine.

Victoria E. Torres Pecis Sin Titulo NG 2017

La Palma is one of the most compelling places in the world to grow grapes. Its vineyards sprawl across a dramatic range of altitudes - from coastal slopes to mountain peaks that rise to 1,500 metres above sea level. This elevation, paired with the island's fractured microclimates, stretches harvest across nearly three months. In the south, particularly around Fuencaliente where Victoria Torres Pecis has her bodega, vines root in pure, black volcanic sand - hot, young, and full of energy. Meanwhile, the northern vineyards lie on older, iron-rich red soils, closer to 1,000 metres in altitude, their character shaped by age and altitude rather than fire.

La Palma's geographic and cultural isolation has preserved a remarkable array of indigenous white grapes - Sabro, Gual, Albillo Criollo, Listán Diego, Listán Blanco - many of which barely exist outside the Canaries. But the red grape most associated with the island is Negramoll, believed to have arrived from Jerez over five centuries ago. It's a fragile, whispery variety, but in the right hands, it becomes haunting.


Victoria Torres Pecis is one of those hands. The sole guardian of her family's century-old winery in Fuencaliente, Victoria took over after the passing of her father in 2014. Since then, she has worked almost entirely alone - contending not just with the elements but with the scattered, rugged terrain of the island. Her cellar is humble: no high-tech gadgets, a few steel tanks, and barrels of chestnut, American and French oak. Fermentations are spontaneous. Temperature control is a fantasy.

She learned by watching. Her father made wine in an old lagar dating to 1885, and the rhythms of the place haven't changed much. What has changed is the extent of her efforts in the vineyards. Her first years were spent scouting the island, locating old plots, and persuading growers to let her take over their care. Then came the restoration - coaxing life back into exhausted vines, nursing soils, building trust. Today, she farms 4.7 hectares, two of them her own, the rest rented or tended through long-standing relationships. She also buys fruit from other growers she mentors.

These vines - some over 130 years old - are scattered from the island's southern tip to the western slopes of Roque de los Muchachos. They grow on original rootstock, ungrafted, untouched by phylloxera. And as her labels proudly state: "pie franco, como siempre ha sido."

Each year, Victoria bottles a wine called Sin Título - "without a name." It's never the same twice. One vintage it might be an oxidative white, another year a taut, nervy red. In 2017, it's the latter: Negramoll from two wildly different moments in time. The first parcel was picked in August and pressed into oak; the final plot, harvested in November, went into steel. Both rested on their lees for nine months. The wine pulls itself together in the bottle - a story of contrast, time, and place.

The 2017 vintage brought heartbreak. Hailstorms slashed yields. Only 1,200 bottles of Sin Título were made.

I am like the listán blanco. Very resistant.

And it shows.

Incredibly delicious and just downright impressive. The nose is stunning - slightly perfumed, with hints of smoke, a touch of meatiness, loads of plum and red flowers, and a whiff of liqueur. Really captivating. On the palate it's super delicate, beautifully balanced, and complex in a way that keeps you engaged. Long finish, great acidity, and solid tannins - there's definitely still potential here. Lovely wild strawberry and smoke linger on the finish. A gorgeous wine.

Victoria E. Torres Pecis Negramoll Piezas N1 2018

Victoria E. Torres Pecis Negramoll Piezas N1 2018 is one of those wines that doesn't demand attention --- but rewards it. It's Negramoll harvested from six family-owned plots scattered across La Palma: San Simón, Sancho, Las Machuqueras, Los Llanos Negros, Las Manchas, and Tinizara. The vines range from 30 to 120 years old, and the wine itself is a quiet tribute to each of them.


Only 4,700 bottles were made.

Nordic berries - think viburnum - blood, bitter medicinal herbs, and wormwood. It's deeply mineral, smoky, and almost completely devoid of sweetness. A challenging wine, with sharp acidity and decent tannins. It has developed beautifully - earlier it felt aggressive and a bit unpleasant, with the bitterness dominating. Now, you want to sip it slowly, almost like a medicine - but at the same time, it's pure pleasure. A fascinating and very stylish wine.

Suertes del Marques El Chibirique 2017

Tenerife -- the largest, most populous island in the Canaries -- rises from the Atlantic with bold contradictions. It's a place where vineyards cling to impossibly steep slopes, some perched at nearly 1,700 metres above sea level -- the highest in Europe. It's also home to Mount Teide, Spain's tallest peak (3,715 m) and one of the tallest volcanoes in the world if measured from its oceanic base. Despite its subtropical latitude, the island's altitude, trade winds, and volcanic soils create microclimates that favour some of the most thrilling and singular wines being made today.


Suertes del Marqués is a family-run winery in the Orotava Valley, on the north side of Tenerife. Although they started bottling under their own name only in 2006, the family had been growing grapes and selling them locally for nearly two decades before that.

Their philosophy blends deep respect for traditional viticulture --- including the island's iconic cordón trenzado vine training --- with a minimal-intervention approach in the cellar. All vineyard work is done by hand, and farming avoids systemic treatments. Fermentations rely exclusively on native yeasts, sulphur use is restrained, and winemaking takes place in raw concrete, stainless steel, and neutral oak, with no fining or filtration.

