Europe

Working in the Douro vineyards

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Workers climbing a escada salta cão (dog jumper ladder).

In this seventh lecture with viticulturist António Magalhães, we explore the hard work behind every bottle of Douro wine. The region’s steep, mountainous slopes make mechanization difficult, so much of the labor is still done by hand. Yet it is precisely this human touch that produces great wines: knowing how to prune and tend each vine, which grapes to harvest, and which to leave behind.

When António was a boy, he loved to play with the children of the agricultural workers and was often invited to share their simple meals. Because their homes had no electricity, supper was served late in the afternoon to take advantage of the last light of day.

The food was cooked in earthenware and cast-iron pots over the same hearth that warmed the house during the cold Douro winters. The walls were stained with soot from countless fires. At the table, the adults spoke freely in front of António, assuming that, as a child, he would not understand their conversations. But he listened intently.

He heard how hard their lives were. He heard their worries: how to stretch meager wages, how the women, already burdened with cooking, cleaning, and feeding the animals, took poorly paid part-time jobs to earn a little extra money. He heard their modest dreams: that all their children would finish primary school, that the most gifted might apprentice as carpenters, plumbers, or cabinetmakers, and escape the harsh life of the vineyards.

At the end of supper, António returned to his family home, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes. He liked it, but his parents made him bathe and then sit down to a second dinner in the dining room, lit by the luxurious glow of incandescent bulbs. Here again, he listened to the conversations of the grown-ups. These reflected fewer worries and higher aspirations: the children were expected to attend university and pursue prestigious careers, becoming lawyers, doctors, or engineers.

Workers gathered at the Pinhão train station, early 20th century.

The parents of António’s childhood friends worked year-round on the large Douro estates. It was mostly at harvest time that the farms hired temporary workers, called rogas. They were gathered by a rogador and brought to Régua or Pinhão by train or bus. From there, they walked the long, narrow roads that led to the farms.

Most came from the high plateaus of Trás-os-Montes, where corn had been grown since the sixteenth century. For extra sustenance, they carried cornbread, along with a knife to cut it and a fork for their meals. At night, they slept in buildings called cardanhos, which were divided in half by a wooden wall. The men slept on one side and the women on the other. There was a large common blanket for each group.

The rogas worked twelve hours a day for two weeks to earn some extra money that would last them the rest of the year and perhaps allow them to buy a small plot of land. Those who could carried the heavy baskets of grapes, for this work paid three times as much as harvesting. All this toil is memorably described in Miguel Torga’s 1945 novel Grape Harvest.

Over the years, António came to understand the rhythm of vineyard life. Work starts at sunrise. In winter, it begins at first light to make the most of the day. In summer, the sun rises much earlier, and work also begins earlier, to escape the afternoon heat.

Vineyard labor is physically demanding. Workers leave for the fields fasting and pause around 9 a.m. for a light snack, often a sandwich, to avoid feeling lightheaded. Lunch is the first hot meal of the day, often a vegetable broth eaten from a bowl: first, the vegetables are eaten with a fork, then the broth is drunk. In summer, there is no afternoon work, and heavy midday meals are avoided because of the heat.

The Douro was a poor region, so the food was simple and nothing was wasted. Rye and corn bread were always present, but wheat bread was rare. Pasta, potatoes, and beans were staples.

During the week, people relied on sausages such as chouriço and alheira, and on two essential fish: cod, prepared in countless ways, and sardines, eaten fresh or preserved in salt, a tradition that has largely vanished. Vegetables were seasonal: cabbages in winter, plump Douro tomatoes in summer, cut in half and seasoned with salt and raw onion. Workers helped themselves to the fruit of the trees, discarding the seeds at random and inadvertently planting new trees in the most unexpected places.

As a small bonus, the workers received either a light, low-alcohol wine or água-pé, the latter made by adding water to the pressed grape pomace and letting it ferment again. Some was drunk at lunch, and it usually accompanied dinner.

Sunday was a day of rest. The man shaved, a small indulgence at a time when blades were expensive. Lunch included meat (often tripe, chicken, or mutton) and their best wine, for there was no farm work in the afternoon.

Every family aspired to raise a pig for the annual slaughter, to make sausages and salted meats that could be consumed throughout the year. Those without the means or a pigsty raised one jointly with the estate owners they worked for, trading labor for shelter and the purchase of the animal. One advantage of the pig was that it did not compete with humans for food: it lived on fallen fruit and broth made from kitchen scraps, wilted vegetables.

This way of life began to unravel in the 1990s, as workers aged and their children turned away from agriculture. Large farms began to rely year-round mostly on contractors who supply temporary labor. These workers, however, have neither the experience nor the commitment of the full-time hands.

António stresses the importance of the people who work year-round on the farms of the Douro Valley. Working other people’s land is exhausting and offers little recognition. At the same time, many workers own a small vineyard. Tending that land is a source of pride and quiet joy. It is the same work, but it carries a different meaning.

These vineyards have a human scale, with one, or at most two hectares that can be cared for by a farmer and their family. These small farms, ubiquitous throughout the valley, are key to preserving and improving the spectacular landscape, maintaining the fruit trees planted among the vines and the olive trees that surround them. The farmers who tend these vines are also guardians of a precious genetic legacy, preserving the different grape varieties that evolved through careful human selection over the years.

The way these vineyards are cared for reveals a profound respect for nature and the social fabric of the Douro. There is a transmission of skills from generation to generation, enriched by the wisdom and experience accumulated over time. This inheritance is valuable not just to them but also for the work they do on the large farms.

António thinks that the Douro needs to create conditions so that a new generation can choose to work in agriculture, supplying skilled labor to the large farms and tending their own human-scale vineyards. That means using technology to make the work easier: drones can be used to treat vines, and new machines can be designed and adapted to the Douro’s vineyards, as they have been in Champagne and the Mosel.

The recognition of the olive oil produced by the olival de bordadura, the trees surrounding the vines, as a product with protected designation of origin is another way to increase the income and status of Douro growers. The success of enotourism is an essential pillar of the region’s future.

Olival de Bordadura, olive trees bordering the vines.

But, above all, it is key to increase the value of the grapes. The region was designed to produce its prized wine, Port. Later came another fortified wine, the Moscatel de Favaios, and, in recent decades, the DOC Douro table wines. António supports the creation of another category, the analogue of vin de pays in France: a simple wine for local consumption. He proposes calling it Vinho de Ramo, an old name for tavern wine, after the branch (ramo) once placed by the door to signal that wine was for sale.

The view from António’s Vinha da Porta in Cidadelhe.


At the end of last year, António, who comes from a family of vineyard owners but inherited no land, bought Vinha da Porta, a human-scale vineyard in the small village of Cidadelhe, near Régua, in Baixo Corgo with sweeping views of the Marão mountains. He now rises with the sun to work in the vineyards. Will he produce Port wine, DOC Douro, or a simple Vinho de Ramo? Whatever it is, we cannot wait to taste it.

