The Anada Spanish Wine List

Brut Nature means nothing sweet was added back after the bubbles, so what you get is stark and clean: green apple, lemon pith, a little toasted almond from time on lees. Medium-light body, fine persistent bead, and a finish that turns almost chalky. It leaves your mouth drier than it found it.

Say it LA-kree-ma BA-koos

Same bone-dry idea, aged far longer, with real depth and toast.

Pale copper-pink from Garnacha and Pinot Noir. Wild strawberry and blood orange up front, then something more savoury underneath, like dried herbs and a squeeze of lemon. Light to medium bodied, very fine bubbles, and zero dosage so nothing sweet arrives at the end. It finishes tart and clean.

Say it LA-kree-ma BA-koos

Also pink and fizzy, but cloudier, wilder and completely unfiltered.

Xarel·lo-led, aged for years on its lees before disgorging, and it shows: baked apple, lemon curd, toasted hazelnut, a whiff of woodsmoke. Zero dosage keeps it severe in the best way. Medium bodied and genuinely textured, the bubbles more a fine mist than a fizz, with a long salty finish.

Say it rre-ka-RE-doo kor-pee-NAT te-RRERS

If precision and salinity are your thing, Zárate does it without bubbles.

Pale, dry and more savoury than the colour suggests. Redcurrant and pink grapefruit, a little crushed herb, and a stony edge that keeps it serious. Light to medium bodied with real texture rather than just fruit. It finishes tart and faintly bitter, in the way good European rosé does.

Say it SYE-rra del to-LO-nyo

Same region, all Garnacha, rounder and a touch more generous in fruit.

Pure Garnacha, made pale and dry. Think white peach, wild strawberry and a dab of orange zest, with a chalky, almost salty edge on the close. Light bodied but not thin, and there is a soft roundness in the middle that keeps it friendly. Bright acid, no sweetness, gone from the glass quickly.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no la-bas-TEE-da

A pink wine with years on it: deeper, stranger, closer to red.

This one has more colour and more to say. Raspberry and pomegranate, a little dried thyme, and a savoury, almost meaty note underneath. Medium bodied for a rosé, with grip on the finish that reads closer to a light red than a summer pink. Dry, firm, and much better with food than without.

Say it bo-DE-gas ek-SOP-to

Volcanic Tenerife red, light and savoury, the natural next step up.

Pet-nat means it finished fermenting inside the bottle, so the fizz is soft and a little unruly and there is a haze in the glass. Expect sour cherry, blood orange and a bready, cidery note from the lees. Light bodied, low in alcohol, bone dry. It froths hard on opening, then settles into something surprisingly savoury.

Say it EN-tre VEE-nyes o-NEE-reek

Same maker, no bubbles, orange-wine texture and grip instead.

Clarete is the old Castilian way, red grapes and white ones crushed into the same vat. The result is deep pink, savoury and full of texture: sour cherry, dried orange peel, a twist of white pepper and something faintly earthy. Medium bodied with real tannin for a pink wine, and a long, dry finish. Five years old and still fresh.

Say it PEE-ka-ro del A-gee-la kla-RE-te Gui is a hard g with silent u: 'A-gee-la', never 'a-GWEE-la'.

Ready for actual red now: Mencía, light on its feet, savoury.

Rías Baixas sits on the rainy Atlantic coast, and Albariño grown there is all tension. Green apple, white peach, grapefruit pith and a saline snap at the end. Medium-light bodied and dry, with a slightly waxy texture that stops it being merely sharp. The finish is long and mouthwatering.

Say it o-FA-loom

More perfume and polish, from a benchmark Rías Baixas name.

Albariño at its most perfumed: orange blossom, white peach, honeysuckle and a lift of citrus zest. The palate is drier and firmer than the nose promises, medium bodied, with a fine, almost powdery texture and a distinctly salty finish. Aromatic without being sweet, which is a harder trick than it sounds.

Say it TE-rras GOW-da a-ba-DEE-a de san KAM-pyo

Same corner of Galicia, blended with local grapes, even more perfume.

This is the leaner, more serious end of Rías Baixas. Less overt peach, more lemon rind, green almond and crushed oyster shell. Medium bodied with a real thread of texture running through it, the sort of white that feels chewy rather than simply crisp. Dry, mineral, and it keeps going long after you swallow.