They focus entirely on local varieties like Listán Negro, Listán Blanco, and Vijariego Negro, working with plots of old, often ungrafted vines --- many over 100 years old --- to produce wines that reflect both the texture of the volcanic soils and the vivid light of Tenerife.

Suertes del Marqués El Chibirique 2017 comes from a small, 0.4-hectare plot in the Orotava Valley, on the north side of Tenerife. The vines, over 80 years old and ungrafted, are trained in the traditional cordón trenzado style --- a striking braiding technique unique to this region. The vineyard sits at 380--420 metres above sea level, on volcanic soils facing northeast, and is farmed organically.

This is 100% Listán Negro, fermented with whole bunches and native yeasts, then aged for 11 months in neutral 500-litre French oak barrels. The wine was bottled unfiltered.

El Chibirique belongs to the "Parcel" line of Suertes del Marqués --- wines vinified separately from individual plots on the estate, each telling its own precise story of place, vine, and time.

At first, the sulphur is a bit startling - but give it time and it starts to reveal much prettier layers: wild strawberries, gouache, and those charming cornichon notes you sometimes get in old Burgundy. The balance is already impressive - great acidity, firm tannins - but it's not quite fully there yet. Still, the wine is beautiful, charged, and long. Very Burgundian in spirit, with excellent concentration and a promising future.

Borja Perez Ignios Orígenes Baboso Negro 2017


Among the most compelling voices of this Tenerife island is Borja Pérez González. Based in La Guancha in the Ycoden-Daute-Isora D.O., Borja is a fourth-generation winemaker, though he didn't initially plan to follow the family path. Before wine pulled him back in, he trained as an agronomist, worked as a firefighter, and even dabbled in racecar mechanics. But in 2011, he took over his family's bodega (active since 1927), and set out to reshape his legacy.

He started Ignios Orígenes, a project focused on single-vineyard expressions of Tenerife's native grapes -- varieties like Listán Negro, Baboso Negro, Vijariego Negro, and the hauntingly rare white Marmajuelo (we tasted it last time). Each bottling is a window into the island's fractured, mineral-rich soils and the brutal beauty of its climate. Borja's other label, Artífice (meaning "artisan" or "craftsman"), is a tribute to his grandfather -- his hands, gnarled from years of vineyard work, are printed on the labels.

Borja farms organically and works naturally in the cellar. His wines are precise, textured, and honest -- never sterile, never over-polished. No fining, no filtration, minimal sulphur. Just a deep, clear signal from Tenerife's volcano-forged terroir.

One such signal is the Ignios Orígenes Baboso Negro.

This cuvée comes from an extremey dry vintage -- which translated into early harvests (month earlier than normal) to avoid excessive ripeness. The grapes were harvested by hand and the wine matured in a 1,500-liter oak foudre and one barrique. It was bottled unfined and unfiltered.

This one's lovely. A beautiful nose - red flowers, red fruits, gouache, spices, and a touch of greenery. Bright acidity, pronounced tannins, and clearly very young - this wine needs time. But even now, it's complex, intriguing, and delicious. A wine that promises a lot and already delivers quite a bit.

Puro Rofe Chaboco 2018

A wine born in volcanic shadow and desert light. Chaboco is 100% Moscatel de Alejandría, harvested from vines over a century old, planted directly into black volcanic sands layered over clay in La Geria at 325 metres above sea level. These vines don't just survive - they thrive in one of the most extreme viticultural landscapes on earth.


The name refers to natural volcanic fissures - chabocos - shallow crevices once recognised by local farmers as ideal growing spots, protected from the island's relentless winds and capable of capturing precious moisture. Muscat, with its tendency to climb and sprawl, adapted well to this particular micro-ecosystem.

Grapes are picked early to retain freshness, then dried on the same volcanic sands for 25 days. They used 2,000 kilos of grapes to produce 240 bottles! What follows is a slow transformation: gentle pressing, spontaneous fermentation in small stainless steel tanks with no temperature control, and nearly a year of gentle ageing - though most of that time, the wine is still slowly fermenting. The result is a concentrated, naturally sweet wine with around 130 g/L of residual sugar and 13% alcohol - lush yet balanced by acidity and unmistakable volcanic tension.

Oh wow. Absolutely gorgeous. Apricot, bitter herbs, cashew, a touch of VA, coconut, peach - each note perfectly placed.

The balance is just spot on - rounded, seamless, with a long, lingering finish and beautiful acidity that carries everything forward. Easily one of the best sweet wines I've had in a long time.

Layered, emotional, and so elegantly composed. An incredible result.

Resources

• Harding, J. (2023). The Oxford companion to wine. Oxford Companions.
• Bains, S. (2020b). The epic wines of the Canary Islands.
• Spain, Home To Europe's Highest Altitude Vineyards. Anna Harris-Noble.
• Wine From Tenerife -- The Canary Islands. Wine Folly.
• Canary Islands. Wikipedia.
• Puro Rofe. European Cellars.
• DO Lanzarote.
• Puro Rofe. Spanish Wine Lover.
• Rebirth and Resilience - Heroic Viticulture in Spain's Canary Islands. Vinka Woldarsky
• Puro Rofe. Sager and Wine.
• Bimbache.
• Victoria E. Torres Pecis. Bowler Wine.
• Victoria Torres Pecis -- The New Star of the Canaries. dccrossley.

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