Each grape in its place

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In our sixth lecture with viticulturist António Magalhães, we turn to a group of unloved grape varieties that are often dismissed, yet fully capable of producing great wines when planted and farmed wisely 

Tinta Roriz

For over thirty years, António met each August with David Guimaraens, head winemaker at Taylor Fladgate. Together, they assessed the evolution of the two grapes most critical to the Vintage Ports of Fonseca Guimarens: Touriga Francesa and Tinta Roriz. António grew to admire Tinta Roriz’s distinctive qualities and came to reject its poor reputation. Tinta Roriz may well be the Douro’s most misunderstood grape.

Tempranillo arrived in the Douro from Spain and was initially called Aragonez, the name it still bears in other Portuguese regions. By the late nineteenth century, it became known as Tinta Roriz, reflecting the distinct identity it had acquired in the Douro.

Tinta Roriz

It plays a crucial agronomic role: its disease sensitivity makes it a sentinel vine, offering early warning of downy and powdery mildew, the green leafhopper, and maromba (a boron deficiency common in the Douro).

Tinta Roriz is one of the grapes farmers call paga dívidas (“debt payer”) because it can produce large, heavy bunches, particularly in years of abundant rain. Many enologists, however, associate the grape with large, watery berries that yield thin, forgettable wines. And yet Tinta Roriz plays a starring role in some of the Douro’s greatest wines. Why? There are three reasons.

First, lineage. The finest examples of Tinta Roriz come from old vines, whose cuttings far outperform modern clones.

Second, site. Tinta Roriz must be planted in poor soils and in sites with good sun exposure and sufficient airflow to protect it against mildew and oidium. 

Third, rootstock choice. The adoption of highly productive rootstocks, like the 99 Richter, rather than those better suited to the Douro terroir, notably the Rupestris du Lot, boosted yields at the expense of quality.

So why has Tinta Roriz so often disappointed? Many of today’s vineyards date from the late 1980s and early 1990s, when mechanization reshaped the Douro. Wide terraces were carved into the hillsides, and vines were planted at low density to accommodate tractors. To offset that lower density, growers favored productive varieties like Tinta Roriz. They chose high-yielding clones, fertile soils, and vigorous rootstocks. In some cases, they also replaced dry farming with irrigation, sacrificing deep root systems and the hydric stress that concentrates flavor. It is hardly surprising that the grape’s reputation suffered.

And yet, in the right hands, Tinta Roriz shines. The iconic Pintas, produced by Sandra Tavares da Silva and Jorge Serôdio Borges and made from more than forty grape varieties, contains 10–15 percent Tinta Roriz.

Tinta Barroca

This grape plays a secondary but essential role in Port blends. It is present in virtually all vineyards planted before the mid-1980s. Later plantings, no longer based on traditional field blends, sometimes exclude it—to their loss. 

Because it is usually part of a blend, Tinta Barroca dwells in relative obscurity. Yet it has always had its champions. José António Rosas, the renowned winemaker of Ramos Pinto, was a great admirer.

Tinta Barroca between two vines of Touriga Francesa

Bruce Guimaraens, the larger-than-life British winemaker of Fonseca Guimaraens, also held it in special esteem. Struggling with the two Rs, he called it “Baroca.” His son David shares his father’s appreciation for the grape but pronounces “Barroca” like a proper Portuguese.

It is an early-ripening variety, and the first impression when tasting the berries is its candy-like sweetness. Like Malvasia Fina, the berries are particularly delicious when they are about to turn into raisins. At that moment, they reach the upper limit of ripeness acceptable for Port.

Like Touriga Francesa, Tinta Barroca is an offspring of Mourisco Tinto and Touriga Nacional. António suspects that it may be the modern name for the pre-phylloxera variety Boca de Mina (“mouth of the mine”), a name that hints at its need for freshness. The Baron of Forrester considered Boca de Mina “the most delicious,” and João Cunha Seixas, a prominent viticulturist,  praised it in his “Guide for the Douro Farmer,” published in 1895. 

Tinta Barroca is highly sensitive to heat. This attribute was largely forgotten in the vineyards planted in the late 1980s and 1990s, when it was often placed in sites with excessive sun exposure. As a result, the rachis cooks and the berries shrivel and mummify. You can almost hear the vines pleading, “Take me out of here.”

Tinta Barroca in the Fall

Barroca is often accused of being ill-suited to a warmer climate. Yet in the right site, the vine can thrive and produce beautiful wines. One striking example is at Quinta do Cruzeiro in Vale de Mendiz, where Tinta Barroca dominates a vineyard called Patamares do Norte (northern terraces), a name that signals the vineyard’s favorable north-facing exposure, which suits the grape so well.

Tinta Barroca and Tinto Cão are complementary varieties. Every year, António and David Guimaraens faced the difficult yet enticing challenge of finding their ideal proportions for Port.

Tinto Cão

Tinto Cão is often dismissed for lacking deep color, opulence, and high alcohol. Yet there is a long tradition of appreciation for this variety. In his Agricultural Memoirs of 1790, Francisco Rebello da Fonseca praised it, noting that “amadura bem, não seca nem apodrece”—it ripens well, without shriveling or rotting. He also mentions wine made from Tinto Cão by Manuel Vaz de Carvalho that was “considered superior to all his others and to those of the surrounding area.” 

This grape has long been a quiet ally in difficult years. For António and David Guimaraens, Tinto Cão is a joker in the deck, saving great Ports in dry vintages such as 2009, 2011, and 2017. 

Tinto Cão

It produces small berries with thick skins, yielding wines with natural acidity, elegant tannins, and remarkable aging potential. It may disappoint in cool years, but it shines in warm ones. 

Tinto Cão thrives in vines with a south-westerly exposure, at altitudes below 300-350 metres.  Above all, it demands deep soils to allow the grapes to ripen under a scorching sun.

If Francisco Rebello da Fonseca were alive today, he would relish seeing Tinto Cão escape the confines of Port wine. An increasing number of Douro estates, including La Rosa and Noval, are making delightful table wines exclusively from Tinto Cão. Luisa Borges, the winemaker and owner of the Vieira de Sousa estate, is especially fond of wines made from this variety.

In Vintage Ports from Taylor Fladgate and Fonseca Guimaraens, Tinto Cão remains a secondary but essential variety. 

António keeps a mental list of grapes best equipped to help the Douro thrive in a warmer climate. At the top of that list is Tinto Cão.

Tinta Amarela

Tinta Amarela is a striking vine year-round and among the last to shed its leaves in autumn. Yet it is finicky: its dense bunches are vulnerable to heat and rain, which can trigger sour rot, as damaged berries are colonized by yeasts and acetic bacteria, leading to vinegar-like spoilage.

Site selection is everything. An east-facing exposure is generally ideal. Below the mid-slope line, row orientation becomes decisive, as it governs how much sun the clusters receive: rows facing east protect grapes from harsh heat, while those facing west leave them overexposed.