Say it nan-KLA-res ee PRYE-to TEM-poos bee-BEN-dee

Neighbouring benchmark with a year more age and more depth again.

O Rosal sits on the Portuguese border, where Albariño is blended with local aromatic grapes. The result is fragrant: pear, lime blossom, fennel and a hint of green herb. Medium-light bodied, dry and taut, with citrus acid holding all that perfume in place. It finishes clean and faintly bitter, in a good palate-clearing way.

Say it san-TYA-go rroo-EETH o rro-SAL

The same blend idea from a neighbour, richer and more textural.

Given a little bottle age, Albariño trades crunch for depth. Baked pear and preserved lemon here, a waxy, almost honeyed edge, and still that Atlantic salt underneath. Medium bodied, broader and rounder than a freshly bottled Rías Baixas, with acid that has softened into something silky. The finish is long and savoury.

Say it bo-DE-gas pen-te-kos-TES

Aged white Rioja takes the same idea much further, still fresh.

This is not straight Albariño. Loureiro brings a lift of bay leaf and white flowers, Caíño Blanco brings the bite. Nectarine and grapefruit pith up front, then a chalky, slightly bitter grip through the middle. Medium bodied and broader than most Rías Baixas whites, finishing long and dry with a salty edge.

Say it TE-rras GOW-da o rro-SAL

Same O Rosal blend idea, softer and more openly floral in style

Val do Salnés sits closest to the Atlantic and it shows: this is the tighter, saltier end of Albariño. Green apple and lemon oil, a little wax and crushed stone from bottle age, no oak anywhere near it. Medium bodied but built on acid rather than flesh, finishing long, dry and faintly briny.

Say it THA-ra-te Z is a Spanish 'th'; Galician locals often soften it toward 's'.

Another Val do Salnés Albariño, younger and brighter but same saline backbone

Viura is the grape behind classic white Rioja, and here it is poured straight rather than buried in barrel. Green apple, pear skin and a fennel top note, with a chalky dryness that builds the more you drink. Light to medium bodied, quiet on the nose, much more interesting in the mouth. Finishes clean and savoury.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no

Same region, more perfume and weight thanks to the Malvasía in it

Age is the whole point here. Viura's green apple has turned to baked apple and quince, joined by honey, toasted nuts and a polished, waxy texture that only years in bottle produce. Medium bodied and gentle, low on acid fireworks, long and savoury at the close. Nothing about it shouts, which is exactly the appeal.

Say it fa-MEE-lya CHA-ba-rree lar-CHA-go

Same love of bottle age and nutty depth, with bubbles attached

Malvasía is the aromatic half of the classic Rioja white blend and it does the talking: white flowers, ripe pear and a hint of orange peel. Viura keeps things dry and firm underneath. Medium bodied with a soft, faintly oily texture through the middle and a finish that runs savoury rather than fruity. Five years in, it has settled beautifully.

Say it loo-EES KA-nyas

Malvasía on its own, turning the perfume and texture right up

Malvasía is usually the junior partner in white Rioja. On its own it is a far more perfumed thing: dried apricot, orange peel, ginger and white flowers, with a waxy weight that coats the mouth. Medium bodied, properly dry despite smelling like it might not be, and it finishes with a bitter citrus grip that keeps it honest.

Say it bo-DE-gas ek-SOP-to el ber-NA-te

If texture is what you are after, go further: skin contact Macabeo

Verdejo is Spain's bright aromatic white and this is a clean, honest version of it. Grapefruit, green apple and a squeeze of lime, with the variety's signature crushed fennel and bitter almond note on the back palate. Light bodied, dry and brisk, finishing short and clean rather than long.

Say it KWA-tro RRA-yas

Same cold, zippy job from the Basque coast with more salt

This is Verdejo with the volume turned down and the detail turned up. Lemon zest, quince and green almond, a waxy thread through the middle, and the classic bitter herb finish that reads closer to fennel seed than cut grass. Light to medium bodied, dry, and noticeably longer and firmer than the Rueda average.

Say it AN-hel rro-DREE-geth mar-teen-SAN-cho Ángel's g is throaty, like Scottish loch: 'AN-hel', not 'AN-jel'.

The Galician equivalent: a benchmark white grower, more salt and age

Rueda whites are usually drunk in their first summer. Give Verdejo a little bottle age and the grapefruit softens into quince and dried herbs, with a waxy, almost lanolin note arriving underneath. Medium bodied and dry, with the variety's bitter almond edge on the finish keeping everything upright and awake.

