The wine library

Green apple and lemon zest first, then the good stuff: warm brioche, toasted almond and a faint chalky smoke, like a struck match in a bakery. Those bread notes come from years resting on spent yeast in cellars carved from the chalk under Reims, some of them first dug by the Romans. Champagne is the friend who arrives overdressed and turns out to be the funniest person in the room. The wine underneath the bubbles is taut and bone dry. Drink it with crisps. Truly. Salt and fat adore it.

Grows Champagne only; everywhere else it's called something honest  ·  Serve 6–8°C, white-wine glass beats a flute  ·  Drink NV now; vintage 10+ years  ·  Entry ~350 kr (the method for less: Cava ~110 kr)

If you love it, try Crémant d'Alsace, English sparkling, Franciacorta.

Pear, honeydew melon, white flowers and a squeeze of green apple. Prosecco keeps things light and sees no reason to apologise for it. Where Champagne ferments in the bottle for years, Prosecco gets its fizz in big steel tanks over a few weeks, which keeps the fruit fresh and the price friendly. The grape is called Glera; the name Prosecco comes from a village near Trieste. The best bottles say Valdobbiadene on the label and come from hills so steep the harvest has to be done by hand. Serve it very cold and don't overthink it.

Grows Veneto & Friuli, Valdobbiadene hills for the serious stuff  ·  Serve 6–8°C, any glass you like  ·  Drink within a year of release  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Valdobbiadene DOCG ~140 kr)

If you love it, try Moscato d'Asti, Crémant de Loire, Cava.

Cava is made exactly the same way as Champagne (second fermentation in the bottle, long months on the yeast) and costs a third as much, which remains one of the wine world's great open secrets. Expect quince, lime, dried apple and, in aged versions, an earthy note somewhere near mushroom and fresh bread. The word means cellar in Catalan, after the underground caves where the bottles rest, most of them around one small town: Sant Sadurní d'Anoia. The local grapes (Xarel·lo, Macabeo, Parellada) give it a drier, dustier accent than Champagne's polish. Brilliant with fried food.

Grows Penedès, Catalonia; nearly all of it around one town  ·  Serve 6–8°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink now–3 years; Gran Reserva keeps longer  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Champagne, Crémant de Limoux, Franciacorta.

Yes, sparkling red wine, and no, not the sugary stuff of the 1970s. Proper Lambrusco is dark, foamy and dry, with sour cherry, blackberry, violets and a pleasantly bitter twist on the finish. It comes from Emilia-Romagna, the region that gave the world Parmigiano, prosciutto and lasagne, and it exists to cut through exactly that kind of food. Chill it hard, pour it with a plate of charcuterie, and watch the salt and fat surrender. Look for the word secco on the label for dry; Grasparossa versions are the darkest and grippiest.

Grows Emilia-Romagna, around Modena  ·  Serve 8–10°C, properly chilled  ·  Drink young, within 2 years  ·  Entry ~100 kr

If you love it, try Brachetto d'Acqui, sparkling Shiraz, chilled Beaujolais.

Gooseberry, passionfruit, cut grass and a streak of lime that snaps you awake. Sauvignon Blanc is the loudest greeter in the white wine world. That green note is real chemistry: compounds called pyrazines, the same family that makes green peppers smell like green peppers. In the Loire (Sancerre, Pouilly-Fumé) it turns leaner: flint, citrus, wet stones. In Marlborough, New Zealand, it went full tropical in the 1980s and accidentally created one of the most recognisable wine styles on the planet. Drink it young and cold, within arm's reach of a goat's cheese.

Grows Loire, Marlborough, Chile  ·  Serve 7–9°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–2 years; Sancerre keeps 5  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Sancerre ~200 kr)

If you love it, try Grüner Veltliner, Verdejo, Albariño.

One grape, two personalities, and the name on the label tells you which one turned up. Say Grigio and you get the Italian version: light, dry, quick, with pale citrus, green apple and a saline shrug. Say Gris and you're in Alsace: richer, almost oily, with ripe pear, honey, ginger and sometimes a whisper of sweetness. The grape itself is a colour mutation of Pinot Noir with greyish-pink skins, which is why some bottles carry a faint copper tint. The Italian style is the world's easiest apéritif; the Alsace style can stand up to roast pork.