Tinta Amarela during véraison

The vine can survive hot summers in the arid Douro Superior, but the grapes vanish. Farmers say, “the vines drank the grapes.”

Tinta Amarela appears in modest quantities in many old vineyards, particularly in Baixo Corgo, and is therefore most often found in blends. Single-varietal wines are rare.

It plays a major role in Quinta do Crasto’s celebrated Maria Teresa. Drawn from a field blend of centenarian vines planted around 1906 on low-altitude, east-facing terraces along the Douro River, the wine owes its distinctive character to afternoon shade that tempers the heat.

Tinta da Barca

Tinta da Barca is, like Touriga Francesa, a cross between Mourisco Tinto and Touriga Nacional. Yet while Touriga Francesa is widely planted and well known, Tinta da Barca remains largely obscure.

David Guimaraens is a devoted advocate of the grape, which plays a quiet but crucial role in the great Vintage Ports of Quinta de Vargellas. The fruit comes from the Pulverinho vineyard, planted in 1927 with both Touriga Francesa and Tinta da Barca.

António believes the best introduction to Tinta da Barca is a wonderful monovarietal table wine made by Ramos Pinto in 2016, a challenging year marked by heat and an unusual outbreak of downy mildew, which nonetheless yielded both classic Vintage Ports and outstanding table wines. It has been one of his favorites ever since.

Malvasia Fina

António knows, like the palm of his hand, remarkable Malvasia Fina vineyards across all three Douro subregions: Baixo Corgo, Cima Corgo, and Douro Superior. When planting this grape, one factor matters above all others: altitude. For Port wines, the ideal locations lie above 350–400 meters; for table wines, between 500 and 600 meters.

Malvasia Fina plays an indispensable role in several outstanding white Ports, including Fonseca Guimaraens’ Siroco and Taylor Fladgate’s Chip Dry, as well as in Adriano Ramos Pinto Finest White Reserve, a delightful sweet white Port.

In terms of table wines, António likes the white Reserva from Quinta do Cume in Provesende—a wonderful blend led by Malvasia Fina, with Rabigato, Viosinho, and Gouveio in supporting roles.

For those eager to discover how expressive the grape can be, António recommends tasting the Quinta do Bucheiro Malvasia Fina Reserva made by Dias Teixeira, an octogenarian and former enologist at Borges Port Wine, who knows Malvasia Fina’s secrets and charms.

Malvasia Fina

After our lecture, António had lunch at a seafood restaurant and let the sommelier select the wine. The choice was excellent: a Viosinho from D. Graça. When António asked which Malvasia Fina wines the sommelier would recommend, the reply was blunt: “I don’t like that grape variety.” Malvasia remains, clearly, misunderstood.

Each grape in its place

António teaches a lesson that should not be forgotten: grape varieties cannot simply be uprooted from one place and expected to thrive elsewhere. Each has a place where it speaks clearly. Many of the Douro’s unloved grapes were simply misplaced. Put them back where they belong, farm them with respect, and they repay the favor with wines of character, balance, and beauty.

On the way to Viseu

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Tile panel, Rossio, 1931

Many of those who visit Portugal gravitate toward places that increasingly offer an international experience, lightly seasoned with local color. The surest way to gain a deeper sense of the country is to spend time in the small towns and villages outside the main tourist centers.

One such place is Viseu, our birthplace.

Granite quarried nearby paves its streets and lines its façades, giving the city a quiet, understated presence, echoed in the character of its residents.

Viriato’s statue

Viseu first gained renown in the 2nd century BCE as a stronghold of resistance to Roman expansion. Viriato, leader of a loose network of tribes known as the Lusitanos, waged a remarkably effective guerrilla war against Rome. The Romans prevailed only after bribing three of his companions to assassinate him in his sleep in 139 BCE. When the murderers claimed their reward, they were dismissed with the words: Roma traditoribus non praemiat (Rome does not reward traitors). 

The Lusitanos were defeated, yet Portugal later adopted them as symbolic ancestors, and Lusitano became a synonym for Portuguese. In that sense, Viriato won the war.

It is therefore fitting to begin a visit at the Cava do Viriato, where a statue of the warrior stands atop a rock, surrounded by his fierce companions. From here, you can take a stroll on a boardwalk that offers sweeping views of the city.

Dom Duarte’s window

Next, walk uphill to Rua Direita, a narrow street built in Roman times, now lined with small, traditional shops. Turn onto Rua Dom Duarte, where you’ll see a building with a window adorned with ropes and armillary spheres. Legend has it that King Dom Duarte, who ruled Portugal from 1433 to 1438, was born there. Continue up the street, and you’ll find his statue. 

Just around the corner stands the 12th-century cathedral, built in the Romanesque style and later enriched with Gothic, Manueline, Renaissance, and Mannerist elements.

Viseu Catedral

On the same square rise the Baroque Igreja da Misericórdia and the Grão Vasco Museum, home to the finest works of Portugal’s greatest Renaissance painter.

Misericórdia church

From Rua do Adro, continue to Largo Pintor Gata and head south along Rua Nunes de Carvalho until you reach Rossio, the city’s central plaza. Shaded by old linden trees, it is surrounded by tile panels depicting rural life: shepherds from the nearby Estrela Mountain and farmers arriving in Viseu to sell their goods. 

Foremost among those products is wine. Viseu lies at the heart of the Dão, one of Portugal’s most important wine regions. While most Dão wines are blends, two grapes stand out: the red Touriga Nacional and the white Encruzado. Touriga Nacional is emblematic of the Douro Valley, but its name likely comes from Tourigo, a village near Viseu. In the Dão’s granite soils, the grape produces elegant, floral wines. Encruzado is prized for its combination of texture, depth, and restraint. You can enjoy a tasting of Dão wines at Solar do Vinho do Dão, a 12th-century episcopal palace located in Fontelo, a park with ancient trees that is home to a flock of peacocks.

Another emblematic product is queijo da serra, made from sheep’s milk in the nearby Estrela Mountains. Our favorite cheese shop is Celeiro dos Sonhos, on Avenida Capitão Silva Pereira. Their selection ranges from soft, spoonable cheeses to cured versions finished with olive oil and paprika, as well as requeijão. All are worth trying.

When it comes to restaurants, we always return to two longtime favorites. O Cortiço, on a narrow street named after the 19th-century fado singer Augusto Hilário, is famed for its arroz de carqueja (wild broom rice). This dish is so intriguing that Maria de Lurdes Modesto, the chef who codified Portuguese cuisine, came here repeatedly to perfect her own version. On the outskirts of town, Quinta da Magarenha serves local classics such as rojões (pan-fried marinated pork) and veal slowly cooked in a clay pot.

For coffee and pastries, our current favorite is Lobo, on Rua Alexandre Lobo. It was recently taken over by the Oliveira family, long known for their farturas (sweet strips of fried dough) sold at fairs across Portugal. Don’t miss the Viriato, a V-shaped pastry created in homage to the legendary figure, made from baker’s dough, topped with grated coconut, and generously filled with silky pastry cream.