Say it mee-GEL a-RRO-yo eeth-KYER-do de-MEE-mo

Next step in texture: Galician Godello built on lees, not age

Pour it cloudy, that is the whole point. Muscat brings orange blossom and green grape skin, Macabeo keeps it dry and lemony underneath. The bubbles are soft and foamy rather than sharp, closer to cider than Champagne. Light-bodied, faintly savoury from the yeast, and it finishes dry and short in the best way.

Say it EN-tre VEE-nyes o-NEE-reek

Same hands, same fizz, Garnacha instead: the red-berry version of tonight's bottle

Macabeo left to sit on its skins, so the colour is amber-gold and the texture has a light grip, like cold tea. Dried apricot, quince and orange peel, with a herbal, faintly bitter edge underneath. Medium-bodied and dry, more savoury than fruity, and it finishes with a tannic tug that almost no white wine gives you.

Say it EN-tre VEE-nyes o-NEE-reek so-ta-TE-rra

Another Spanish skin-contact white, lighter and more floral, from old Albillo vines

Three native Galician grapes you have almost certainly never met, from the warm inland corner of Galicia on the Portuguese border. Green apple and lemon pith first, then something waxier with air: chamomile, crushed stone, a little beeswax that only comes with bottle age. Medium-bodied and dry, the acid firm rather than sharp, finishing long and faintly bitter like grapefruit skin.

Say it KEEN-ta da moo-ra-DEL-ya kan-DE-a Galician-Portuguese: 'da', not 'de'; -lla is 'lya' as in million.

Same Galician backbone in Godello, younger and creamier from its lees ageing

Godello sits somewhere between Chardonnay and Pinot Gris in feel. Ripe pear and white peach, a squeeze of lime, and an almond-skin note underneath. Medium-bodied with real weight through the middle of the mouth, then a clean, salt-edged finish. Dry and unoaked, and rounder than most Spanish whites Australians have tried.

Say it a-DE-gas bal-mee-NYOR MEE-nyoos Adegas is Galician for bodegas — 'a-DE-gas', not 'bo-DE-gas'.

Neighbouring Galician blend, more aromatic and citrus-driven, with the same salt-air finish

Txakoli comes from the wet, green Basque coast and tastes like it: green apple, lime, a lick of sea salt and a faint prickle of spritz on the tongue. Light bodied, low in alcohol, very high in acid. The finish is short, clean and tart, which is exactly the point. Built for a second glass.

Say it go-rron-DO-na cha-ko-LEE Basque tx is 'ch'; the region is 'bees-KY-ko cha-ko-LEE-na'.

Next door in Galicia, same salt and citrus, with more flesh.

Godello does the heavy lifting: pear, white peach and a lick of hazelnut, with real weight for a wine that never tastes oaky. Doña Blanca adds acid and a herbal edge that stops it going soft. Medium bodied, gently creamy through the middle, finishing dry and faintly stony.

Say it men-GO-ba BRE-tho

Godello from Monterrei, leaner and more citrus driven than this Bierzo version

Sobre lías means it sat on its spent yeast, and you can taste the payoff: a soft, almost creamy weight wrapped around lemon and green pear. Valdeorras is Godello's heartland and its slate soils give a dry, flinty finish that stops the roundness turning flabby. Light to medium bodied, dry, easy without being simple.

Say it BEE-nya so-MO-tha NE-no

Old Galician varieties with more age, texture and savoury complexity than this

Albillo Real left on its skins, which gives colour and a light tannic grip without tipping the wine into cider territory. Apricot skin, dried mountain herbs, orange peel and a stony dryness that comes with granite country in the Gredos. Medium bodied with genuine texture, a faint tug of tannin on the tongue, then a clean savoury finish.

Say it el ga-LA-yo es-pe-THYAL

The red side of the same trick: pale, textural, built for food

Chardonnay in the middle of Monastrell country, rescued by altitude on the Jumilla plateau where the nights turn cold. Nectarine and lemon curd with a touch of white blossom, and no oak getting in the way. Medium bodied, sunnier and rounder than cool climate Chardonnay, with a clean citrus line running underneath. Finishes dry and pleasantly bitter.

Say it bo-DE-ga theh-RRON rre-mor-dee-MYEN-to Peninsular c is 'th'; Latin Americans would say 'seh-RRON'.

Same house, same fresh hand, Monastrell and Garnacha instead of Chardonnay

Garnatxa Blanca is the quiet achiever of Spanish whites: not especially aromatic, but wide and satisfying once it is in your mouth. Green apple, fennel and a little grapefruit pith, a soft and almost creamy weight, and gentle rather than sharp acidity. Medium bodied and dry, finishing on bitter herbs and a saline note rather than fruit.

Say it e-de-TA-ree-a BEE-a TE-rra BLANG Catalan: the final -c in Blanc is swallowed, closer to 'blang'.

Same grape in Priorat, taken seriously: more depth, more stone, more money

Priorat makes almost no white wine, so this is rare before you even taste it. Yellow plum and fennel, dried hillside herbs, and a chalky, stony line running the whole length from the region's black slate soils. Medium to full-bodied and dry, with weight rather than fat, and a long finish that turns savoury and slightly bitter.

Say it te-RWAR al LEE-meet ees-TO-reek BLANG Catalan: H in Històric is silent; final t in Límit barely sounds.

Same Garnatxa Blanca grape from Terra Alta, softer and far cheaper

Bright purple in the glass and just as direct on the nose: blackberry, violets, a twist of black pepper that is the Graciano talking. Garnacha rounds out the middle, Tempranillo gives it bones. Light to medium bodied, soft tannin, a fresh peppery finish. A 2024 means this is still all fruit, which is the point.

Say it bo-DE-gas ek-SOP-to

Same young and juicy idea from Bierzo, with Mencía's floral, cooler edge.

Whole bunches fermented the old Rioja Alavesa way, so it arrives vivid: crushed raspberry, a lick of liquorice, something floral like violets. No oak anywhere in the way. Light to medium bodied, tannin as soft as a fingerprint, finishing on juicy acidity. Rioja behaving like a young wine, because that is exactly what it is.

Say it ar-TOO-ke

Galicia's version of the trick: young, unoaked Mencía, also best served cool.

Crianza means at least a year in barrel and two years all up before release, and you can taste the patience: red cherry, dried strawberry, a little vanilla and cedar, a leathery savoury note at the back. Medium bodied, tannin already soft, finishing dry and dusty rather than sweet. Classic Rioja with no makeup on.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no la-bas-TEE-da

Same Crianza rules, darker Toro fruit, more muscle, a small step up.

Tempranillo caught early, before oak has much to say about it. Red plum, morello cherry and a faint tomato leaf greenness that is very Tempranillo, then a chalky savoury finish. Medium bodied, brisk acidity, tannin fine and quiet. A 2023 drinking beautifully now and in no danger for a few years yet.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no, KOO de keen-TA-no The letter Q is 'koo' in Spanish, so 'KOO de keen-TA-no'.

Same young Rioja idea taken further: whole bunch, even more crunch.

Oak has been part of Labastida since that first experiment, and here it works as seasoning rather than sauce. Dark cherry and dried fig, cedar, tobacco leaf, a little sweet earth underneath. Medium to full bodied with real tannin structure and a long, savoury, faintly smoky finish. Serious without ever feeling heavy.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no el pyo-NE-ro

Same house, three more years of cellar time already done for you.

Reserva means three years of ageing minimum before release, at least one of them in barrel, and 2018 was a cooler Rioja vintage, so this arrives fresh rather than tired. Dried cherry, orange peel, leather, sweet tobacco, a whiff of forest floor. Medium bodied, tannin resolved into silk, finishing long and savoury with a dry mineral edge.

Say it ma-NWEL keen-TA-no la-bas-TEE-da

The other Reserva here: younger, tighter, from Rioja Alta's cooler side.

Laderas means slopes, and it tastes like slope-grown fruit: red cherry, wild strawberry, dried rose, a cool chalky line running underneath. Light to medium bodied, tannin fine and powdery, more about texture than weight. It finishes clean and a little stony, the fruit fading into something savoury rather than sweet.

Say it ba-len-THEE-so la-DE-ras de ka-BA-ma

Another high-slope red built on perfume and fine tannin, from volcanic Tenerife.