Grows northern Italy, Alsace, Oregon  ·  Serve 7–9°C; Alsace Gris nearer 10°C  ·  Drink 1–3 years; Alsace 5+  ·  Entry ~90 kr (Alsace Gris ~150 kr)

If you love it, try Soave, Vermentino, Alsace Pinot Blanc.

Grapefruit, apricot, lemon zest and a saline finish that tastes like the glass was rinsed in the Atlantic. Albariño grows in Rías Baixas on Spain's green, rainy north-west coast, where vines are traditionally trained up granite posts onto pergolas so the sea air can move underneath and keep the grapes dry. It is the house wine of the world's best shellfish country and behaves accordingly: bright, brisk, faintly bitter at the edges in the best way. If a plate of mussels could order its own wine, this is what it would choose.

Grows Rías Baixas; over the Portuguese border it's Alvarinho  ·  Serve 7–9°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–3 years  ·  Entry ~120 kr

If you love it, try Muscadet, Vermentino, Vinho Verde.

Austria's signature white opens with green apple and lime, then does something almost no other white does: white pepper, a savoury dusting of it, thanks to rotundone, the same aroma compound found in actual peppercorns. There's often a green streak too, somewhere between snap peas and lentils, which sounds odd and works beautifully. Light versions from the Danube valleys are brisk apéritif wines; the powerful Smaragd bottlings from the Wachau age for a decade or more. This is famously the white that can handle asparagus and artichokes, the two vegetables that bully every other wine.

Grows Austria: Wachau, Kamptal, Kremstal  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink now–5 years; Smaragd 10+  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Sauvignon Blanc, dry Riesling, Vermentino.

The lightest, saltiest, most oyster-shaped white in France. Muscadet tastes of lime, green apple, crushed shells and sea spray, with a gentle yeasty softness in bottles labelled sur lie, meaning rested on their yeast over winter for extra texture. It comes from the mouth of the Loire around Nantes, from a grape called Melon de Bourgogne, and it holds a lovely legal quirk: the appellation caps alcohol at 12 percent, a maximum rather than the usual minimum. Refreshment is the whole point. Cheap, bracing and unbeatable with anything that recently lived in the sea.

Grows the Loire estuary around Nantes, nowhere else  ·  Serve 7–9°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–3 years; good sur lie surprises at 10  ·  Entry ~100 kr

If you love it, try Chablis, Picpoul de Pinet, Albariño.

The Mediterranean's beach wine: grapefruit, lime, green pear and a bitter-almond flick at the end, like the pith of a citrus fruit. There's usually something herbal in there too, crushed rosemary, a hint of sea breeze, which makes sense once you see where it grows: Sardinia, the Ligurian coast, and Corsica, where it goes by the name Rolle. It carries a bit more body and grip than the featherweight whites, so it copes with grilled fish, garlic and aioli without flinching. Drink it young, cold, and ideally somewhere you can smell salt water.

Grows Sardinia, Liguria, Corsica & Provence (as Rolle)  ·  Serve 7–9°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–2 years  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Albariño, Picpoul de Pinet, Verdicchio.

Poor Soave spent decades being sold as cheap and forgettable, which was unfair, because the real thing (from the volcanic hills east of Verona, made from the Garganega grape) is quietly lovely: honeydew melon, white peach, a saline mineral streak and a signature bitter-almond finish. In the 1960s and 70s it outsold every other Italian wine abroad, then drowned in its own success when the flat plains overproduced it. Look for Classico on the label; that's the original hillside zone. It also ages better than anyone expects, picking up honey and gentle smoke.

Grows volcanic hills east of Verona  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–4 years; Classico keeps going  ·  Entry ~100 kr

If you love it, try Gavi, Verdicchio, unoaked Chardonnay.

The chameleon. In Chablis it's lean and electric: green apple, lemon, oyster shell. Give it a warm climate and oak barrels and it becomes a different animal: yellow peach, pineapple, vanilla, butter. The butter is real chemistry: a softening step called malolactic conversion produces diacetyl, the same compound used in butter flavouring. So when people say they hate Chardonnay, they usually hate a winemaking style, not the grape, which is a bit like hating potatoes because you once had bad chips. At its peak, as white Burgundy, it's the most sought-after white wine on earth.