For a stay, the Pousada de Viseu, housed in a building dating back to 1793, offers great comfort and beautiful views over the city.

There is an old song titled “Indo eu, indo eu, a caminho de Viseu,” about going to Viseu and finding love along the way. Its lyrics read:

“As I walk, as I walk, on the way to Viseu,

I met my one true love—oh my Lord, here I go.”

We leave you with an instrumental version of the tune, with apologies to Michel Giacometti and Fernando Lopes-Graça, whose work preserved Portugal’s traditional melodies, for taking a few liberties along the way.

With this song, we wish you a blissful New Year—one that, we hope, leads you to Viseu.

The Régua farmers’ market 

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If you’re a foodie, few pleasures in Portugal rival a visit to a farmers’ market. On the Saturday before Christmas, we stopped by the market in Régua, and it was a delight.

The town’s full name is Peso da Régua. Peso, meaning “weight,” likely refers to the role the town assumed after the Marquis of Pombal demarcated the Douro region in 1756: a logistical hub where wine and other goods were weighed before beginning their journey downriver. Régua, meaning “ruler,” describes the way the town stretches along the banks of the Douro, long and narrow, following the river’s course.

Régua welcomes visitors through an elegant iron bridge, inaugurated in 1872, but much of the surrounding architecture fails to do justice to the valley’s natural beauty. Still, there is an undeniable authenticity to the place and to its people.

We went to the Régua market in search of a local delicacy called falachas, a sweet biscuit made from chestnut flour. We were told, regretfully, that these small culinary miracles appear at the market only on Wednesdays. But there were other blessings. Stalls overflowed with apples—including the celebrated Bravo de Esmolfe and a lesser-known variety called Porta da Loja. There were cabbages of many shapes and forms, piles of chestnuts, dried figs, and walnuts. At the center of the market, a large stall tempted passersby with sausages and cured hams (presuntos). Near the entrance, a baker displayed baskets filled to the brim with bread: loaves made from white or yellow corn, golden olive-oil breads, and bola de carne, bread generously stuffed with meat or sausage.

What makes the market special, though, are the vendors themselves, warm, genuine, and quietly persuasive. “Try our delicious figs,” says one. “We dust them lightly with white flour so they stay soft and don’t stick together.” “Taste these walnuts,” urges another vendor.  “They’re from a nearby farm. A woman’s been looking after the trees her whole life. She only gets about six hundred kilos, but they’re really great. We’re lucky to have them.”

In this holiday season, it is a rare gift to taste the fruits produced by people who devote their lives to caring for the land. We are fortunate to have them!

The Art of Savoring Port Wine

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António Magalhães closed his lecture on the Douro’s grape varieties with a provocative question: “But who can hope to understand so many grapes without tasting Port?”

Port wine is the ultimate expression of the vineyards of the Douro Valley. As scholar Alfredo Guerra Tenreiro famously observed, “There is a uniqueness in the Douro climate that one can recognize and feel in the uniqueness of Port wine.” 

Here are António’s recommendations for enjoying Port wine at its best.

Five Golden Rules

1) Choose the proper glass
A classic white wine glass made of thin glass is ideal for Port. It lifts the aromas, focuses the flavors, and makes every sip a celebration.

2) Serve Port properly chilled
The ideal serving temperatures for each style of Port are:
• White Ports: 6–10 °C (43–50 °F)
• Tawnies: 10–12 °C (50–54 °F)
• Rubies: 12–16 °C (54–61 °F)

Once opened, White Ports and Tawnies should be stored in the refrigerator door. Ruby Ports, especially Vintage Ports, are best enjoyed soon after the cork is pulled. 

The British have a tradition of passing the Vintage Port bottle or decanter from right to left, keeping it in motion. If someone forgets, the other guests often ask, “Do you know the Bishop of Norwich?”—a nod to Henry Bathurst, the early-19th-century bishop known for dozing off at dinner and neglecting to pass the Port.

3) Keep a 20-Year-Old Tawny in the refrigerator
Tawnies are generally crafted from wines of various harvests, aged patiently in oak casks until the perfect moment for blending and bottling. A 20-year-old Tawny brings together wines with a weighted average age of twenty years, creating an alchemy of time and winemaking artistry. António’s longtime favorite is the magnificent Taylor’s 20-Year-Old Tawny Port.

4) Always decant Vintage and Crusted Ports
Vintage Ports are bottled without filtration, which allows them to continue evolving in the bottle. Over time, sediment naturally accumulates. Decanting separates the clear wine from this sediment—harmless, yet coarse and unwelcome in the glass. It also allows the wine to breathe, letting oxygen gently soften its structure and release its full array of aromas.

When Port was shipped in barrels, British merchants crafted Crusted Ports by blending more than one Vintage, aging the wines in large wooden vats, and bottling them unfiltered for cellaring. After Portugal banned bulk exports of Vintage Port in 1974 (extended to all Ports in 1997), this style became rare. Today, only a few houses, like Fonseca, continue the tradition. Like Vintage Ports, Crusted Ports develop a natural “crust” as they mature and should always be decanted before serving.

5) Port is to be shared
Port invites conversation and brings out sincerity. Violette Toussaint, the unforgettable protagonist of Valérie Perrin’s Fresh Water for Flowers, put it best: “My port wine has the same effect on everyone. It acts like a truth serum.”

How to Decant a Vintage or Crusted Port at Home

The day before serving, select the bottle you wish to open and stand it upright so the sediment can settle at the bottom. Leave it somewhere convenient—on a sideboard or on the kitchen counter.

Use a suitable corkscrew; a two-pronged cork puller is ideal for opening older bottles, whose corks are often fragile. Once opened, pour the wine slowly into a decanter or glass jug. 

Strain the wine through a small flannel filter to ensure perfect clarity. Take a moment to taste the wine and enjoy that first impression.

Rinse the bottle and let it drain completely. Return the decanted wine to the original bottle. Keep the bottle in a cool place and check the temperature before bringing it to the table. If needed, a brief rest, fifteen minutes or so, in the refrigerator door will bring it to the ideal 16–18 ºC, with the higher end recommended for older Ports.

Magical Pairings

White Port

White Port is typically enjoyed as an aperitif and is made in a range of styles, from extra-dry to sweet. Even the sweeter versions remain balanced and never feel cloying on the palate.

There are two production approaches: oxidative and non-oxidative. In the non-oxidative style, winemakers shield the wine from oxygen to preserve its vibrancy. These Ports are bright and citrusy, ideal for the popular Port Tonic cocktail.

In contrast, the oxidative school relies on controlled exposure to air. Depending on the winemaker’s approach, this exposure may begin during fermentation and continue throughout aging in wooden vessels ranging from small casks to larger vats such as toneis and balseiros. Over time, this gentle oxidation deepens the wine’s character, imparting a golden hue and nuanced layers of nuts, caramel, butterscotch, and dried fruits.

