Viñátigo Camino de la Peña Vino de Parcela

Juan Jesús Méndez is the guardian of Canary Island wine memory, a 4th-generation savant who spent decades rescuing forgotten grapes from obscurity. Now, his son Jorge—who honed his craft alongside renowned vintners all over Spain, Burgundy and the rugged vineyards of Chile and Argentina—is writing the next chapter. His focus: micro-vineyards so extreme they feel like secrets, like this one, hidden in a volcanic ravine in the highlands of Icod de los Vinos on Tenerife's wild north face.

This isn’t just a plot of land; it’s an island within an island. Paraje La Peña is a narrow cleft in the earth, carved by Mount Teide’s fury and sheltered by a dense pine forest. Here, at 450 meters, vines cling to volcanic cliffs in parrales—a 16th-century Portuguese training method—battered by trade winds that inject a shocking, live-wire freshness.

The winemaking is fearless and ancient: fermentation in amphora with zero temperature control, no racking, a static aging that feels less like a process and more like a deep, meditative sleep. The result is a wine of startling depth and textural brawn—a profound, volcanic white that carries the weightless intensity of its birthplace.

Tight and smoky on the nose, then explosive on the palate: a wave of yellow plum, peach, and tahini crashes into smoked sea salt, raw almond paste, and the scent of pine forest after rain. The finish is profound, polished, and lingers with a stony, bitter twist that begs for another taste.

Pair with wood-grilled octopus, aged goat cheese, or the simple, profound act of listening to a landscape speak.