Grows Burgundy, California, and everywhere in between  ·  Serve 10–13°C, big glass  ·  Drink 2–10 years depending on style  ·  Entry ~110 kr (village Burgundy ~250 kr)

If you love it, try Viognier, white Rioja, Marsanne blends.

Apricot, honeysuckle, tangerine and a rich, almost oily texture. Viognier is perfume you can drink. It's also a survivor: by the mid-1960s its home vineyard of Condrieu in the northern Rhône had shrunk to barely a dozen hectares, and the grape came close to vanishing entirely. Growers rescued it, and it now thrives in Australia and California too. Low acidity means it needs a careful hand; done badly it turns blowsy, done well it's glorious. In Côte-Rôtie they even ferment a little into the red Syrah to lift the aroma.

Grows northern Rhône (Condrieu), Australia, California  ·  Serve 10–12°C, big glass  ·  Drink 1–4 years  ·  Entry ~120 kr (Condrieu ~450 kr)

If you love it, try Roussanne, Fiano, oaked Chardonnay.

The quiet shapeshifter. Young Hunter Valley Sémillon from Australia is picked early, bottled at barely eleven percent alcohol, and tastes of little more than lemon and fresh grass. Then you leave it ten years and it turns golden, toasty and lanolin-rich, as if it had spent time in oak barrels it never touched. In Bordeaux it's blended with Sauvignon Blanc for waxy, full dry whites, and it's the backbone of Sauternes, the world's most famous sweet wine. Expect waxy lemon, chamomile and beeswax; give it time and you get honey and roasted nuts.

Grows Bordeaux, Hunter Valley  ·  Serve 9–12°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink young, or 10+ years for Hunter  ·  Entry ~120 kr

If you love it, try white Bordeaux blends, dry Furmint, Marsanne.

The northern Rhône's white double act, almost always blended: Marsanne brings weight and flesh, Roussanne brings perfume and nerve. Together they taste of ripe pear, quince, beeswax, chamomile and honeysuckle, with a full, waxy texture and famously gentle acidity. These are whites for people who think they only like reds: savoury, generous, happiest next to roast chicken. Their strange party trick is that the wines can shut down in middle age, going dull for a few years, then re-emerge at ten or fifteen with honey and hazelnut. Australia's Tahbilk still farms Marsanne vines planted in 1927.

Grows northern Rhône (Hermitage), southern France, Australia  ·  Serve 10–13°C, big glass  ·  Drink 1–3 years, or hold past 10  ·  Entry ~130 kr

If you love it, try Viognier, white Châteauneuf-du-Pape, aged Sémillon.

The grape wine professionals hoard for themselves. Riesling runs from bone dry to dessert sweet, always strung on a wire of acidity that keeps even the sweetest ones tasting fresh. Lime, green apple, apricot, honey, and, after a few years in bottle, a whiff of petrol, which sounds alarming and is actually prized: a compound called TDN that develops as Riesling ages, especially from sunny vineyards. Germany's Mosel makes featherweights at eight percent alcohol; Australia's Clare Valley makes them stone dry and limey. Almost never oaked, and it ages for decades. If the label says trocken, it's dry.

Grows Mosel & Rheingau, Alsace, Clare Valley  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink now–20+ years  ·  Entry ~100 kr (German Kabinett ~140 kr)

If you love it, try Grüner Veltliner, Chenin Blanc, dry Furmint.

Lychee, rose petals, ginger and baking spice: the most perfumed wine on earth, and it commits to the role completely. The lychee note is no coincidence: grape and fruit share several of the same aroma compounds, so at times it genuinely smells like drinking a lychee. Gewürz means spice in German, though its great home is Alsace, where it grows golden and rich, often with a touch of sweetness left in. Low acidity and high alcohol make it a wine to sip rather than gulp. With Thai food or a properly smelly Munster cheese, it makes perfect sense.

Grows Alsace, Alto Adige, Germany  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink 1–5 years  ·  Entry ~130 kr

If you love it, try Torrontés, dry Muscat, Viognier.