António favors the oxidative style. His preferred White Ports, both made from blends that include Malvasia Fina, are the Fonseca Guimaraes Siroco—crisp and extra-dry—and the Ramos Pinto Finest White Reserve, which offers a discreet, delicate sweetness.

White Port pairs beautifully with toasted almonds, especially those from the Douro Superior, and with codfish cakes. It also harmonizes with soft-ripened cheeses, lending a bright acidity that lifts their richness.

Tawny Port

Tawnies pair blissfully with sweet desserts. In the Douro Valley, they are often served with crème brûlée—torched before serving—or almond tart.  Egg pudding and Tawny Port are made for each other; tradition even calls for two glasses of Port instead of one: the first to honor the pudding, and the second to toast the cook who prepared it. 

Another indulgence that pairs perfectly with Tawny Port is Toucinho do Céu (bacon from heaven), a convent sweet made with almonds, egg yolks, sugar, and a touch of lard that lends a soft, velvety texture. Murça, near Vila Real, is renowned for the version created at the Santa Maria Monastery and now made by Casa das Queijadas e Toucinho do Céu. The town is also celebrated for the vineyards that surround it, which produce some of the Douro’s finest white grapes—coveted by both Port and DOC Douro winemakers.

Tawnies also shine alongside nuts, dried fruit, or simply on their own, paired only with the quiet luxury of time and good conversation. 

Ruby Port

Ruby Ports are excellent companions for cured cheeses. Portugal offers a rich array of these cheeses from regions such as the Estrela Mountain near Seia, Serpa in Alentejo, Azeitão near Lisbon, and São Jorge in the Azores.

English Port merchants traditionally pair Ruby Ports, particularly Vintage Ports, with Stilton cheese. Vintage Port is made only in exceptional years, aged in wood for one or two winters, and then bottled to mature slowly and majestically.

For an unforgettable experience, seek out the Vintage Vargellas Vinhas Velhas 2004, crafted in a superb year from a field blend of vines planted soon after phylloxera. António believes old vineyards like the one that produces this wine hold the key to understanding the future of viticulture in the Douro Valley.

Late Bottled Vintage (LBV)

António enjoys pairing LBVs (rubies aged four to six years in oak and then bottled), with chocolate mousse. His favorite mousse replaces butter with extra-virgin olive oil from the Douro Valley. He generously shares his recipe below.

Mousse de Perdição (Sinful Chocolate Mousse)

Ingredients
• 150 g dark chocolate (70% cocoa)
• 100 ml extra-virgin olive oil (preferably from the olive groves that frame Douro vineyards)
• 5 tablespoons sugar
• 4 eggs, with yolks and whites separated

Instructions

1. Melt the chocolate
Break the chocolate into small pieces and melt gently in a bain-marie or in short microwave intervals. Allow it to cool slightly.

2. Add the olive oil
Whisk in the olive oil until the mixture is smooth and glossy.

3. Prepare the yolks
Beat the egg yolks with the sugar until pale and creamy. Fold into the chocolate mixture.

4. Whip the egg whites
Beat the whites until firm peaks form, then gently fold them into the chocolate base, preserving as much lightness as possible.

5. Chill
Spoon into serving cups or a single bowl. Refrigerate for at least 3 hours, ideally overnight.

Enjoy with a perfectly chilled glass of LBV Port.

How Humans Made the Soil of the Douro Valley

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This is the second lecture about the Douro Valley by the great viticulturist António Magalhães. Today’s theme goes literally beneath the surface. After exploring the climate in our first session, we turn to the second pillar of the region’s terroir: its soil.

A Soil Made by Hand

When you walk through a vineyard in the Douro Valley, take a moment to look down. You see the slow artistry of nature, which over millions of years created the schist beneath your feet, and the tireless toil of generations who transformed it into living soil where vines can thrive.

The Douro’s deep valleys were carved over millennia by the river and its tributaries. On those steep slopes, the native soils, known as leptosols, are little more than a palm’s depth of earth resting on hard schist. Left untouched, they would never have sustained flourishing vines.

But in the Douro, people refused to accept nature’s limits. Over the course of centuries, they created anthrosols — soils made by human hands. The locals call the act saibrar, agronomists surribar: it means breaking rock to create soil where vineyards can grow.

The photograph shows that the schist bedrock appears brittle and easily broken. Above it lies the soil created by human labor. Look closely, and you can see the vine roots reaching down, searching for that last drop of water that keeps them alive through the scorching summer heat.

The image illustrates the words of the Marquis of Villa Maior, from his 1875 treatise, Practical Viticulture:

“The longevity of the Douro and Burgundy vines is due to the extraordinary development of their roots, favored by the nature of the subsoil.”

Breaking Rock to Grow Life

Until the late 19th century, surribar was done with nothing more than pickaxes and iron bars. In the 20th century, dynamite was introduced, followed later by bulldozers and hydraulic excavators. Yet the goal remained the same: to give each vine at least a meter and a half of soil depth.

The schist fractures almost vertically, allowing roots to slip deep between its plates. There, the vine finds not abundance but balance: less than 1.5 percent organic matter, yet perfectly aerated and rich in minerals. These fractured layers also ensure excellent drainage, carrying away excess rainwater while retaining just enough moisture for the vines to endure the long dry season. It is a poor soil that yields noble fruit, a reminder that in wine, perhaps as in life, struggle builds character.

Stones and Gravel

Kneel in a Douro vineyard and you’ll see a glittering mosaic of crushed stone and gravel. To outsiders, it looks barren; to the vines, it’s paradise.

In 1947, agronomist Álvaro Moreira da Fonseca, who devised the Douro’s vineyard classification, ranked soils by their gravel content. His creed, simple and enduring, can be expressed in words worthy of being carved in stone: “Vines thrive on stony ground.”

The gravel plays alchemy with the elements: reflecting sunlight by day, releasing heat by night, regulating the vine’s rhythm. It stores warmth, tempers vigor, and transforms scarcity into intensity.

Counting by the Thousands

António says that “The poorer the soil, the closer the vines.” Douro farmers compensate for the soil’s low fertility by planting vines at higher densities. Each vine produces modestly, but together they create abundance. Instead of counting hectares, growers speak of milheiros — groups of a thousand vines.

After the phylloxera epidemic, the rebuilt terraces — socalcos — reached a density of 6.5 milheiros per hectare, enough to make every meter of stone wall worthwhile. 

Sculpting the Mountain

Rain, the same force that helped carve the Douro, also threatens to destroy it. The solution lies in building terraces to prevent soil from sliding away. During the surriba, the stones brought to the surface are removed and reused to build the vineyard walls. This operation, called despedrega, is a practice that makes the back-breaking labor of surribar more rewarding.

Some of the terraces devastated by phylloxera were never replanted. Many owners, overcome with despair, abandoned the region to rebuild their lives elsewhere. Others chose to start anew, replanting vines on gentler slopes with more forgiving soils and milder climates. 

