At this little island in the Canaries, the volcanic wine scene is erupting

The first sip can only be described as aromatic. There are hints of citrus and spice, and a bright acidity that mellows out on the second taste. There’s also an underlying minerality I’ve never tasted before—one that is both balanced and accentuated by the notes of fruit. I sound like a sommelier, without even trying, when I observe that a bite of chocolate between sips brings on a full-bodied symphony of flavour. As if on cue, violins rise to a crescendo just as I down my glass. Nope, this isn’t a movie and the music isn’t some romantic fantasy. This is a blindfolded wine tasting at the Bodegas Vega de Yuco vineyard on the island of Lanzarote in the Spanish Canaries.

For a small island (just 845.9sq km) that can be covered in a little over an hour, Lanzarote is bursting with vineyards. There’s Bodega Los Bermejos, Bodega Stratvs, Bodega Guiguan SL, Bodegas Rubicon, and so on. Most of these bodegas (Spanish for wine cellars), are family-run businesses, and some of them go back centuries. “Wine is the largest crop on the island,” shares my guide, Ana Sánchez León, during a tour of the Bodega La Geria. At first glance, the setting is a far cry from the sweeping green hillocks of the Bordeaux or Napa Valley. Lanzarote, by contrast, looks desolate and haunting, with what millennials would call “end-of-the-world feels”. Barren and pock-marked with lichen-covered rocks, the landscape has been eroded by the island’s many volcanoes and their consistent eruptions—including one in the 1800s that lasted six years. By the end of it, the island was entirely covered in volcanic ash, locally known as picón. Lanzarote was once considered the granary of the Canaries, for producing a significant chunk of the region’s wheat and barley, but the picón put an end to that. Instead, it gave the island a new star crop: wine.

It turns out, the fiery black soil lends grapes a vibrant, mineral-spiked acidity unlike any other. Each vine is planted in a silo, at the centre of a conical crater that, in turn, is surrounded by a semi-circular stone wall that shields the plants from the incessant dry wind. It’s very clever engineering where the conical hollows have a unique ability to capture moisture for the vines. To the eye, it’s an eerie, almost otherworldly vision. On the palate, it’s delicious.

“You see the fruit trees around the vines?” Sánchez León asks. “They are planted so that rabbits can eat the sweeter fruit and leave the grapes alone.” A closer look at the centre of the hollow reveals a vine laden with grapes—round, bright, and green. It’s the Malvasía Volcánica, a heritage grape varietal that has been cultivated for centuries and is seen on much of the island. Introduced (likely) by Roman or Greek settlers in the 18th century, it quickly adapted to the region’s conditions and started thriving. Today, more than half the wine on the island is made with this grape. Other varieties include Listán Negro, Diego, Listán Blanca, Negra Mulata, and Muscat of Alexandria.

Later, at the Salinas de Janubio salt flats, where I’m sampling various types of salt on crackers, I’m offered a glass of wine from Bodega La Geria. “We drink wine with everything,” chimes in the guide, Alberto Mosteirin Perez, stating the obvious. “All the island’s produce pairs really well together.” It’s true: Lanzarote’s wines beautifully complement the region’s foods, which is abundant in goat milk cheese and seafood. Malvasía Volcánica wines, all of which have a subtle taste of honey, pair well with signature dishes like grilled fish, octopus, or even papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes). I particularly enjoyed a dry wine from Bodega Vulcano Lanzarote at the El Diablo restaurant, an accompaniment to a meal of meat cooked in the heat of the volcano, local cheese, and those ubiquitous sauces—the green mojo verde and the red mojo rojo.

Volcanic ash, or picón, gives the wine from Lanzarote a rare and delectable mineral quality

If not at restaurants, Lanzarote’s wines are best sipped at the bodegas where they originate. The first of these, which came up 1775, is El Grifo, and it still stands strong. Perched on the edge of Timanfaya National Park, it makes for one of the most fascinating vineyard tours in the world: the wine press from 1775 is still intact, and visitors can even walk through chabocos, or volcanic fissures, and take a gander at the historic library that holds volumes on history, agriculture, and of course, wines of the Canaries. At Vega de Yucos, a historic 16th-century house called Finca Testeina now serves as a small museum that still holds vintage wine-making equipment. Out here, every bodega offers a tour that includes a lot of wine and a snippet of history—but the clear highlight is the chance to walk on the black soil and feel a wild, otherworldly wind in your hair.

It’s not surprising to learn that Shakespeare too was a fan of wine from the Canaries, mentioning it in many of his works—most notably in Twelfth Night (“Oh knight, thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down”). My description is that of a true blue millennial: Lanzarote’s volcanic wines are a whole vibe.