No grape does more jobs. From the same Loire valley vines, Chenin Blanc becomes sparkling wine, bone-dry whites, off-dry charmers and honeyed dessert wines that outlive the people who bottled them, all held together by fierce acidity and a flavour range of quince, baked apple, chamomile and wet wool (nicer than it sounds, promise). A bottle of Vouvray can be any of these, so read the label. Meanwhile South Africa, where it long went by the name Steen, grows more Chenin than the rest of the world combined and turns old vines into rich, sunny versions at friendly prices.

Grows Loire (Vouvray, Savennières), South Africa  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink dry 2–5 years; sweet for decades  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Vouvray ~150 kr)

If you love it, try Riesling, Sémillon, Grüner Veltliner.

The only major wine grape that actually smells of grapes: its aroma compounds survive fermentation intact, which is true of almost nothing else. Expect orange blossom, ripe grape, honeysuckle and mandarin, in styles from bone-dry Alsace Muscat to Moscato d'Asti, the gently fizzy Piedmont version at five and a half percent alcohol, arguably the world's finest breakfast wine. It's also among the oldest cultivated grapes we know of, with a family tree tangled across the entire Mediterranean. Sweet versions belong with fruit and cake; the rare dry ones are lovely with asparagus.

Grows Alsace, Piedmont, and all round the Mediterranean  ·  Serve 6–8°C, well chilled  ·  Drink young, within 2 years  ·  Entry ~90 kr (Moscato d'Asti)

If you love it, try Torrontés, Gewürztraminer, Riesling Spätlese.

Argentina's own white, and a lesson in never trusting your nose. Torrontés smells sweet (roses, peaches, lemon blossom, a perfume in the Gewürztraminer family), then lands completely dry, with a citrus bite that catches first-timers off guard every single time. The best of it grows around Cafayate in Salta province, home to some of the highest vineyards on earth, up past 1,700 metres, where fierce sun and cold nights keep the perfume intense and the acidity alive. DNA testing shows it's a child of Muscat, which explains the floral genes. Order it with ceviche.

Grows Argentina: Salta (Cafayate), La Rioja, Mendoza  ·  Serve 7–9°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink within 2 years  ·  Entry ~90 kr

If you love it, try Gewürztraminer, dry Muscat, Viognier.

Rosé is a method, not a grape: red skins sit in the juice for hours instead of weeks, leaving a blush of colour and a whisper of texture behind. The spectrum runs from Provence's pale, bone-dry style (strawberry, melon, rose petal, a salty finish) to White Zinfandel, which is sweet, unashamed, and owes its existence to a happy accident: a stuck fermentation at Sutter Home in 1975 left sugar in the wine, America fell for it, and the craze ended up saving California's old Zinfandel vines. Colour is not a quality scale. The only question that matters is dry or sweet.

Grows anywhere red grapes do; Provence sets the style  ·  Serve 8–10°C, white-wine glass  ·  Drink the youngest vintage you can find  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Provence ~130 kr)

If you love it, try chilled Beaujolais, Lambrusco secco, Txakoli rosado.

The heartbreaker. Pale in the glass, quiet at first, then it opens into red cherry, raspberry, dried rose petal and, with a few years in bottle, something like forest floor after rain. It is thin-skinned in every sense: fussy about climate, ruinous to farm badly, sulky in the wrong hands. When it works, nothing else comes close, which is why the most expensive wine on earth, Romanée-Conti, is Pinot Noir from a plot smaller than two football pitches. Start with Oregon or Central Otago; they give you the silk without emptying your savings account.

Grows Burgundy, Oregon, Central Otago  ·  Serve 14–16°C, big-bowled glass  ·  Drink most within 5 years, grand cru Burgundy for decades  ·  Entry ~150 kr (Burgundy from ~250 kr)

If you love it, try Gamay, St-Laurent, Zweigelt.

Pinot Noir's cheerful cousin, with none of the mood swings. Expect tart cherry, raspberry, violets and a whiff of banana in the fresh, carbonic styles, then a darker, peppery core in serious cru Beaujolais like Morgon or Moulin-à-Vent. In 1395 Duke Philip the Bold banished it from Burgundy by decree, and called it a very bad and disloyal plant while he was at it. Gamay moved a little south and has spent six centuries proving him wrong. Give it a light chill and it becomes one of the great food wines: charcuterie, roast chicken, Tuesday.