These abandoned terraces, known as mortórios, have been reclaimed by the Mediterranean forest. Their stone walls, now entwined with wild vegetation, stand as silent witnesses to a tragic chapter in the Douro’s history.

The oldest terraces, built after phylloxera, were supported by dry-stone walls, feats of balance and beauty where each stone rests “one upon two.” In the 1960s, as labor became scarce and tractors arrived, new earth-banked terraces (patamares), depicted below, took their place — practical but less graceful.

At the turn of this century, António Magalhães and David Guimaraens, the head winemaker of Taylor’s Fladgate, combined the beauty of the old dry-stone terraces with the practicality of the modern earth-banked ones. Inspired by California’s Benziger Family Winery, they built narrow terraces, just 1.5 meters wide, each with a single vine row and a gentle 3 percent slope to drain rainwater safely. Precision-leveled by laser, this innovation protects against erosion while preserving the Douro’s graceful geometry. 

Root and Rock

The phylloxera plague that ravaged European vineyards in the late nineteenth century arrived at the Douro in 1863-64.

Salvation only came after Jules-Émile Planchon, a French botanist, and Charles Valentine Riley, an American entomologist, discovered that grafting European grapevines (Vitis vinifera) onto American rootstocks could save the vines. 

One such rootstock, Rupestris du Lot, thrived on the Douro’s poor, dry, schistous hillsides.

It seems to facilitate potassium absorption. This mineral helps regulate the opening and closing of tiny pores on leaves, called stomata, which control transpiration and CO₂ uptake — both essential to photosynthesis.

For decades, the Rupestris du Lot anchored the valley’s post-phylloxera vineyards, its deep-seeking roots echoing the surriba’s purpose: to connect life to stone. Even as newer, more productive hybrids replaced it, António continues to praise its quiet virtues — longevity, restraint, and resilience — the very qualities that define the Douro itself.

Granite Lagares

The granite lagares of the Douro are among the most enduring symbols of the region’s winemaking heritage. Their coarse surfaces help regulate temperature during fermentation and impart a tactile connection to the land — the sensation of grape skins and must mingling with the mineral essence of granite itself.

For centuries, blocks of rock were quarried from places like Vila Pouca de Aguiar, Portugal’s self-proclaimed “granite capital,” where the stone’s density allows it to be cut into large rectangular slabs. 

António concludes his lecture with poetic words: “In the Douro where I grew up, the grapes journey from rock to rock — ripening in the heat of schist and fermenting in cool granite lagares.”

What to Visit

The train trip from Pinhão to Pocinho offers a geology lesson. Along the slopes that flank the railway, you see the leptosol with its thin layer of soil above the parent rock.

The art of building dry stone walls is beautifully explained at the Wine Museum in São João da Pesqueira, a town whose historic center also deserves exploration. The visit whets the appetite for lunch at Toca da Raposa, in Ervedosa do Douro, about 8 kilometers away along the National Road 222, heading toward the mouth of the Torto River — another magical tributary that shapes the wines of the Douro, alongside the Pinhão River. In the summer, you can also book an unforgettable picnic at the Foz Torto estate with our friend Abílio Tavares da Silva.

António recommends reading “Taste the Limestone: A Geologist Wanders Through the World of Wine,” by Alex Maltman. You’ll return home with a deeper understanding of soils and their decisive role in defining terroirs across the world.

A Journey Through the Douro’s Three Regions with António Magalhães

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António Magalhães, former chief viticulturist of Taylor Fladgate, is revered throughout the Douro for his deep knowledge of its vineyards and terroir. He graciously agreed to give us a series of master classes about the Douro, and what follows are notes from the first of these sessions—an insider’s look at one of the world’s most extraordinary wine regions.

About António

António was born in Régua, in the heart of the Douro. Both of his parents came from families who cared for their own vineyards. He often spent time at his maternal grandfather’s estate, where his love for the Douro was first nurtured. Although he never inherited land, his studies were guided by a single calling: to work among the vines of his native valley.

A Land of Mountains and Microclimates

The Douro is immense — 250,000 hectares of rugged mountains, of which only 44,000 are occupied by vineyards. It is the largest mountain viticulture region in the world, and the only one with a Mediterranean climate crossed by a navigable river that flows into the Atlantic Ocean.

The basin of the Douro, the largest in the Iberian Peninsula, is shared by Portugal and Spain. Its main river and tributaries flow through a tapestry of vineyards across wine regions: Ribera del Duero, Rueda, Cigales, Toro, and Arribes, in Spain, Douro and Távora-Varosa in Portugal. You could say that the Douro is a river of wine.

The Douro’s rise as a great wine region began in 1703, when Portugal signed the Methuen Treaty with England, opening trade between the two nations. Douro’s Port wine became popular in England, and demand soared. Vineyards spread, and some producers began to cut corners—darkening their wines with elderberry juice and sweetening them with sugar. Port’s reputation faltered, and trust among English importers began to erode.

To restore order, avoid the use of fertile land for viticulture, and protect Port’s reputation, the Marquis of Pombal created the world’s first demarcated wine region in 1756. The Companhia Geral da Agricultura das Vinhas do Alto Douro, a public company, marked its boundaries with granite pillars known as marcos pombalinos and classified its vineyards. The finest plots produced the prized vinhos de feitoria, destined for the great British trading houses (feitorias) in Porto. Wines of intermediate quality, the vinhos de embarque, were partly exported, while the more modest vinhos de ramo were reserved for local consumption. With this demarcation, a singular landscape was born, shaped by nature’s hand and human will.

It was fortuitous that there was open land in Gaia, near Porto, on the southern bank at the mouth of the Douro. There, the north-facing slopes and the cooler, more humid weather provided ideal conditions for storing and aging wine. With its quality safeguarded and easy access to an Atlantic port from which ships could carry it abroad, Port wine flourished, becoming prized around the world.

The Douro River flows west to meet the Atlantic at Porto (Álvaro Moreira da Fonseca (1944–45)).

The climate and regions of the Douro

On what António calls the “Olympic podium” of terroir, climate wins gold, soil takes silver, and grape varieties bronze. Today, we focus on climate.

Vines don’t need irrigation, but they do require at least 500 mm of rainfall per year. In the Douro, however, the irregular rainfall and rapid runoff down the steep slopes increase that need to about 600–700 mm. The timing of that rain is crucial. It rains about as much in Pinhão, at the center of the Douro, as in Paris—around 640 mm annually. However, in the capital of France, rain falls throughout the year, whereas in the Douro, the rain is in tune with the vines’ vegetative cycle: it falls mainly in autumn and winter, when the vines are dormant. Planted in the right places, Douro vineyards never suffer from thirst, only from heat.

The distribution of rainfall divides the Douro into three distinct subregions. Baixo Corgo is lush and green, blessed with 800 to 1,000 mm of rain each year. Cima Corgo, home to the great Port houses, is drier, with 600 and 800 mm. Farther east lies Douro Superior — sun-scorched, rugged, and remote, where rainfall often falls below 600 mm.

Rainfall in the Douro: blue = high, yellow = medium, orange = low.

