Greek wine has spent something like fifteen years being called “wine’s next big thing” — I’ve watched that headline come round three separate times from behind my own counter, and this piece exists because the third time it actually stuck. In two sentences: Greek wine today means, above all, Assyrtiko — a searingly dry, high-acid white grape from the volcanic island of Santorini that’s now planted right across the mainland — sitting alongside a couple of hundred native grapes most of us have never had to pronounce out loud. By the end of this you’ll know which bottle to reach for and where, what the label is actually telling you, and why a Santorini bottle costs what it does.
Dionysus — the Greek god of wine — wasn’t worshipped for nothing. Wine runs through Greek mythology earlier and deeper than through most wine cultures’ written record, and classical writers rated Chian wine, from the island of Chios, alongside the best Rome could offer. That’s the well this whole modern revival draws from.
What is the famous Greek wine?
If someone means one specific bottle when they say Greek wine, they mean Assyrtiko from Santorini. It’s a bone-dry white, searingly acidic even after a scorching growing season, with a smoky, volcanic minerality trade writers compare to a struck match near a lemon grove. Nothing else from Greece commands that reputation, or those prices.
The island itself does most of the work. Vines are trained into a low basket shape called kouloura, hugging the ground for shelter from constant wind, and the only real moisture most years comes from fog rolling off the caldera each morning. Yields are tiny — some of the oldest vines, untouched by phylloxera, are reckoned to be over 400 years old, still on their own roots. Trade writers reach for comparisons: Assyrtiko does for Greece roughly what Albariño does for Rías Baixas, the calling-card grape that gets a whole country taken seriously. If you already like the salty snap of a good Albariño (our piece on Albariño and the wines of green Spain covers that ground), Santorini’s version will feel instantly familiar and instantly different.
The best examples age well too — a decade in bottle isn’t unusual, developing honeyed, toasty notes most people don’t expect from a Greek white. That combination of scarcity, quality and a booming tourist economy pushing up land prices has made Santorini Assyrtiko noticeably more expensive over the last ten years or so. My honest steer: buy it as an occasion bottle, the way you’d buy good Chablis — and keep the everyday drinking for the mainland versions further down this page.
What is a Greek wine called?
This one trips people up in my shop more than almost anything else, and fairly so — Greek labels usually name the grape rather than a village, so a bottle might simply read “Assyrtiko” or “PDO Santorini” rather than anything resembling Chablis or Rioja. Retsina is the exception, and it’s worth stating plainly: retsina is a protected style, not a grape — white wine made with a measured dose of Aleppo pine resin in the must.
The PDO Santorini rulebook asks for at least 75% Assyrtiko in the dry wines (many are 100%) and at least 51% in the sweet Vinsanto, blended sometimes with Athiri or the floral Aïdani. Retsina, meanwhile, is a legally controlled, protected category now, not the rough stuff of old holiday memories — modern versions use far shorter lees contact than they once did, so the resin sits underneath the wine rather than shouting over it. Beyond those two, look out for PGI Aegean Sea or PGI Cyclades on the label — a regional designation covering wine from any of the southern islands, used when a producer blends across more than one. Once you know those few label words, the Greek shelf stops being a puzzle and starts being a menu.
Beyond Santorini: the mainland and islands worth knowing
Santorini gets the headlines, but it’s not remotely the whole story. Assyrtiko itself has spread to Halkidiki in the north-east, where it comes out softer and fruitier, less wild than the island original. Macedonia is Xinomavro country — Naoussa and Amyndeo both build structured, ageworthy reds from it. Epirus does its own thing with Debina, the Peloponnese gives you aromatic Moschofilero whites and the full-bodied red Agiorgitiko, and the island of Samos has long had a name for quality sweet Muscat.