Grows Beaujolais, Loire, Switzerland  ·  Serve 12–14°C, lightly chilled, big-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 3 years, crus up to 10  ·  Entry ~110 kr (crus from ~160 kr)

If you love it, try Pinot Noir, Frappato, Zweigelt.

The wine people love until someone teaches them to say they don't. Soft plum, black cherry, cocoa and bay leaf, with tannins like a well-worn sofa. The name probably comes from merle, French for blackbird, a bird with excellent taste in ripe grapes. The film Sideways made sneering at Merlot fashionable, yet the hero's treasured bottle, Cheval Blanc, leans heavily on Merlot and its close relative Cabernet Franc. The joke was on him. Pomerol makes it profound, Chile makes it friendly, and both versions belong at dinner rather than on a pedestal.

Grows Bordeaux, Chile, northern Italy  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 5 years, top Pomerol for decades  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Bordeaux from ~140 kr)

If you love it, try Cabernet Franc, Carménère, Cabernet Sauvignon.

Italy's most planted grape and Tuscany's beating heart. Sour cherry first, always, then tomato leaf, dried oregano, leather and a dusty, savoury finish that makes food close to mandatory. The name translates roughly as blood of Jove, which is a lot of ambition for a grape that mostly wants pasta. It shape-shifts with place: brisk and cherried in everyday Chianti, dark and monumental in Brunello di Montalcino, where it flies solo. On its own it can taste sharp; at the table it clicks into focus. That is not a flaw, that is the design.

Grows Tuscany, Emilia-Romagna, Corsica  ·  Serve 16–18°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink 3–10 years, Brunello for 20+  ·  Entry ~110 kr (Chianti Classico from ~150 kr)

If you love it, try Montepulciano, Barbera, Nebbiolo.

Sunshine in liquid form, and it carries the alcohol to prove it. Ripe strawberry, stewed raspberry, white pepper, dried herbs and a curl of orange peel. France gets the glory, since Grenache is the backbone of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, but the grape is Spanish by birth, from the hot, windswept hills of Aragon. Some of the oldest productive vines on the planet are gnarled Garnacha bushes that have survived a century of drought out there. It loves heat, shrugs at poor soil, and drinks like a warm hug. Watch the percentage on the label, though.

Grows southern Rhône, Spain, Australia  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 5 years, top Châteauneuf longer  ·  Entry ~100 kr (Châteauneuf from ~300 kr)

If you love it, try Zinfandel, Mourvèdre, Cinsault.

A grape with three passports. DNA testing settled a long argument: California's Zinfandel and Puglia's Primitivo are the same variety, and both descend from an obscure Croatian grape called Tribidrag. Wherever it lands, it brings jammy blackberry, raspberry sauce, liquorice, black pepper and sweet tobacco, often at alcohol levels that flirt with 15 per cent. California's old-vine bottlings can be genuinely moving; Puglia's are plusher and cheaper. And yes, the pale pink White Zinfandel of the eighties was made from this same grape, a fact serious Zin producers would rather you forgot.

Grows California, Puglia, Croatia  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 5 years  ·  Entry ~120 kr (old-vine from ~180 kr)

If you love it, try Grenache, Negroamaro, Petite Sirah.

Piedmont's weekday wine, and proud of it. While Nebbiolo got the castles and the collectors, Barbera fed the region for generations: dark sour cherry, blackberry, dried herbs and a bright, mouth-watering snap of acidity with barely any tannic grip. That combination, juicy but structured by freshness rather than grip, makes it absurdly easy to pair. Pizza, salumi, mushroom risotto, anything with tomato. Barbera d'Asti tends to be lighter and friskier, Barbera d'Alba a little deeper. In a wine world obsessed with importance, here is a grape that just wants you fed and happy.

Grows Piedmont, Lombardy, California  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 5 years  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Dolcetto, Sangiovese, Gamay.

The quiet parent of a famous family: cross it with Sauvignon Blanc and you get Cabernet Sauvignon, cross it with Magdeleine Noire and you get Merlot. On its own it is leaner and more perfumed than either child, all raspberry, red bell pepper, crushed gravel and pencil shavings, with a leafy edge that divides people at dinner parties. I am firmly in favour. In the Loire, in Chinon and Bourgueil, it makes reds you can chill slightly and drink with almost anything. Bordeaux uses it as seasoning; the Loire lets it speak.

