Malagousia: The Greek White That Came Back From the Dead

Malagousia is pronounced mah-lah-goo-ZYAH.

Forty years ago this grape had almost vanished. One professor found the last of it growing in western Greece, handed cuttings to a student, and that student turned it into one of the most fragrant white wines the country makes. If Gewurztraminer's perfume appeals to you but its weight does not, this is the bottle to chase.

What it tastes like

Pour a glass and the nose arrives first: ripe peach and apricot, jasmine and orange blossom, a squeeze of lemon underneath. There is often a faint green note too, something close to fresh herbs or a whisper of bell pepper, which keeps the fruit from turning simple.

On the palate it is full and round, with real weight for a white, yet the acidity holds it upright. Most bottlings are bone dry. That combination is the whole appeal: the aromatics of a dessert-leaning grape delivered in a wine you can drink through a meal without tiring of it. Think grilled fish, roast chicken with herbs, or the greens and artichokes that wreck most other wines.

How it nearly disappeared, and who saved it

Malagousia is old and Greek, native to Aitoloakarnania in the country's west. By the mid-twentieth century it had all but dropped out of cultivation, another casualty of growers chasing higher yields and safer bets. In the 1970s Professor Vassilis Logothetis tracked down surviving vines in the Nafpaktia hills and passed the grape to his student, Evangelos Gerovassiliou.

Gerovassiliou planted it, first at Porto Carras and later at his own estate in Epanomi, in Macedonia. He is the reason the grape exists on wine lists today. That is an unusual thing to be able to say about a variety. Most grapes have no single author. This one nearly does, and the wine carries that story in every bottle: a near-miss with extinction, reversed by one stubborn winemaker who thought it was worth the trouble.

Bottles to look for

The name to know is Ktima Gerovassiliou, from Epanomi. The estate's Malagousia is the benchmark, the wine that set the standard everyone else measures against, and it is widely exported. Beyond it, look for producers across northern Greece and the Peloponnese; the grape has spread well past its western homeland and now turns up in blends and single-varietal bottlings from many serious Greek estates. On a shelf or a list, a Greek white labeled simply "Malagousia" from a named producer is a safe bet.

Here is the honest caveat. Malagousia's floral side can tip into soapiness when the fruit is picked too late or handled with too heavy a hand, and the cheapest bottlings sometimes shed the acidity that keeps the wine in balance. This is a grape that rewards buying from a real producer over grabbing whatever is cheapest. Spend a little more here and the difference shows. That is the underdog's usual bargain: less famous, so still fairly priced, but only worth it when someone who cares made it.

Where to buy

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Malagousia has decent US distribution for a Greek grape, largely thanks to Gerovassiliou's reach, though you will find far more of it at shops with a real Greek or Mediterranean section than at a big-box chain. Search by the grape name and buy from a named producer.

browse Malagousia on Wine.com →

— Chris Berry

If you're switching from a famous grape

Gewurztraminer drinkers are the natural audience here. You already like a wine that announces itself with flowers and stone fruit; Malagousia gives you the same volume of perfume with cleaner acidity and a dry finish, so it works at the table where Gewurztraminer often stalls. Come in expecting a peach-and-jasmine white with more spine.

See Wines Like Gewurztraminer and Order This Instead.

Part of Lesser-Known Wines: 17 Obscure Grapes Worth Switching To — the full underdog-swap guide.