“I never thought I’d meet a retsina that I liked. So, imagine my surprise when I tasted a wine that is subtly infused with pine flavours that actually adds to the balance and complexity of the wine,” write wine columnist RICHARD CALVER.  

Looking back on the second day of my recent tour of Greece: the morning was blessed with a trip to Vergina and Pallas.

It’s where we had an ancient archaeological site to ourselves and were uplifted by the extraordinary nature of the displays of Greek antiquity in the museum at Pallas. 

The guide on this day trip then took us to a café halfway between Pallas and Thessaloniki where, for 10 euros ($A17.80) each, we had one of the best meals experienced on tour. 

The price included a local dry white wine that was passable but went well with the food, especially the light and fluffy zucchini balls. But before the jug of unidentified local wine was placed on the table, a half bottle of retsina was proffered. It was like drinking pine disinfectant, completely unpleasant, horrible. We asked them to take it away.

From what I had read before I set off, Greek wine has been tainted with the poor reputation that retsina has imparted. Indeed, on the tour, we were often expressing the view that house wine was fine so long as it wasn’t retsina.

Retsina is produced when pine resin is added to a base of white wine, usually a cheap varietal, creating a pine resin flavour and, for me, aromatics reminiscent of a recently cleaned toilet.

This process is said to mimic traditions that are more than 2000 years old; when ancient Greeks sealed amphorae with closures of pine and other resins. They apparently liked the taste that the residue of the seal left behind. 

I never thought I’d meet a retsina that I liked. So, imagine my surprise when I tasted a wine that is subtly infused with pine flavours that actually adds to the balance and complexity of the wine: it was called Tear of the Pine 2022 and was excellent. 

I had extended my stay in Greece by one day after the tour ended in order to attend a wine tasting in Athens where five Greek wines were on taste.

The Tear of the Pine was easily the best. The wine is made with Assyrtiko, a white grape variety that thrives under conditions of minimal rainfall and a prolonged summer heat. The yields are small and the wine from this grape type is therefore quite expensive.

But the expense appears worthwhile: there was a delightful harmony between acidity and fruit. Tear of the Pine is a textural wine that was enhanced by a hint of pine, just as where you get a hint of eucalypts in some Australian wines that are near native forest: enhancing rather than detracting.

The wine also had flavours of hazelnuts and light brioche. It takes retsina from the cheap and unpleasant to complex and enchanting. Good winemaking prevails. 

In being surprised, I told my tasting companions my favourite story on that subject:

I once went for a meal at a Chinese restaurant where I ordered the chicken surprise.

The waiter brought the meal, served in a lidded cast iron pot. Just as I was about to serve myself, the lid of the pot rose slightly and much to my alarm I saw two small feathery eyes looking around before the lid was slammed back down.

I thought I might be delirious so I reached for the pot and on lifting the lid, I again saw two little eyes looking around before the lid slammed down. Now, really annoyed, I called the waiter over and asked for an explanation.

“Please sir,” says the waiter, “what did you order?”

I replied: “Chicken surprise.”

“Ah! So sorry,” says the waiter, “I bring you Peeking Duck.”