Grows Loire, Bordeaux, Niagara  ·  Serve 14–16°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink 3–8 years  ·  Entry ~120 kr

If you love it, try Mencía, Merlot, Carménère.

Wine's great case of mistaken identity. Carménère left Bordeaux for Chile in the 1800s, got mixed into the Merlot vineyards, and spent roughly a century being picked, made and sold as Merlot. Growers just thought it was an odd, late-ripening strain. Then in 1994 a visiting French ampelographer took one look and blew its cover. Today it is Chile's signature: plummy raspberry fruit wrapped around green peppercorn, paprika and cocoa powder, a savoury spice cabinet where Merlot keeps only jam. If you find Merlot too polite, this is the interesting sibling.

Grows Chile, especially Colchagua and Maipo  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink 3–6 years  ·  Entry ~100 kr

If you love it, try Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Malbec.

First, the trap: Montepulciano the grape has nothing to do with Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, which is Sangiovese from a Tuscan hill town of the same name. Italy enjoys this sort of thing. The grape lives mainly in Abruzzo, where it makes deep purple-black wine tasting of boysenberry, ripe plum, oregano and a touch of smoke, with tannins that feel soft and dusty rather than grippy. It is one of Europe's most reliable bargains, the bottle you grab for a weeknight ragù without checking your account first. Cheap here rarely means thin.

Grows Abruzzo, Marche, Molise  ·  Serve 15–17°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink within 5 years  ·  Entry ~90 kr

If you love it, try Sangiovese, Negroamaro, Barbera.

Northwest Spain's secret handshake. Sour cherry, pomegranate, liquorice and a cool mineral streak that tastes the way wet slate smells, with florals that once got it mistaken for Cabernet Franc. In Ribeira Sacra it grows on terraces so steep they call the farming heroic without irony; everything is done by hand on slopes plunging towards the river Sil, because no tractor would survive the attempt. The wines have a freshness rare in Spanish reds, closer to Burgundy in spirit than to Rioja. If you think Spain only does oak and power, Mencía is your correction.

Grows Bierzo, Ribeira Sacra, Dão (as Jaen)  ·  Serve 14–16°C, medium-bowled glass  ·  Drink 3–6 years  ·  Entry ~130 kr

If you love it, try Cabernet Franc, Blaufränkisch, Pinot Noir.

The king, though its origins are pure accident. Somewhere in seventeenth-century Bordeaux, red Cabernet Franc crossed with white Sauvignon Blanc in a vineyard, and DNA testing in 1996 revealed the world's most planted quality red grape to be their unplanned child. The signature is blackcurrant, layered with cedar, graphite, mint and, in cooler years, a flicker of green bell pepper. Thick skins mean serious tannin, which is why it loves oak barrels, long ageing and rare steak. From Pauillac to Napa to Coonawarra, it is the closest wine has to a universal language.

Grows Bordeaux, Napa, Coonawarra  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 5–15 years, top wines for decades  ·  Entry ~110 kr (classed Bordeaux from ~300 kr)

If you love it, try Merlot, Malbec, Aglianico.

One grape, two accents. In the Northern Rhône it is Syrah: blackberry, black olive, violets, smoked meat and a crack of black pepper, which is literal chemistry, since the wine carries rotundone, the same aroma compound found in actual peppercorns. In Australia it becomes Shiraz, and the accent gets broader too: riper, sweeter fruit, dark chocolate, more sun in the glass. Both can be magnificent. Hermitage and Côte-Rôtie age for decades and taste like the north wall of a smokehouse; Barossa Shiraz greets you like a bear. Choose your climate, choose your mood.

Grows Northern Rhône, Barossa, South Africa  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 5–10 years, top Rhône for decades  ·  Entry ~110 kr (Crozes-Hermitage from ~160 kr)

If you love it, try Malbec, Petite Sirah, Touriga Nacional.

French by birth, Argentine by glorious adoption. In medieval Cahors it made a wine so dark the English called it black wine, but a brutal frost in 1956 killed most of Bordeaux's Malbec and France largely moved on. Argentina did not. In Mendoza's high-altitude vineyards, some above 1,500 metres, the thin air and fierce sun turned it plush and perfumed: blackberry, plum, violets, cocoa and sweet tobacco, with tannins like velvet rather than sandpaper. It is the steakhouse wine for a reason, but a good one needs no beef to make its case.