Vineyards are abundant in Baixo Corgo and sparse in Douro Superior, where cultivation is possible only in small islands with favorable microclimates. In recent decades, irrigated vines have appeared in Douro Superior, yet they rarely produce grapes suitable for making Port.

The scholar Alfredo Guerra Tenreiro wrote that “there is a uniqueness in the Douro climate that one can feel in the uniqueness of Port wine.” In the 1940s and 1950s, he mapped the aridity of the Douro using a simple measure: average temperature multiplied by 100, divided by rainfall. As one moves west or climbs the surrounding hills, aridity decreases because the temperature falls and rainfall increases. 

As we ascend the hills that flank the Douro and its tributaries, the temperature drops roughly 0.65°C per 100 meters. With peaks rising to 600 or 700 meters, temperatures can be as much as 3.6°C cooler than in vineyards planted near the river, at 100 meters of altitude.

Orientation also matters. South-facing slopes are, on average, two degrees warmer than north-facing ones during the summer — a subtle difference with dramatic effects. It explains why the Douro can yield everything from festive sparkling wines, such as Celso Pereira’s Vértice, to bright whites, velvety reds, and opulent Ports.

Álvaro Moreira da Fonseca used location, altitude, and orientation to craft his brilliant classification of the region’s vineyards, grading them from A to F. This system still underpins the benefício rules that determine how much of a vineyard’s production can be used for Port wine. His maps, drawn in 1944 and 1945, are masterpieces. Fonseca set 500 meters as the upper limit for Port production, deducting points for vineyards planted above that line.

Map by Álvaro Moreira da Fonseca (1944–45). Red marks top wine areas.

Looking at Fonseca’s maps, we see a “blessed valley” — Vale de Mendiz, where the Pinhão River meets the Douro. There, rainfall from the Baixo Corgo meets the warmth of the Cima Corgo, producing wines of exceptional balance. It is no coincidence that iconic estates like Quinta do Noval and Wine & Soul call Vale de Mendiz home.

Traveling Through the Douro

António recommends visiting the Douro between mid-May and mid-November, staying for several days to ensure you catch a sunny spell. Gray skies hide some of the valley’s splendor.

He suggests two journeys for those eager to understand the Douro.

First, drive along the A24 highway from Vila Real to Régua, crossing the Marão mountain — an invisible wall separating cool Atlantic air from the dry Mediterranean hinterland. You’ll cross the Baixo Corgo moving perpendicular to the course of the Douro River. The landscape is breathtaking, and along the way you can feel the shifts in temperature and altitude that shape the character of Douro wines. 

Begin in Vila Real at 450 meters of altitude, and as you descend toward Régua, at 100 meters, feel the temperature rise and watch the hills unfold into a sea of vines. Olive trees stand like sentinels at the edges of vineyards. Climb toward Lamego, at 540 meters, and feel the air cool once more. The whitewashed houses, stone wine lodges, and hillside villages lend a human touch to the landscape, making the journey unforgettable.

In Régua, stop at Aneto, a small, family-run restaurant where hospitality flows as generously as the wine produced in their own estate. In Lamego, stop at Pastelaria Velha da Sé for a bola de carne (savory meat-filled bread), visit the cathedral, the Escadório de Nossa Senhora dos Remédios, a Baroque stairway, and admire the Ribeiro da Conceição theater, a miniature La Scala.

The second journey is by train, linking three UNESCO World Heritage sites: Porto, the Douro, and the Côa Museum, which preserves paleolithic art.

The hills were carved to lay the train tracks, turning the voyage into a geology lesson on Douro’s mother rock, the schist. Its cleavage is almost vertical, allowing the vine roots to penetrate deeply into the cracks in search of precious water.

As the train leaves Régua, schist terraces rise and curve around the river. Disembark at Pinhão and linger a few days visiting nearby wine estates. Before you go, admire the station’s twenty-four azulejo panels, made in 1937 by the Aleluia Factory in Aveiro. They depict the Douro landscape and trace the making of Port—from the harvest of sun-ripened grapes to the voyage of slender rabelo boats, which carry barrels to the cellars of Vila Nova de Gaia.

Continue upriver through the Cima Corgo, the heartland of Port. In bygone days, train-station restaurants were famed for their quality. Calça Curta, at Tua Station, keeps this tradition alive. Farther along, stop at Ferradosa Station to dine at Toca da Raposa, celebrated for its regional cooking. 

As the train enters the Douro Superior, the air turns drier, the heat more intense, the hills steeper. At Cachão da Valeira, the landscape shifts to granite. Today, the river glides wide and serene, but it once raged against a massive granite barrier that made navigation perilous. Here, in 1861, tragedy struck: a boat capsized carrying two iconic figures—Dona Antónia Ferreira, owner of vast wine estates, and the Baron of Forrester, an English merchant and mapmaker who devoted his life to the region. According to legend, Dona Antónia survived, buoyed by her billowing skirts, while the Baron drowned, dragged down by the gold coins in his pockets. 

In summer, cicadas sing for travelers along the stretch between the Valeira gorge and Pocinho. As you near Pocinho, the heat intensifies—writer Francisco José Viegas once quipped that “hell’s heat comes from Pocinho.” Stop at Taberna da Julinha, a local restaurant that, in the summer, serves the valley’s celebrated tomatoes, bursting with flavor and sweetness.

The Côa Museum lies about 10 kilometers from the train station. There, you can contemplate the largest and oldest ensemble of open-air Paleolithic engravings in Europe. Horses, deer, and goats emerge from the stone, their lines layered in a dance of timeless motion. Dine on the museum’s terrace, overlooking the river laid bare in all its austere beauty—terraces and cliffs carved by nature and human will.

The Future of the Douro

The Douro was forged in hardship. Its people labored to carve terraces from unforgiving slopes; its vines learned to endure searing summers and biting winter frosts. Yet this endurance may be the valley’s greatest gift. It has prepared the Douro to face the trials of a changing world.

Monfortinho water

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We spent a memorable afternoon with Ricardo and Vera Leitão Machado at Herdade do Vale Feitoso, talking about water—their passion since they became stewards of this extraordinary 7,500-hectare sanctuary in 2022. Near the Spanish border, the estate once belonged to the Condes da Ponte, a noble family prominent in the 17th century, when Portugal fought to reclaim its independence from Spain.

From this untouched land springs Monfortinho, one of the purest waters on earth: rich in silica, low in minerals and sodium, and free of microplastics and man-made chemicals. Born at the Fonte Santa de Monfortinho, a natural thermal spring by the Erges River, the water begins its journey at the foot of the Penha Garcia Mountain. It then takes a century to cross the estate, seeping through countless layers of soil and rock.

Legends abound of miraculous cures in the Monfortinho thermal baths. Today, science lends credence to the local folklore: silica helps cleanse the body of aluminum, strengthens bones, skin, and hair, and even sharpens the senses of taste and smell.

