Many thanks to GuildSomm for giving me this chance to introduce you to my latest book on Spain, The Wines of Central and Southern Spain. It’s a natural follow-up to its predecessor, The Wines of Northern Spain, but, in many ways, it’s very different. The heart of Northern Spain was the great names of Spain: Rioja and Ribera del Duero, plus Rías Baixas, though it also included the emerging regions in Galicia, Castilla y León, and elsewhere. What has been so fascinating about writing Central and Southern Spain is that the region is a mosaic: wonderful wines and winemakers, local varieties (frequently everything but Tempranillo), orange wines, biodynamics, pét-nat, amphoras, and so much more.
The Wines of Central and Southern Spain effectively covers Madrid and everything south of that historic center. Everywhere, there is change as new generations dig deeper into their patch of dirt. The book covers some classics, notably Sherry, where the classics are being made better and better, but, simultaneously, innovations are taking the wines of the region to a new level. If you’re not partial to Sherry, try the albariza wines—still wines, lower in alcohol, from Palomino—and you will be charmed.
I’ve taken pains to tell the story of Extremadura. It’s the isolated region that forms the border with Portugal, and it is home to pioneering producers worth seeking out. I also took time to explore the central plateau of Spain, where old vines march across the plains and the wine industry is finally changing. An important feature of this book is spelled out in its subtitle: From Catalunya to Cádiz. Catalunya was simply too important and too big to include in Northern Spain. Instead, it is the focus of the new book’s first chapter. And, of course, Catalunya is home to a very significant category: traditional method sparkling wine. Thus, there’s a whole chapter on Spain’s sparkling wine, explaining the different categories, the trends, and the key people behind these wines.
The books in the Classic Wine Library series aim to provide an expert overview of a topic and then dig deeply into the key areas. All of us as authors have studied for wine exams, and several of us are Masters of Wine. We know what you need to know! But, at the same time, my hope is that you will enjoy the journey through Spain, with my very personal recommendations and insider tips.
– Sarah Jane Evans MW
Spain is the most exciting country in Europe for wine, and one of the most exciting in the world. If those words sound familiar, they should. Anyone who has met me will have heard me saying that often. And anyone who has read The Wines of Northern Spain will know that it was the first line of that book, too. In the seven years that have passed since it was published, much has happened, notably Brexit and Covid. I am inclined to mention them in the same breath because of the simultaneous disruption they caused.
Despite that, I am if anything more confident about Spain and its wines than I was seven years ago. The quality continues to rise, but the increase in diversity has been particularly notable. This journey through Spain has given me a chance to celebrate the unique characters of its wines and its foods. The arrival of phylloxera at the cusp of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ushered in a period of planting with reliable, higher-yielding, disease-resistant varieties. But it also meant that vineyard diversity disappeared. Only now, a century later, are we able to relish those previously abandoned varieties that have been carefully revived.
Another challenge for Spain’s wine growers is the well-marketed image of Rioja and its partner Ribera del Duero, which dominate Spanish wine for consumers. One could be forgiven for thinking that Tempranillo was the preeminent red variety. Especially when one discovers that, under a range of synonyms, it does appear (almost) everywhere. The excitement of this book is to be able to explore Giró, Listán Negro, Mandó, Sumoll, Pirene, and many more lesser-known varieties. I have been overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and brilliance of the winemakers and growers featured in these pages.
My aim with The Wines of Central and Southern Spain has been to capture the dynamic changes happening, including in some historic regions. Some are places that have never been taken seriously—Valencia, Extremadura, and Gran Canaria, for example. Other places—Montilla Moriles, Jerez—have been seen as mired in tradition. Spain’s sparkling wines have been a lively battleground, but there are now great discoveries within.
Walking in Spanish vineyards with producers, I am constantly discovering new details and innovative approaches. But while above ground we talk of the new, the land beneath my feet speaks about the past. In Terra Alta, the ploughs still turn up tragic mementoes from the soldiers who fought and died in the Battle of the Ebro, in 1938. In Priorat, I walk on the same ground as the Cistercian monks who lived in the monastery of Scala Dei for six centuries. Everywhere I have encountered old vines, I have wondered about the people who planted them. I think of those people who had the courage to start anew with vine planting in the early 1900s, in the immediate aftermath of phylloxera, rather than emigrating, as so many others did.