| Style | Where it’s from | Character | Price shape |
|---|---|---|---|
| Santorini Assyrtiko | Santorini | Smoky, saline, high acid, ages well | Premium, rising |
| Mainland Assyrtiko | Halkidiki, Macedonia, Attica | Softer, fruitier, less mineral | Mid-range |
| Retsina | Attica, Evvia, Viotia | Pine-resin edge, built for food | Value to mid |
| Vinsanto | Santorini | Sun-dried, honeyed, sweet | Super-premium, tiny volumes |
Read that price column as a shopping list, not just a description: mainland Assyrtiko and a good modern retsina live in everyday-money territory, Santorini has left it, and Vinsanto never lived there at all. If lesser-known regions generally interest you, not just Greek ones, our guide to Beyond the classics: the wine map’s best-kept secrets is worth an hour of your time.
What is the best wine to drink in Greece?
It depends on the setting — a beach taverna in August calls for something different to a slow-cooked plate indoors in winter — but the honest answer for most Greek food, most of the year, is a dry white with real acid. Assyrtiko, Athiri or a well-made retsina all cut through olive oil and grilled fish rather than sitting politely beside them.
For years those everyday tavern wines got poured from chilled copper carafes rather than bottles — the wine equivalent of a house pour, and no worse for it. That’s the spirit worth borrowing at home: serve these whites properly cold, treat them as something to drink alongside dinner rather than admire in isolation. How wine cultures eat: Italy, Spain and France at the table covers exactly this instinct, and Greece follows the rule harder than most of them.
Reds earn their keep with heartier plates — Xinomavro against something slow-braised, Agiorgitiko with grilled lamb. Vinsanto, poured in a small glass after the meal rather than with it, is its own occasion entirely. The same logic works at your own table: acid for the oily, structure for the braised, sweetness after — and a bottle to match each is an easy thing to ask us for.
What it costs — and why
Santorini’s dry wines have moved from affordable curiosity to genuinely premium over roughly the last decade, and it’s not really about hype. Low, low yields from ancient ungrafted vines, plus real-estate prices driven up by tourism, mean the fruit itself costs more to farm than almost anywhere else in Greece.
The mainland is where the value sits. Assyrtiko from Halkidiki or Macedonia, or a good Athiri blend, gives you real character without the island premium. Trade coverage suggests Greece still exports only around a tenth of what it produces, with Germany, the US and Canada as the leading markets — and a historically weak domestic economy has kept even the best bottles from reaching the sort of prices equivalent French or Italian wines would command. That gap won’t last forever. It rarely does once word properly gets round — and this is the third time round. So the buying advice writes itself: Santorini for the occasion, Halkidiki for the weeknight, and a cold retsina for the first warm evening of the year.
Questions customers ask us
Is retsina always going to taste of pine? Not aggressively, no — modern retsina uses far less resin and less lees contact than older styles did, so it reads as a subtle background note rather than the whole flavour. It’s worth one honest try if your last memory of it is decades old.
Can Assyrtiko actually age, or is that just marketing? It genuinely can. The high acidity that makes it so refreshing young is exactly what lets the best examples develop honeyed, toasty complexity over eight to ten years.
Why does Vinsanto spell differently from Tuscan Vin Santo? They’re different wines that happen to share a similar name. Santorini’s version is made from sun-dried Assyrtiko and aged at least two years in oak — a different grape, a different island, a different story entirely.
Is Greek wine good value? By most trade accounts, yes, still — even the best examples rarely reach the premium territory equivalent quality would command from France or Italy, though Santorini is closing that gap fast.
The merchant’s last word
I ignored Greek wine for years, if I’m honest, filed it under “holiday drinking” and left it there. That was a mistake I’ve had to unlearn slowly, bottle by bottle. Assyrtiko changed my mind first, and the mainland grapes have kept the argument going since. Third time round, the “next big thing” headline finally earned itself — and the sensible move is to drink these wines while the price gap is still open. Come and browse the France cellar — there’s more waiting in there than a fortnight in Santorini could ever pour you.
