Andrew Jefford on Rioja: Why I love these 'magnificent' wines

This was different. My previous journeys to Rioja unfolded in summer. From Madrid, Barcelona or Zaragoza: treks through dusty landscapes of the sort Cervantes described, in light so bright and shimmering that windmills might indeed have seemed like giants with flailing arms. Not this time; winter was lingering. Rioja’s Centennial Celebration of the awarding of its denominación de origen on 6 June 1925 (more than 10 years before France’s appellations, note) took place in February 2026.

I arrived from Bilbao: a journey through the mountains. It had rained on and off for two months; platoons of mist manoeuvred amid the sodden parcels. When the sun shone, it threw lamplight on fierce indigo clouds. Finally, I could feel Rioja for what it is: a high-elevation region.

Spain, remember, is the second-highest country in Europe after Switzerland. Few vineyards here lie below 350m, higher than most in Burgundy, and Himalayan compared to Bordeaux; many lie at 900m or more. The average vineyard elevation in Rioja is 495m.

What I’d remembered accurately was the chaos of the landscape. Yes, it’s a broad valley, incised by the river Ebro; but the vineyards are rooted in terraces that rise and fall incessantly, a topographical rough draft. Vines thrive here: around 30% of Rioja’s 66,639ha are old plantings (the OIV definition: 35 years or more), with 600 vineyard parcels (182ha) certified as centenarian. Old vines may yield modestly, but they’re healthy, they’re content.

And the wines? Magnificent – or at least the ones we were shown the next morning were: I don’t remember a five-hour sit-down tasting more amply strewn with smile-inducing, muscle-softening wine pleasure. Still more came tumbling into our roomy Riedel glasses (16 each: my heart went out to the washers-up) at the gala dinner.

For affability, warmth and welcome, Europe has no fine red wines to match these; elsewhere in the world, only Napa comes close. Rioja’s genius is to combine gentleness and tenderness with generosity and grandeur, despite significant structure. Rioja doesn’t just endure, moreover, but builds beauty in time: a rarer quality. They’re the kind of red wines that, when you return to them after a sojourn away, you think ‘Why do I ever drink anything else?’

But I’ve set off on the wrong foot. ‘Rioja doesn’t exist,’ Pedro Ballesteros Torres MW (of whom more in a subsequent column) assured the hall full of tasters. ‘You have to add adjectives.’ He was drawing attention to growing differences of style. Climate change has made every grower ask questions and think again about site, about harvest and about balance; and the questioning of our old assumptions about oak (see my March 2026 column) hasn’t gone un-echoed in Rioja, though it’s still true to say that the relationship between oak (American included) and young, Tempranillo-based blends remains singularly successful here.

Our morning tasting was divided into a set of ‘new departure’ wines and magnificent older wines; the dinner set bridged these two worlds. No space here for extensive tasting notes, but in addition to the Queirón wine mentioned, below, new departures include the supple, perfumed 2024 José Gil from Vignerons de la Sonsierra; a fascinating pure-Benedicto wine (Benedicto is thought to be a parent, with Albillo, of Tempranillo) from Luis Cañas, unfinished but insistent; and Miguel Merino’s virtuoso 2022 La Loma from vineyards in Briones.

And whites? The oaky classics are splendid: Murrieta’s Castillo Ygay 1986 seduced us all, thanks to skill, wood and its cellar years. Swing the spotlight onto Viura as a young, fresh wine, though, and even the best underwhelm; they lack Tempranillo’s authority, complexity and command. Might greater use of other varieties help? It may not be hip to say this, but I love the Faustino white Gran Reserva – thanks to its Chardonnay component, which brings gold, cream… and Rioja’s old, enduring joy: tenderness and gentleness.

In my glass this month

Dominio de Queirón, Mi Lugar, Rioja 2021

The 2021 Mi Lugar from Queirón (ex-UK, £26 Vinissimus) is a ‘Vino de Quel’ – Quel being a village in Rioja Oriental (formerly Rioja Baja) lying at almost 500m, with its vineyards rising to 850m.

The pure-Garnacha El Arca is very fine, but emotionally speaking Mi Lugar (90% Tempranillo with 10% Garnacha) is more captivating still: cool-shot fruit, riffling with hill grasses and wild herbs, and finely structured on the palate. Subtle, vital and wild – but yes, finally tender, too.

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