The twentieth century was a tumultuous and destructive period across Spain. The Republic, while initially welcomed, provoked bitter revolts on all sides, including from the Basques and Catalans, who sought autonomy. In 1936, General Francisco Franco and his Nationalist armies quickly advanced through Andalucía and Extremadura and began a campaign culminating in the crushing of the Republican opposition. Around half a million Spaniards died in the three-year conflict. Franco’s dictatorship lasted until his death, in 1975, when the monarchy was restored. Franco’s nominee was Juan Carlos, who abdicated in favor of his son Felipe, in 2014.
The Franco years were not greatly beneficial for the wine industry. Agricultural policies favored volume over quality. The cooperative movement grew. By 1975, Spain had plenty of catching up to do. Inevitably, perhaps, in wine terms, its opening up to the outside world was reflected in the planting of international varieties. Many established Spanish varieties were uprooted in place of yet more Cabernet Sauvignon. Spain joined the European Economic Community (EEC) in 1986, and winemakers were at last in a position where they could travel, taste, explore, and exchange ideas. Its wines entered a period of over-oaking as new oak came into play. Thus, when Priorat appeared on the scene in the very late 1990s, its winemakers used new oak, because you have to start with clean barrels. It gained a reputation for oaky wines, now totally incorrect. I still find it ridiculously hard to shift this view among some consumers.
We are now a quarter of the way through the twenty-first century. In this short period, Spain has done an awful lot of catching up. The blossoming has been especially seen across the areas covered in this book. Jerez, which ended the twentieth century as one of the old traditional categories in steady decline, is equally steadily moving into a different place. Málaga and Montilla Moriles are both following on, though they have further to go to catch up. Valencia and Alicante were known to the outside world for the Franco era holidays, and their fruits, but they are a source of elegant wines from local varieties. Murcia’s producers really had no profile outside Spain, and now they are getting top ratings. Castilla La Mancha has kept the world in cheap wine, but step by step, satellite denominations are breaking away, each making a move toward better quality. Extremadura, too, has its committed growers determined to make wines that will put it on the map in a good way. Catalunya has lived a turbulent century. It has a historic wine culture, one that like the language is at last able to clear its throat and express itself. Finally, it is wonderful to visit the islands to taste their wines, and to celebrate the fact that they are no longer just the home of cheap tourism.
The figures are impressive. In 2022, Spain had 954,724 hectares of vineyard, which made it the world leader in vineyard area. It produced 35.7 million hectoliters of wine. It also has more than 600 grape varieties, the majority of which are indigenous. La Mancha has the largest extent of vineyard of any DOP, with no less than 151,870 hectares. Rioja comes a poor second, with 66,986 hectares. What’s interesting is that the relatively obscure Ribera del Guadiana (it’s the DO in Extremadura), on the western edge of Spain, comes third, with 41,503 hectares. Cava is fourth, and the great catchall of Catalunya fifth. Then the top ten finishes in descending order with Utiel Requena, Ribera del Duero, Jumilla, Rueda, and Penedès.
Despite these big numbers, growers are confronting serious challenges. The extremes of climate are significant. In Valencia and southeastern Spain, there was a cold drop, or DANA (the acronym for depresión aislada en niveles altos, or “isolated depression at high levels”), in late October 2024 that caused floods, killing 231 people, destroying thousands of cars, and ruining many families and businesses. The uncontrollable weather, exacerbated by the negligence and delays of the authorities and politicians, caused havoc never seen before. The same year, growers in Penedès had been posting on Instagram pictures of vines that died in the drought; there were fires in Priorat in La Figuera and later in Porrera. Fire is an increasingly regular occurrence in times of drought. There is much debate about the need for better forest management.