Grows Mendoza, Cahors, Salta  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 3–8 years  ·  Entry ~100 kr (single-vineyard from ~180 kr)

If you love it, try Syrah / Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, Tannat.

The famous trap. It pours pale as Pinot Noir, smells of violets, roses, sour cherry and tar, and then bites down with some of the fiercest tannin in the wine world. Nobody forgets their first ambush. The name comes from nebbia, the fog that rolls over Piedmont's hills during the late October harvest, and in Barolo and Barbaresco this grape makes wines that need a decade to unclench and can age for several more. Young Langhe Nebbiolo is the gentler introduction. With braised meat or truffle season, few things on earth compete.

Grows Piedmont, Valtellina, a little in Australia  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass, decant when young  ·  Drink Barolo from year 10, happily for decades  ·  Entry ~180 kr (Barolo from ~300 kr)

If you love it, try Sangiovese, Aglianico, Xinomavro.

Spain's grand old grape, named for its habit of arriving early: temprano means just that, and it ripens weeks before its neighbours. In Rioja it tastes of dried cherry, tobacco and leather, laced with dill and coconut from the region's long love affair with American oak barrels. The label tells you the ageing, not the sweetness: crianza is youthful, reserva more polished, gran reserva released only after years of patience in barrel and bottle. Across the border in Portugal it moonlights as Tinta Roriz inside Port blends. A grape with range and manners.

Grows Rioja, Ribera del Duero, Portugal  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink crianza now, gran reserva for 20+ years  ·  Entry ~100 kr (reserva from ~150 kr)

If you love it, try Sangiovese, Montepulciano, Touriga Nacional.

They call it the Barolo of the south, which undersells how ancient it is: the vine has grown around Naples since Greek settlers worked these hills more than two millennia ago. On the volcanic soils of Taurasi and Monte Vulture it gives black cherry, dried plum, white pepper, smoke and something faintly like campfire ash, framed by tannin and acidity that both arrive at full volume. Young Aglianico can feel like an argument. Give it eight or ten years and it turns eloquent, savoury and long. Patience is the entire price of admission.

Grows Campania, Basilicata  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass, decant when young  ·  Drink best from year 5, ages 20+  ·  Entry ~130 kr (Taurasi from ~200 kr)

If you love it, try Nebbiolo, Sagrantino, Tannat.

The most misleading name in wine. Nothing about it is petite except the berries, which are tiny, thick-skinned and packed with colour and tannin, and its real name is not Sirah either: this is Durif, a cross of Syrah and the obscure Peloursin raised by French botanist François Durif in the 1860s. France shrugged; California fell in love. Expect a wine near-black in the glass: blueberry, dark chocolate, black tea and black pepper, with a grip that laughs at delicate food. Pour it with ribs, brisket or a long winter evening.

Grows California, Mexico, Israel  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 5–15 years  ·  Entry ~130 kr

If you love it, try Syrah / Shiraz, Zinfandel / Primitivo, Malbec.

A wine with a birth certificate. In 1925, Stellenbosch professor Abraham Perold crossed Pinot Noir with Cinsault in his garden, then promptly forgot about it; the seedlings survived only because a colleague rescued them just before the plot was cleared. The result took its father's name and its own path: dark plum, smoked meat, liquorice, rooibos and, in some modern styles, a deliberate note of mocha and coffee bean. Made carelessly it can turn rubbery, which gave it a rough reputation for years. Made well, it is South Africa in a glass, generous and a little wild.

Grows Stellenbosch, Swartland, Paarl  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 3–8 years  ·  Entry ~100 kr

If you love it, try Syrah / Shiraz, Zinfandel / Primitivo, Grenache / Garnacha.

Portugal's crown jewel spent centuries hidden inside Port blends before anyone thought to bottle it dry on its own. Their loss, our gain. The vine yields stingily, tiny berries and not many of them, but every one is concentrated: blueberry, blackcurrant, violets and an unmistakable perfume of bergamot, like Earl Grey tea left near a flower stall. Grown on the Douro's vertiginous schist terraces, it makes dry reds with real structure and a floral lift that keeps all that power light on its feet. One of Europe's best-value serious reds right now.

Grows Douro, Dão  ·  Serve 16–18°C, large glass  ·  Drink 5–10 years  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Syrah / Shiraz, Malbec, Aglianico.

Sweet because someone hit pause. Halfway through fermentation, the winemaker floods the vat with clear grape spirit, the yeast dies on the spot, and the remaining sugar stays in the wine at around 20 per cent alcohol. Ruby Port is young and jammy with blackberry and cinnamon; tawny ages for years in barrel and drifts towards caramel, fig and walnut. The summit is vintage Port, declared only in exceptional years, roughly three times a decade, and built to outlive the people who bottled it. Pair with blue cheese, dark chocolate, or a fireplace.

Grows Douro Valley, Portugal  ·  Serve 16–18°C, small port glass  ·  Drink ruby and tawny now; vintage for decades  ·  Entry ~150 kr (vintage from ~400 kr)

If you love it, try Madeira, Banyuls, Recioto della Valpolicella.

The most misunderstood wine in the shop. Yes, sweet cream sherry exists, and Pedro Ximénez pours like fig syrup, but the soul of Jerez is bone dry: fino and manzanilla, pale and saline, tasting of green almond, bread dough and sea air. That character comes from flor, a living veil of yeast that grows across the wine in barrel and guards it from oxygen. Add the solera system, where young wine is endlessly blended through rows of old barrels, and your glass holds traces of decades. Serve fino ice cold with salted almonds and jamón, then apologise to every bottle you ignored.

Grows Jerez and Sanlúcar, Spain  ·  Serve fino 7–9°C, white-wine glass; oloroso 12–14°C  ·  Drink fino young and fresh; finish an open bottle within a week  ·  Entry ~110 kr

If you love it, try Madeira, Marsala, Jura vin jaune.

The wine that got better by accident. Barrels shipped from this Atlantic island in the 1600s baked in the holds of ships crossing the tropics, and merchants noticed the wine came back improved. Producers now recreate the voyage on land with warm cellars and gentle heat. The result tastes of caramel, roasted walnut, burnt orange peel and salted toffee, held upright by startling acidity, and it runs from bone-dry Sercial to lusciously sweet Malmsey. Having already survived heat and oxygen, it is nearly indestructible: an open bottle keeps for months, and good vintages outlast centuries.

Grows Madeira, Portugal  ·  Serve 13–15°C, small glass  ·  Drink whenever; it ages for generations  ·  Entry ~180 kr

If you love it, try tawny Port, oloroso Sherry, Marsala.

Golden proof that rot can be noble. Autumn mists off the little river Ciron invite Botrytis cinerea, a fungus that shrivels Sémillon and Sauvignon Blanc grapes on the vine and concentrates everything left inside. Pickers pass through the rows again and again, and yields are absurd: at Château d'Yquem, each vine gives roughly one glass of wine. What survives tastes of apricot, honey, saffron, ginger and orange marmalade, with acidity that keeps all that sugar dancing rather than cloying. Forget dessert pairings if you like; try it with Roquefort or foie gras and understand the fuss.

Grows Sauternes and Barsac, Bordeaux  ·  Serve 6–8°C, small white-wine glass  ·  Drink lovely young, at its peak from 10 to 30 years  ·  Entry ~180 kr for a half bottle

If you love it, try Tokaji, Monbazillac, late-harvest Riesling.

The wine Louis XIV reportedly called the wine of kings, king of wines, and the region classified its vineyards in the 1730s, more than a century before Bordeaux got round to it. The famous sweet style, Tokaji aszú, is made from Furmint grapes shrivelled by noble rot, gathered berry by berry into baskets called puttonyos; the more berries in the blend, the sweeter the wine, and the label still counts them. Expect apricot, honey, orange marmalade, saffron and beeswax, cut by acidity sharp enough to keep a fifty-year-old bottle tasting alert. Dessert in a glass, with better posture.

Grows Tokaj, Hungary  ·  Serve 8–10°C, small white-wine glass  ·  Drink aszú ages for decades  ·  Entry ~200 kr for 500 ml (5 puttonyos from ~250 kr)

If you love it, try Sauternes, Beerenauslese Riesling, ice wine.