The Wines of Utiel-Requena

Somewhere near Darlington, as the 'quieter coach' began to fill up with youngsters who used the word like a lot, I asked myself if the train journey south was really worth it. It ultimately took six hours and two changes to reach Kings Cross. When I arrived I hit the nearest pub and drained a bottle of Fuller's London Porter as if my life depended on it.

 

London, on a fine day in March

I'm very interested in Spanish wine, though, so the prospect of learning about Utiel-Requena, a little-known region, appealed to me. I have a number of people and businesses to thank for this enthusiasm: my uncle, for introducing me to sherry; Majestic Wine, for sending me to Rioja; Ramón Bilbao, for holding its Spanish Wine Master competition two years ago.

 

Utiel-Requena is inland from Valencia in eastern Spain. Rather incredibly, it turns out that the United Kingdom is the top export market for this D.O.'s wines. In my experience it's rare to find a customer who's heard of Jumilla, let alone Utiel-Requena. As a speaker at the tasting in London pointed out, however, a supermarket here stocks a dirt-cheap wine from the area, which no doubt goes some way to explaining this apparent anomaly. Patricia Álvarez of Coviñas, the biggest cooperative in the region, remarked that many drinkers will be 'unaware' that they are consuming a wine from this part of Spain.

 

It's somewhat more likely that wine drinkers will have heard of the grape Bobal, which accounts for about two thirds of plantings in Utiel-Requena. Still, it's not exactly a household name. Bobal is used to make reds and trendy rosados which have very little colour. The reds might be blended with Tempranillo, Garnacha or French varietals like Merlot, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon, but it's often bottled on its own. The classic flavour of Bobal, I was told, is raspberry, and wines made from very old vines can have a liquorice character.

 

Bobal and Cabernet Sauvignon seem like odd bedfellows to me. Its thick skins give Bobal plenty of tannin, and it has a nice streak of acidity and plenty of body as well. Like Cabernet, then, it's not lacking structure, so why blend them? Tempranillo, the Spanish superstar grape, is a more logical partner because of its low acidity, and it has the advantage of being easy to grow. 

 

Given the heat and arid nature of the climate (less than 300mm of rain fell in 2024), it's a little surprising that about a quarter of the wine sold from the D.O. is white. The white grapes in Utiel-Requena benefit from elevation, with vineyards planted between about 650 and 900 metres above sea level. Aromatic whites are made from a grape called Tardana, which is indigenous to the area. Remarkably, it is the last grape to be picked at Coviñas, at the end of October or even in November. It has lovely aromas of tropical fruit and citrus.

 

The principal white grape is Macabeo. Best known for its role in Cava and white Rioja, I discovered that it is originally from the vast area of La Mancha, to the west. As Sébastien Richard of Sierra Norte observed, Macabeo is often considered to be 'quite neutral'. Some skin contact makes a big difference, he continued, resulting in more floral wines. Disappointingly, that's a tasting note I can almost never pick up, unless it's a Gewurztraminer.

 

Curiously, Albariño and Godello have migrated south from Galicia and are present in Utiel-Requena, where they seem thoroughly out of place, at least to me. Apparently, Godello suffers more than its fellow Galician varietal from the lack of rain. Albariño manages to retain its high acidity, which was also true of the Sauvignon Blancs I sampled. Chardonnay is also present, in fact it's the second most prevalent white grape. Needless to say, it's useful in the local Cavas, adding a creamy texture.

 

Utiel-Requena has some things going for it. The wines are good and shockingly cheap, and it's a hotbed of organic viticulture. It may sound laughable, but I think the main challenge it faces is not drought, but its name. Utiel-Requena really is a bit of a mouthful. That said, if Montepulciano can achieve name recognition among Brits, there's hope for this this Spanish D.O. too.

 

La Rioja Alta

    

    We arrive in Haro at midnight, where, in true Spanish fashion, our host Francisco proposes a drink. A lone bar is open, and the silent streets and empty room suggest they might consider shutting early on a Monday. Most of us order a caña as George Michael plays on the speakers and an alsatian sniffs around and howls for attention. Despite the delicious cold beer, I decide against a tour of the deserted town and crash out in a huge room with oak beams on the ceiling. 

Tempranillo vines at La Rioja Alta S.A.

    

    The last time I went to Spain was four years ago, yet, as I wander around this famous wine town the next morning, waves of familiarity wash over me. A man's voice booms out from a café; a half-hidden figure leans out of a second floor window and beats a mat againt the wall; two nuns in black habits walk past a church; a woman stands on a street corner selling lottery tickets. There are old buildings with long cracks down the middle, and lovely views beyond the town over to hills and vines. 

    I came here for the wine, of course, and the sight of a row of trees shaped like gobelet vines turns my mind to the tasting ahead of us. We drive the short distance to my favourite Rioja producer, La Rioja Alta S.A., in the Barrio de la Estación. I ask Francisco, who is driving, which Rioja he likes the most, other than his employer's. 'Who asked this question?!', he jokes. 

    The wines are lined up for us in a crescent: eight reds and a solitary white - 'to cleanse the palate'. I'm not usually a big fan of whites, but the Lagar de Cervera Albariño is delicious, with peachy aromas redolent of Viognier. 

    Although I've had most of the reds many times before, it's a joy to drink them again. My favourites are the 2015 and 2016 vintages of Viña Ardanza. 'The Garnacha is the DNA of Ardanza', says Francisco. 'It brings spice, liquorice' to the wine. The Garnacha grapes are grown on vineyards covered in huge pebble stones, 50 miles away in the hotter Rioja Oriental zone, we learn. 'The winemaker calls it little Châteauneuf-du-Pape', says Francisco. 

Garnacha vines in Rioja Oriental

    

    We don't finish all the tasting samples, which feels almost like a crime considering the quality of the wines. (A member of the party later tells me he went round the table polishing off all the flagship Gran Reserva 890, however). 

    Over a lunch of Riojan vegetable stew and barbecued lamb cutlets, we drain the remainder of the 890, plus several more bottles of the Ardanza, including a velvety 2005 vintage. I ask in Spanish for more of the vegetable dish. 'His Spanish is good!' the waitress tells Francisco, filling me with pride. 

    This was my first trip abroad in over three years. I returned home tired but euphoric, with three goals: to go back to Spain; to drink lots of wines made by La Rioja Alta S.A.; to take up Spanish again. I can certainly achieve the first two objectives; we'll see about the third...