At the same time, there’s optimism. Growers talk of vineyards at different altitudes, and of learning to manage the vines in different ways. They have to find a way to manage the extremes. And the effects, like the DANA, can be so narrowly focused. Javier Revert, at his own winery, was drought affected; over the hill, an hour’s drive away in Manchuela, where he consults, Finca Sandoval was not. The pests and diseases persist. Vines in Extremadura in 2024 suffered from green mosquitoes. Growers who were registered organic, as it is possible to be in that area, were struggling to find a suitable control. In the Balearics, the concern is the Xylella fastidiosa bacterium, risking olives and almonds as well as vines. By disrupting the plant’s water system, it causes dieback, wilting, and stunted growth. In 2025, 30% of Jerez vineyards have been affected by mildew. Meanwhile, in alarming news, phylloxera has been found in an abandoned vineyard in Tenerife. The Canary Islands were always blessedly free of phylloxera. Will they be able to contain it?
In the years since I wrote The Wines of Northern Spain, there has been a great step forward in vineyard work, both in researching varieties and in focusing on viticulture. Rafael Palacios recalls working as a consultant before setting up his namesake winery in Valdeorras. He remembers that winemakers only went into the vineyard once a year, at harvest. It chimes with my own experiences of visiting Rioja in the early days, when the visit always centered on the barrel cellar; one never went out to the vineyard. There has been a complete turnaround today. The viticultor is the one who matters.
The wine world has recently discovered old vines. Editors are commissioning articles, and wine writers are busy photographing themselves for Instagram beside old bush vines. Much of the focus is on Spain, which for various reasons—political, social, and economic—has a remarkable heritage, though it needs to hold on to it. Just how old is old, though? The International Organisation of Vine and Wine (OIV) has accepted the definition of “old vine” as 35 years, but for very many producers in Spain, 35 years seem laughable. Still, the case is urgent, to prevent any more uprooting of Spain’s heritage. Even in places as famous as Priorat, there are starkly obvious patches of abandoned land.
Along with old vines come the old ways of winemaking. Amphoras, or ànforas, and tinajas have been a major backdrop to this book. I spent some time trying to pin down the difference between these two vessels. It seemed as if Catalunya used amphoras, while central and southern Spain used tinajas. But both of them were large pots. When I was hosting a masterclass at Vinseum, the new wine museum in Vilafranca del Penedès, the audience put me right. The amphora is the clay pot with handles at the neck for transporting liquids such as wine, used by the Phoenicians, Iberi, and Romans. The tinaja is the handleless pot made for fermenting and storing wine. It may be as large as 3,000 liters—more in Montilla Moriles, where they are made of concrete and as large as 10,000 liters. In Valencia, they may be buried up to their necks in the ground. The confusion continues: in the UK we describe the buried Georgian pots as amphoras, as we only have the one word for these different pots. However, in Spain the Georgian pots are typically described as tinajas. The revival in using these types of pots sent a number of people to Georgia to learn winemaking. Producers who could not locate pots locally went to Italy or to the famous Juan Padilla in Albacete. He is now sadly retired, and the lucky owners who have Padilla pots will point out his signature on them excitedly.
At the end of the first quarter of the twenty-first century, there are caveats. At the time of writing, the effects of the Trump administration tariffs are not fully apparent. Wineries are overstocked with red wine, a result of people buying too much over the Covid lockdown, feeling the financial pinch now, and also drinking less for health reasons. In the UK, there are particular issues with duty rates and fees for packaging disposal, which will increase financial pressures on producers; these will in turn be passed on to consumers. This creates an impetus among producers to make lower-alcohol wine in order to reduce duty, but the concomitant risk is the dilution of quality and increasing consumer dissatisfaction. All this, and Spain still has a problem of producing and selling far too much wine in bulk rather than in bottle. Despite this gloomy portrait, I remain optimistic—explore this book, and you will see there is so much talent on display and drinking pleasure available.
This excerpt first appeared in The Wines of Central and Southern Spain, written by MW Sarah Jane Evans and published by Académie du Vin Library in September 2025. It has been minimally edited for style, length, and audience. Used with permission.
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