Visiting Vale Feitoso is like going on a safari. Five hundred kilometers of dirt roads wind through the habitats of European bison, deer, wild horses, foxes, boars, partridges, vultures, eagles, and many other animals. Native breeds of sheep (Churra do Campo and Merina da Beira Baixa), once nearly extinct, are now thriving in the estate. There are no power lines, no paved roads. Silence reigns, broken only by the rustle of the wind.  

Traces of ancient times are scattered across the land. The Romans mined gold here. The Templars later occupied the valley, a place worthy of guarding the Holy Grail.

Ricardo and Vera are determined to keep Vale Feitoso pristine and, above all, to safeguard the purity of its water—a resource as sacred as the Grail and more precious than gold.

Click here for the Monfortinho waters website.

Revisiting Santa Clara

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If god is in the details, then Santa Clara, our favorite hotel in Lisbon, is truly blessed. We arrived on a Friday afternoon, weary from a bumper-car-like ride through the city’s busy streets. As soon as we entered Santa Clara, a sense of calm embraced us.

We climbed the stairs slowly, savoring each step. The old lioz, the marble of Lisbon, turned pale by the passage of time blends seamlessly with the soft pink of the newer lioz, creating harmony between past and present.

Our bedroom felt like home. A spacious foyer welcomed us with a plush sofa and a generous bowl of ripe cherries. From the west-facing windows, Lisbon unfolds in all its grandeur: the Pantheon’s majestic dome rising above a sea of orange rooftops, its white stone luminous against the blue shimmer of the Tagus River. More than three centuries in the making, the Pantheon reminds us that some things are worth the wait.

To the east, the bathroom windows open to a tranquil garden planted with lemon trees, where a small choir of birds greeted us. 

The walls and closets are painted in a soft grey that is the perfect frame for the Pantheon’s radiant white. A simple geometry gives the room a sense of serenity. Pine planks draw the eye outward, to views framed by curtains that sway like skirts of ballet dancers caught in a gentle breeze.

In the bathroom, a grand bathtub, hewn from a single block of marble, stands beside two cylindrical basins sculpted from solid stone. Handmade tiles catch and scatter the light, while a thin line of marble placed at eye level evokes a far-off horizon, separating earth from sky.

After dinner, we retired to our room with the sense of being where we belonged. In the morning, sunlight poured in—joyous and bright. We made our way to breakfast—coffee, fresh bread, sweet fruit, creamy yogurt, eggs, and wild mushrooms. We lingered at the table, reluctant to part with this place that is so quietly beautiful.

Santa Clara 1728 is located at Campo de Santa Clara, 128 in Lisbon, tel. 964 362 816, email booking@silentliving.pt. Click here for the hotel website.

Drinking wines of the past with Virgílio Loureiro

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Virgílio Loureiro is a renowned professor of enology and microbiology whose lectures inspired generations of students. A holder of several wine-related patents and the author of numerous scientific publications, he is also a masterful practitioner of the art he teaches. Virgílio champions unique wines crafted in small batches, often made from rare indigenous grape varieties on the brink of extinction. His deep knowledge of the wine’s biochemistry is matched by an equally profound passion for the history of wine. 

Though officially retired, Virgílio remains as active as ever. One of his most fascinating projects is the revival of winemaking traditions in the region once known as Banda d’Além, the “other side” of the Tagus River, just across from Lisbon.

In the 14th century, the region became famous for a sweet wine known as Bastardinho do Lavradio. Initially made as a passito from sun-dried grapes, it retained this style until the 18th century, when it began to be produced as a fortified wine. In both styles, the wine preserves its natural sweetness because the yeast dies before converting all the fructose into alcohol, due to the high sugar concentration in the passito and the addition of alcohol in the fortified version. Crafted from the Bastardo grape variety, Bastardinho do Lavradio was known in England as ‘Bastard wine,’ and admired for its remarkable balance of sweetness and acidity.

Viticulture thrived in Banda d’Além until the 19th century. The vineyards endured the oidium blight of the 1850s thanks to sulfur treatments and were protected from the ravages of phylloxera by their sandy soils. Yet industrialization proved more destructive than any pestilence: factories replaced vineyards, and the winemaking heritage slowly vanished into oblivion.

Virgílio believes that this forgotten region may be the birthplace of Port wine. In the Middle Ages, Franciscan monks produced here passito wines for sacramental use. By the 16th century, similar wines began to appear in the Douro Valley—likely influenced by these monastic practices. These early sweet wines, he suggests, were probably the first expressions of what we now know as Port wine.

In the last few years, Virgilio has been working with Teresa and Adelino Martins, owners of Quinta da Estalagem, one of the region’s last remaining farms. The estate is situated in a place of rare natural beauty and rich historical significance. It is near the Roman port of Aquabona on the Coina River, and not far from the shipyard where Paulo da Gama, brother of the famed navigator Vasco da Gama, built some of the ships used by Portugal during the Age of Discovery. Scattered through the region are vestiges of 15th-century ovens once used to bake hardtack, the hard biscuits consumed by sailors on their long sea voyages.

When we arrived at Quinta da Estalagem, Adelino was busy in the vineyard, harvesting grapes with a team of workers. Bastardo ripens early and must be picked before the birds help themselves to the fruit. Teresa and Virgílio joined us in the farm’s cellar for a wine tasting.

We began with Vinho do Pote, a vibrant white wine made from Fernão Pires, following Roman techniques dating back to the 5th century: the grapes were fermented in clay pots sealed with pitch and beeswax. Served in simple tavern glasses from Alentejo, the wine exudes a rustic elegance, with smoky notes, a textured palate, and bright acidity.

Next came Equabona, named for the ancient river route that once connected the Coina port to Mérida in modern Spain. Made from the same Fernão Pires grapes, this wine is delicately infused with fenugreek—an herb cherished by the Romans for both its flavor and medicinal properties. The result is an aromatic, amber-hued wine with notes of spice and a long, curried finish.

Our third tasting was a white wine gently scented with poejo (pennyroyal), which lends an herbal character reminiscent of a refined vermouth.

Then came a striking contrast: a white wine made using the curtimenta method of fermenting white grapes with their skins. The wine has a textured body and gentle tannins that lend both depth and character. This 17th-century technique is making a comeback — wines produced in this way are now popularly known as “orange wines.”

We then tasted a red made from Castelão, which pays tribute to the honest, everyday wine enjoyed across the region in the 20th century. It is light, fresh, and direct, with the grip of youthful tannin and the aromatic clarity of this hardy grape.

Finally, we tried the precious Bastardinho do Lavradio. Lost since the 1940s, this legendary wine has been resurrected through Virgílio’s tireless research and Adelino and Teresa’s steadfast dedication. It is a rare privilege to savor a stunning wine that history had almost forgotten.

Our visit to Quinta da Estalagem was far more than a wine tasting. It was a journey through centuries of winemaking, guided by one of Portugal’s most extraordinary wine scholars.

Click here for the Banda d’Além website. To schedule a visit, email adega@bandadalem.pt