Rioja pointed at a wider audience, and it does the job well. Black cherry and blueberry, mocha and toasted spice from the barrel, a sweet vanilla edge running through. Full bodied by Rioja standards, tannin plush rather than firm, finishing warm and generous. Less dried fruit and leather than the traditional style, more polish and depth.

Say it LO-peth de A-ro el PAK-to H is always silent in Spanish: Haro is 'A-ro'.

Toro's answer to this: same dark fruit and oak, more raw power.

Rioja only recently let producers put a single village on the label, and this is what that rule was written for. San Vicente sits high on the north bank of the Ebro and the wine shows it: red and black cherry, dried herbs, iron and stone under the fruit. Medium to full bodied, firmer and cooler than the Rioja average, finishing long and mineral.

Say it LO-peth de A-ro, san bee-THEN-te de la son-SYE-rra

Bierzo's great village wine: same idea, steeper slopes, Mencía instead of Tempranillo.

The name gives away the trick: concrete instead of barrel, so there is no vanilla, no cedar and no smoke anywhere in this wine. What is left is Tempranillo itself, dark cherry and plum, dried thyme, a wet stone coolness through the middle. Medium to full bodied, tannin firm and chalky, the finish long, dry and completely clean.

Say it ba-len-THEE-so the-MEN-to

Another Spanish red that skips the barrel to let the vineyard talk.

Reserva means three years of ageing minimum with at least one in barrel, and this is the classic Rioja Alta reading of the rule. Red cherry and dried orange, cedar, sweet tobacco, an undertow of leather and forest floor. Medium to full bodied, tannin polished into silk, and a finish that keeps unfolding long after you have swallowed.

Say it ba-len-THEE-so

Spain's other great splurge: Priorat power where this one offers Rioja finesse.

Tinta de Toro is Tempranillo that grew up somewhere hotter and higher, with thicker skins and darker everything. Joven means no barrel ageing, so this is the raw material: blackberry, black plum, a lick of liquorice, a note of dried violet. Full bodied and dense without being clumsy, tannin chewy, the finish warm and dark. Organically farmed, as the label says.

Say it es-TAN-thya PYE-dra HO-ben e-ko-LO-hee-ko Joven's j is throaty, like Scottish loch — 'HO-ben', not 'JOH-ven'.

Same grape, same town, different house: a useful side-by-side on Toro.

Tinta de Toro is Tempranillo that moved somewhere hot and grew broad shoulders. Black plum, dried fig, sweet leather and a dusting of cocoa from the barrel. Full bodied and warm, with tannin that grips and then softens, and a little Garnacha lifting the middle. Finishes long and savoury rather than sweet.

Say it es-TAN-thya PYE-dra e-ko-LO-hee-ko

Toro without the oak, older vines, pure dark fruit

Deep purple, close to opaque. Smells of blackberry, violets and a curl of smoke, with a short spell in barrel adding vanilla rather than grip. Medium to full bodied, plush through the middle, tannin fine enough that it drinks beautifully tonight. Finishes on dark plum and black pepper.

Say it MA-tsoo el PEE-ka-ro

Same house, older vines, deeper and slower. The natural step up

Darker and slower than its little brother. Black cherry, dried herbs, cedar and a toasty, smoky edge from longer time in oak. Full bodied with real tannin structure, firm across the middle, but the fruit is ripe enough to carry it easily. Long finish of liquorice and tobacco leaf.

Say it MA-tsoo el RRE-thyo

Toro from a legend, seven years old, fruit over oak

Telmo Rodríguez built a career reviving forgotten Spanish vineyards, and this is his Toro: black cherry and blackberry, dried thyme, a graphite edge underneath. Full bodied but nimble for the region, tannin sanded smooth by seven years in bottle. The finish is dry, stony and long.

Say it TEL-mo rro-DREE-geth de-E-sa GA-go Silent h inside Dehesa: say 'de-E-sa', two clean vowels.

Another old-vine site wine, cooler and finer, same serious hand

If you have never had Mencía, picture Cabernet Franc grown somewhere cooler and stonier. Red cherry and raspberry, a snap of crushed violet, then black pepper and something leafy underneath. Light to medium-bodied, the tannins fine and dusty rather than drying, with bright acid keeping the whole thing lively. It finishes savoury and mineral, never sweet.

