A lot has happened to Talha wine since it teetered on the edge of extinction a decade ago. Portugal’s ancient answer to modern Amphora wine making managed a paltry 700 litres in 2010, produced by a handful of dreamy eyed romantics trying their best to keep the last threads of Roman winemaking technology from drifting out of reach forever. This year Alentejo’s production should easily top 80,000 bottles of ‘officially’ certified Vinho de Talha DOC with another 60,000 declassified as Talha made ‘Amphora’ wine.
Currently at least 15 professional producers are focused on Talha wine, with more in early stages of experimentation. Restaurants have opened again, with Talha serving homemade wine to customers, families and hobbyists are making wine again, new museums and interpretive centers and tasting rooms have opened up, jobs and affluence are on the rise, villages have scrubbed up and things are looking good. November’s yearly Amphora Day event has gone from 20 to 40 to 60 exhibitors, establishing it as ‘ground zero’ for clay pot winemakers from around the world. Talha wine has been nothing short of transformative.
In my first 2015 Talha article, sources on Talha were limited. I sifted through a dearth of information, trying to piece scraps together and make sense of what I could. Much of what I learned was second hand oral history, often highly speculative, sometimes contradictory or specific to a local or family perspective projected as universal practice. Answered questions led to more questions, often met with shrugs and smiles, because no one had an answer yet. All quite fair given it was the early days of the revival.
What’s happened since has been an explosion of knowledge and practical experience.
Before, it looked like Talha production had died with the last master potters of the 1800-1930s. Secrets buried with them suggested replication was impossible, creating a strong resignation that future Talha wine production was forever limited to maybe 150 or so surviving pots.
But since then a massive amount of lost Talha have, quite literally, been coming out of the woodwork, in shapes, forms and sizes previously unknown. A rough back of the napkin estimate suggests nearly 700 pots are in use or awaiting refurbishment.
There are now enough names, trademarks, clay sources and dates of manufacture (going back to 1655) to flesh out a dandy PhD thesis topic analyzing historical production. And at least a couple of Portuguese have tried their hand at making big-assed old style pots again. One locally and another in Tejo to the north.
Similarly, where before a question about the pés used to coat the interior of Talha garnered little definitive information, beyond shrugs and speculation, now there are professionals applying pés and a growing body of knowledge surrounding its use.
Most significantly, whole new types and styles of Talha wines have appeared. Vinho de Talha DOC has evolved into a classic form in its own right, universal enough to make comparative judgments within its own genre. Other Talha wine styles have evolved along different lines, allowing both traditional and new, to enhance rather than detract from one another.
Recalling my first impression of Talha, it was stunning how perfect it was from a technological point. Here was a near perfect machine for making wine. Simply dump crushed grapes in the top, wait a couple of months for fermentation and gravity to do their work, and drain crystal clear wine from a hole at the bottom.
No chemicals were involved nor need for artificial filtering. Seeds fell to the lowest point, protected by a covering of skins and lees. Internal convection created natural battonage. Porous walls burnished texture through micro-ox, similar to oak barrels, but without oak’s intrusive aromas, flavors and tannins. Put in grapes, get out only grape characters, derived from pulp and skins and lees. Here was the fruit purity of stainless steel without its raw sharpness.
Once CO2 expenditure was paid after initial firing, thereafter the vessel wouldn’t need replacement for centuries or more. It didn’t need electricity to cool, using water applied externally to lower fermentation temperatures by 20 degrees. It seemed to lack all the faults and offer all the advantages of other vessels in one pretty cool piece of old technology.
And then in June 2021, along came stunning news. A wine made in Talha quickly sold out of its limited run of 650 bottles for 1000eu apiece! This is significant on many levels, beyond the eye popping price.
Herdade do Rocim’s Jupiter is certainly the most expensive wine produced in a clay vessel anywhere on earth, ever. OK, maybe Caligua was drinking something more exclusive, so let’s dial that back to just, in modern times.
It not only proved that wines matured in terracotta can both evolve positively, along the lines of wines aged in wood, but also that Talha can compete with the rarest and most expensive wines in the world.
It also proved Alentejo’s autochthonous grapes can make wine as good as grapes from anywhere else. In this particular case, a unique, 80-120 year old, field blended vineyard of varietals hardly anyone has heard of and fewer still can pronounce. A blend long interconnected with local Talha wine production, with some grapes possibly (probably?) linked back to pre-Roman-Iberian origins.
It also established a new concept of terroir, uniting clay fermentation to old endangered grapes that have adapted to a specific place over a long time. Equally important is their follow-on interaction with an equally singular terroir based vessel; where each pot is of a different size, shape, clay source and firing condition. Every Talha is a terroir unto itself. One that can only be mastered through repeated direct experience.
There is a degree of serendipity to how Rocim’s winemaker, Pedro Ribeiro produced this wine. It began with the picking of Vinha de Micaela, a tiny (.36 hectare) 80+ year-old vineyard, scattered about with Moreto, Tinta Grossa, Trincadeira, Alicante Bouschet and other grapes too few to count or bother identifying.
The parcel, adjacent to Rocim’s home vineyard, was bought in 2015 and harvested shortly after for the first time. Lacking any track record, all of the grapes suddenly appeared at the winery, leaving Ribeiro scurrying for somewhere to co-ferment this small, oddball, batch. Luckily the lot just happened to fit perfectly into three small early 19th Century 600 litre Talhas.
Ribeiro’s original intentions were to bottle this as Vinho de Talha DOC in March. Retasting the three Talha then, he instantly realized one pot held the ‘best wine I’d ever made.’ Defying normal practice, Pedro decided to leave it and see how it evolved. Holding back a portion for topping up, he blended away the rest into his normal Vinho de Talha DOC wine.
Aging wine in Talha, indeed amphora generally, is largely uncharted territory. Talhas are primarily fermentation vessels, with wine traditionally drunk up within a year – more often less.
The caveat here is that terracotta pots allow around twice as much (or more) oxygen through their walls as an oak barrel. Hence, they need to be monitored closely for oxidation to avoid any sudden tipping point ruining the wine. Another issue is the wide, irregular mouth which is not easily sealed air tight for regular topping up. A third problem is that no two Talhas are alike: different sizes and shapes, different internal convection currents, different clay sourcing, wall thickness and firing conditions. Each Talha dictates its own winemaking parameters.
That said, I’ve tasted many Jose de Sousa’s Talha wines back into the 1940s, and most are still very drinkable, including a superb 1940 last August in an Evora restaurant.
However, while maturation in Talha clearly IS possible, the ‘modern’ DOC rules are designed for drinking a few months after fermentation. Where there is a general lack of both ancient and modern practical advice on how to mature wine in Talha, Ribeiro has been at the forefront of pushing these boundaries over the last 8 years. Beyond the 20,000 bottles of Rocim’s red and white Amphora (Vinho de Talha DOC) and another 8,000 Talha-made, Fresh from Amphora natural wines, and Bojador Reserva Vinho de Talha DOC, Rocim also produces 5,500 bottles of Clay Aged wine. The latter is kept in barrique sized pots, not dissimilar to clay barrels produced in Alentejo during the 19th Century.
So Jupiter is no fluke.
Checking the future Jupiter religiously in 2016, Ribeiro was surprised by the lack of oxidation and continued positive evolution. One year carried into another and eventually, after 48 months in clay and a further year in bottle, the wine was released.
So far the wine is a one off. In the chaos of the 2015 harvest nothing was recorded as to what part of the vineyard went into which Talha. