Volcanic Wines: When Fire Becomes Flavor

Today I’m nursing a cold or the flu or something for the fifth day in a row. These damn illnesses keep putting me down for longer and longer it feels like. While I had my fever and was wishing for warmth hot enough to melt my skin off, I started thinking about wines made in volcanic soils, because, I had nothing else to do but sit there and let my mind wander.

There are vineyards that feel like a soft little lullaby with soft hills, round stones, and breezes that smell like peaches and lavender, and then there are vineyards that look like the earth is still in the process of cooling down from when it was first formed. Black glass, iron-red ash, and winds that sandblast your cheeks and leave salt on your lips. These are the places where vines grow in the old bones of volcanoes, where roots spread through the pumice and cinders, where lava once ran more wild than my little dog on a beach.

There’s so much that goes into the taste of these wines, from the geology, the grapes, the places, and the plates that make volcanic wine one of the most firey corners of the wine world.

Sorry in advance for how long this is, I know I’m normally shorter and more to-the-point, but like I said, I’m sick and don’t have much to do.

Why volcanoes make such expressive wine

There’s a ton of reasons why the wines grown in volcanic soil always have a flavor that makes you think of sun and ash.

Soils here were literally built from fire, with basalt, tuff, pumice, scoria, and volcanic ash that are all porous and super mineral-dense. They drain quickly (so vines can dig nice and deep), store little water on the surface (so berries stay small and the flavors concentrated), and they radiate heat at night (helping ripening without baking any flavor away).

Many volcanic vineyards are also perched high (Etna’s terraces reach ~1,000–1,100 meters), so days are really bright and nights are cold. That wide diurnal swing preserves acidity and aromatics in the wines grown there.

So so many volcanoes also live in archipelagos. Ocean winds cool canopies in the grape vines, desiccate mildew (wish I had this for my melons this season), and dust grapes with a little salty brine. (You can taste this on Santorini a lot I think.)

Volcanic islands often escaped phylloxera thanks to sandy, inhospitable soils for those tiny pests. Centenarian vines mean complexity without heaviness in some of the 100+ year old vines that thrive here. The Tiny Bug That Nearly Killed Wine: The Story of Phylloxera.

Wines from there rocky volcanic soils often taste bright without the sharpness of cooler regions, salty without excessive bitterness, tannins that feel rounded but edged with firm ash, and aromas that lean red-fruited, smoky, herbal, or citrus-electric depending on which type of rock.

The rocks beneath the dirt (and what they do)

Basalt (black lava rock): iron-rich, fine-grained; often linked with darker fruit, graphite, and a quiet smokiness.

Pumice & scoria (volcanic foams): feather-light rocks full of holes; superb drainage; wines skew ultra-fresh and aromatic.

Tuff (compressed ash): crumbles easily; roots travel; structure tends to be elegant rather than burly.

Pozzolana (ash/sand mix): common around Rome and parts of Campania; produces lively, herbal whites and nimble reds.

And no, “minerality” isn’t literally dissolved rocks, think of it more like texture, acid line, and aroma families that just suggest stone like gunflint, wet granite, struck match, that happen from farming conditions created by those rocks. Volcanoes curate the conditions that makes the wines taste like those rocky and mineral feelings.

Sicily’s Etna: lava terraces and red lightning

Sicily’s Etna is known for the grapes Nerello Mascalese (and the darker, sturdier Nerello Cappuccio) for reds/rosés, and Carricante for whites.

Nerello Mascalese can feel like Pinot Noir that started taking Pro Wrestling lessons with my husband or maybe spent too long in the gym with him. They’re normally pale in color, high in perfumed notes (maraschino, blood orange, rose), with tannins that glide like silk ribbon dusted in ash. Like cherry skins carried through wood smoke and rose petals pressed in an old book. Carricante is laser citrusy and freshly peeled almond skins, with a saline snap that makes oysters envious.

Keep an eye out for any Etna Nord (Passopisciaro, Randazzo): cooler, elegant, red-fruit drive, or Etna Est (Milo): the stronghold for Etna Bianco Superiore, Carricante with a sea-spray swagger.

Pair these ash-kissed reds with anything char, grilled lamb chops with rosemary, roasted beets, wood-fired pizza, oven charred cabbage (trust me on this one). Carricante lights up with the nearest raw bar you can find (RIP I miss being able to eat shellfish), lemony pasta, and fried artichokes (come on, you knew this was coming, I eat fried artichokes more than any sane person should).

Good quality Etna reds (especially single contrada bottlings) can sit in the cellar for 10–15 years, twisting from cherry/rose into blood orange, tobacco leaf, and warm stone.

Santorini: basket vines and the taste of wind

The main grape on this beautiful island is Assyrtiko (with some smaller roles for Athiri and Aidani).

On an island that barely rains, vines survive in a surreal training system called kouloura, which are low basket coils that shield grapes from 50-mph meltemi winds and reflect dew back toward the plant. The vineyards are root-deep in pulverized lava, ash, and pumice, so phylloxera says “no thanks,” and vines often pass a century like it’s a lazy afternoon.

When I visited here and poked my head into some wineries (and some other body parts), one of the winemakers told me that they leave the root systems on vines that struggle and regraft a new top half. She said she’s not sure how old some of the root systems are after all this time, but she knows of a few around 300. She insisted that the time growing deep into the soil allowed for the plant to thrive in ways no new sprouts could.

In the glass these wines are all about power and precision. Lemon peel, grapefruit pith, sea spray, smoke, and a stony straight line from attack to finish. Laser lemon, crushed seashell, a lick of warm stone. Oak is used sparingly (or not at all), so you get the island’s pure terroir unfiltered.

If you see them in the store, don’t skip out on Nykteri, which is late-harvested, often oak-aged Assyrtiko. It’s got a richer texture, with a lot of honeyed citrus notes on the finish. Vinsanto (yes, with an “n”, but this isn’t from Italy). Sun-dried Assyrtiko/Aidani dessert wine that tastes like ambered apricot and tea leaves with a volcanic echo.

These wines absolutely beg for some grilled octopus, tomato keftedes, lemon-herb chicken, or anything that ever dreamed of the Aegean.

Lanzarote (Canary Islands): moon pits and night water

Grapes to know here are Listán Blanco (aka Palomino), Listán Negro, and Malvasía Volcánica.

Volcanic catastrophe in the 1730s buried farmland, and the islanders responded with a pure stroke of genius: hoyos, wide hand-dug pits through lapilli (black ash) with a single vine at the bottom and a crescent stone wall to break wind. The ash layer collects nighttime moisture like a sponge and releases it by day. They look as cool as they sound.

These wines are a lot of times quietly smoky with the whites having an herbal lift and salt; reds with red currant, pepper, and the feeling of embers cooling at the edge of a campfire. Red currant, pepper, and the smell of last night’s campfire on your sweater the next morning is the best way I can describe it.

Eat some charred peppers, papas arrugadas with mojo, grilled sardines, or sheep’s milk cheeses with these stunning wines.

The Azores (Portugal): vines in stone chessboards

One of the best wines I’ve ever had to this day. These wines are underappreciated and totally undervalued for what they are. Grapes to know include Arinto dos Açores, Verdelho, and Terrantez do Pico.

On Pico Island, tiny square plots, called currais, are caged by black lava rock walls that trap heat and blunt storms for the vines. The wines are Atlantic-sharp with lime zest, green pineapple core, and seaweed salinity. Think Chablis tossed a beach rock into a glass.

Drink this wine while eating crudos, citrus-dressed salads, simply grilled white fish, or some delicious clams with garlic and cilantro.

Campania (Italy): ash, amphorae, and ancient strange names

Okay, so the grapes to know here are Fiano (Avellino), Greco (di Tufo), and Aglianico (Taurasi).

Campania is a fun little volcanic quilt with Vesuvius over to the west.

Fiano di Avellino is all hazelnut, honeyed pear, and smoke, and truthfully built to age. Hazelnut cream, pear core, chamomile, and a last-second struck match is the feeling I get when I drink them often.

Greco di Tufo is a bit more stony, grapefruit-pithy, with a slightly phenolic grip that’s more clingy than I am (impossible according to my husband).

Taurasi (Aglianico) is Italy’s “Barolo of the South” oozing tar, black cherry, and iron notes with tannins that really want protein.

Pair your Fiano with roasted chicken and fennel, Greco with fried seafood (I can’t get calamari out of my head today for some reason), and Taurasi with braised short ribs or porcini pasta.

Soave & the Veneto: when calm hills hide ancient fire

The ancient grape here is called Garganega, which I may be partial to because it looks like my maiden name, and don’t forget the Trebbiano di Soave either. (Trebbiano is the grape and it’s from Soave.

Soave Classico’s best sites sit on some seriously old volcanic ridges. The top wines aren’t the bland whites you had in college that were $4 per bottle that your one over 21 friend bought you (not condoning underage drinking at all, just stating facts), they’re almond-skinned, peach-pit textured, and quietly smoky. With age, they take on more chamomile and flint notes that are truly stunning.

Pairing these gorgeous white wines with risotto tossed inside some zucchini blossoms, grilled prawns (if you’re not allergic), or even some asparagus with shaved Parmesan.

Napa’s volcanic spine: rocks you can trip over

Everyone seems to forget that the Mayacamas and Vaca ranges are volcanic mosaics. Howell Mountain can feel like graphite-penciled Cabernet, while Mt. Veeder skews more toward savory notes. Diamond Mountain brings cocoa dust and embers. Not all Napa is volcanic, of course, it’s a big mix of soils here, but the mountain AVAs remind you the valley was built by heat.

I’d never say no to a nice grilled ribeye, rosemary potatoes, or portobello burgers with blue cheese for these tannin-loving Cabernet Sauvignons.

Japan’s hidden gem: Yamanashi & the shadow of Fuji

If you’re lucky enough to get your hands on some of the wines made from the Koshu grape (a pink-skinned white variety), get me an extra bottle please. I was only ever able to try this grape once and I truly loved it. Plus they grow a ton of international grapes we all know and love on volcanic soils with typhoon-cooled nights. The best Koshu is delicately citrus, faintly herbal, with a whisper of smoke, and is so good with sashimi and tempura it feels predestined.

How to shop volcanic (without needing a geology degree)

Look for these regions/keywords on labels:

Italy: Etna DOC, Sicilia DOC (for Etna producers), Soave Classico, Campi Flegrei, Irpinia (Fiano/Greco), Taurasi.

Greece: Santorini PDO, Nykteri, Vinsanto.

Portugal: Pico/Graciosa/Faial (Azores), “Arinto dos Açores.”

Spain: Lanzarote, Tenerife (DO Ycoden-Daute-Isora, Valle de la Orotava, Tacoronte-Acentejo).

USA: Willamette basalt sites (Eola-Amity, Chehalem), parts of Napa/Sonoma mountain AVAs.

Other cool pockets: Etnas from boutique contrade, Canary Island Listán Negro, Campania Fiano from higher-elevation parcels.

Value hunting: Soave Classico from top growers; Canary Islands for character under $30; Greco di Tufo for weeknight brightness; Etna rosato for summer (and frankly, winter) food versatility.

Pairings (salty is best if you ask me)

If it smells like the sea (Assyrtiko, Arinto dos Açores) nothing better than some oysters, lemony grilled fish, caper-tomato salads, and fried smelts.

When red fruit and ash are dominant (Nerello Mascalese, Listán Negro) seek out those charred vegetables, pizza, seared tuna, lamb skewers, mushroom ragù, pretty much anything with some char and tomatoes.

If it’s nutty-textured (Fiano, Soave) nothing is better than some roast chicken, rabbit with olive and herbs, pumpkin risotto, or just some plain old aged Asiago cheese.

For a mountain Cab or Aglianico think about fatty cuts of meat, rosemary, smoke, like think ribeye, brisket, or charred eggplant with tahini.

Chill your whites to 8–10°C (46–50°F). Too cold and you mute the beautiful minerality that made you choose these wines in the first place. Etna reds are delightful just under cellar temp with a slight chill to them, about 14–16°C (57–61°F). Use a medium tulip shaped glass for most of these wines, but a Burgundy bowl flatters Nerello Mascalese’s perfume.

Volcanic regions are also often naturally dry-farmed thanks to water-retentive ash and deep root systems. Those deep root systems can mitigate some climate stress and high acid hangs on while sugar rises, giving growers a little more leeway. The trade-off is risk because wind, erosion, eruptions, earthquakes, are all valid fears in these areas. Viticulture here is the next level.

Your next wine pairing dinner volcanic style

For a little amuse-bouche, serve a lemon-olive octopus salad with Santorini Assyrtiko.

Next little bite a wood-fired margherita or mushroom pizza with Etna Rosato.

Rosemary lamb or eggplant alla Norma for your entree and Etna Rosso (Nerello Mascalese).

I’m old-school and believe the cheese course is way underdone in today’s day and age, so obviously, a nice aged Pecorino or Caciocavallo with Campania Aglianico (if you want bigger shoulders) before your sweets.

Lastly, finish up with an almond cake with citrus zest and a late-harvest or sun-dried Vinsanto.

Volcanic wines are proof that beauty can grow from what once destroyed and even the craziest places can make beautiful wines. You raise the glass and it smells like the beach after a storm. You taste cherry and smoke, lemon and salt, and realize that some landscapes don’t make wine easily, but with determination and a whole lot of ingenuity.