Say it THE-sar MAR-keth pa-RA-hes

Mencía from Ribeira Sacra's river cliffs, lighter and more floral than Bierzo

Mencía brings the red cherry and the pepper. Garnacha Tintorera brings colour and a darker plummy depth, since it is one of the few grapes with red flesh as well as red skin. Medium-bodied and unfussy, with soft tannin and juicy acid, a lick of liquorice, and a fresh finish that quietly asks for another glass.

Say it men-GO-ba BRE-tho

Same grape, same region, more detail and lift when stepping up

This is Mencía with the emphasis on fruit and soil rather than barrel. Dark cherry and pomegranate, dried herbs, and a graphite note like wet stone after rain. Medium-bodied with firm, fine tannin and a savoury middle that keeps it honest. It finishes dry and long, closer to bitter cherry than to jam.

Say it bo-DE-gas PEE-ta-koom, pe-TEET PEE-ta-koom

Bierzo's white side, Godello with texture, grown in the same slate hills

Six years on and this is only beginning to open. Black cherry and dried rose, then graphite, iron and a smoky mineral note off the steep slate slopes above the village of Corullón. Medium to full-bodied, the tannins tight and polished, oak folded in rather than sitting on top. It finishes long, cool and savoury, and it has a decade ahead of it.

Say it des-then-DYEN-tes de HO-ta pa-LA-thyos, BEE-ya de ko-roo-YON The J. is said 'HO-ta'; Castilian ll sounds like the y in 'yes'.

The same family's hand in Priorat: warmer, denser, equally serious slate-grown red

Ribeira Sacra grows its vines on river terraces so steep that every grape is picked by hand. The wine is pale, light-bodied and floral: sour cherry, cranberry, violets, crushed stone. No oak, so nothing gets in the way. The tannin is barely there and the acid is bright, so it finishes clean and almost salty.

Say it GEE-ma-ro Gui is a hard g, u silent — 'GEE-' as in 'geese'.

Volcanic Tenerife red with the same lightness, smokier and more peppery

The step up from the young Guímaro: one site, more concentration, five years in bottle. Darker fruit here, black cherry and damson, with dried flowers, wet stone and a thread of smoke. Medium-bodied and still tightly wound, the tannins fine but present, the acid long. It finishes cool and mineral and keeps unfolding across an evening.

Say it GEE-ma-ro ka-MEE-nyo rre-AL

Bierzo's benchmark Mencía, darker and denser, if you want more weight

A young red made for drinking now, kept on its lees for a few months to give it a bit of flesh. Purple fruit straight away: blackberry, blueberry, a dab of violet, with Syrah adding a peppery snap on the end. Light to medium-bodied, the tannin soft to the point of invisible, the texture smooth. Finishes juicy and short.

Say it KA-re Two syllables, 'KA-re' — not the English word 'care'.

Another Aragón crowd-pleaser, riper and rounder, with a few years' age

Raspberry and dried strawberry first, then crushed pepper and dried herbs off the Cariñena hills. Medium bodied and soft through the middle, with fine dusty tannin rather than grip. Hot days and cold nights up there keep the acidity intact, so it finishes bright and dry rather than heavy.

Say it HO-ta na-bas-KWES KOO-tyo

Another Aragón Garnacha, more altitude, more detail, same warm-stone character.

Monastrell is the Spanish name for Mourvèdre, and in Jumilla's baking heat it makes something dark and meaty. Blackberry, dried fig, black olive and a whiff of woodsmoke, with seven years in bottle turning the edges soft and savoury. Full bodied and warm, tannin now rounded rather than gripping. The finish is dry and long.

Say it fa-MEE-lya pa-CHE-ko

Same Jumilla soil, young and juicy instead of dark and warm

Everything you expect from Jumilla, reversed. Bright crushed raspberry and dark cherry, a snap of black pepper and something floral above it, with little or no oak in the way. Light to medium bodied, low on tannin, with acidity that keeps sending you back for another mouthful. Finishes clean and peppery.

Say it bo-DE-ga theh-RRON rre-mor-dee-MYEN-to

Another inland grape reimagined fresh and light: Manchuela Bobal

Grown on black volcanic soil on the slopes of Tenerife, and it tastes like it. Red cherry and pomegranate first, then smoke, ash and a peppery, almost salty finish. Light to medium-bodied, low in tannin, high in energy, with a rasp of something wild underneath. Strange in the best way, and it wakes up the whole table.

Say it SWER-tes del mar-KES, SYE-te FWEN-tes The 7 is spoken in Spanish — 'siete', not 'seven'.

Galician cliff-grown Mencía with the same slim frame and stony finish

Garnacha grown this high in Aragón tends to keep its perfume, and this one does: raspberry, dried strawberry, wild thyme, a twist of orange peel. The palate is medium-bodied and silky rather than heavy, with sandy tannin and enough acid to stay fresh right through. Warm-country fruit in a cool-country shape, finishing dry, herbal and long.

Say it fron-TO-nyo mee-kro-KOS-mee-ko

Neighbouring Aragón Garnacha, darker and firmer, off Cariñena's stony ground

Red cherry and plum with a dab of liquorice, then a savoury, dusty finish. Garnacha gives the sweet fruit and the soft middle, Tempranillo the firmer edges and the earth. Medium bodied, gently grippy, and cooler in feel than most Spanish reds at this money, because Navarra catches Pyrenean air.

Say it loo-tha-DOR los an-DRE-ses

Same two grapes, warmer Campo de Borja fruit, same friendly price.

Campo de Borja sits in hot, stony Aragón and grows Garnacha better than almost anywhere on earth. Expect raspberry and stewed strawberry, a lick of dried herb and sweet spice, and a warm, rounded middle. Medium to full bodied, soft tannin, a little Tempranillo adding grip. Finishes generous and easy.

Say it bo-DE-gas a-ra-go-NE-sas don rra-MON

Aragón Garnacha again, a step up in detail and length

Ribera sits high on the Castilian plateau where hot days crash into cold nights, and the wines come out dark and firm. Blackcurrant and black plum, cedar and vanilla from oak, a savoury note like dried mushroom underneath. Full bodied, tight tannin, bright acidity holding the whole thing upright. Long, dry finish.

Say it BAR-dos bee-NYE-dos de al-TOO-ra

Same grape, older and softer, Rioja's savoury side instead

Bobal is thick-skinned and naturally high in acid, which is why it makes dark wine that still tastes fresh. Sour cherry, blackberry and dried violets, with a stony, faintly bitter edge that keeps things interesting. Medium to full bodied, firm but fine tannin, and a lift of acidity right through the middle. Old vines give it length.

Say it moor-BYE-dro SE-ree-thees THE-pas BYE-has

Bobal's finest expression, from the man who made it serious

Juan Antonio Ponce is the reason anyone takes Bobal seriously, and La Casilla shows you why. Wild raspberry, dark cherry, dried flowers and a wet-stone, almost bloody edge. Medium bodied and surprisingly light on its feet for a wine this dark, with fine chalky tannin and real acidity. The finish is long, savoury and mineral.

Say it bo-DE-gas PON-the la ka-SEE-ya

Bierzo Mencía, same fresh mineral old-vine energy, different grape

Monterrei sits on the Portuguese border, the driest and warmest corner of green Galicia. Mencía gives red cherry, violets and a twist of black pepper; Garnacha Tintorera, a grape with red flesh as well as red skin, adds colour and grip. Medium bodied, taut, more mineral than fruity, with a dry stony finish.

Say it KEEN-ta da moo-ra-DEL-ya kan-DE-a

Galician Mencía, brighter and juicier, same wet-stone freshness underneath

Callet and Fogoneu are Mallorcan grapes that barely leave the island, pale and perfumed, and the Syrah and Cabernet give them shape. The result smells of wild herbs, red plum, sea air and something like dried orange peel. Medium to full bodied, silky rather than heavy, with fine tannin and a warm, salty, savoury finish.

Say it KWA-tro KEE-los bee-NEE-ko-la, DOD-ze VOLS Catalan numerals: dotze volts; the final t in volts is dropped.

Another island red: volcanic Tenerife, lighter, just as unusual

Priorat's vineyards are terraced into black slate called llicorella, so steep they are worked by hand and, in places, by mule. Old Garnatxa and Cariñena give black cherry, dried raspberry, wild thyme and a smoky, iron-like mineral streak. Full bodied but tightly wound, with tannin like fine sandpaper and a finish that runs for half a minute.

Say it AL-ba-ro pa-LA-thyos, gra-ta-LYOPS bee de VEE-la Álvaro is Castilian-accented (not Àlvaro); Catalan Gratallops uses 'ly' as in million.

Same family, Bierzo slate, half the price, similar ambition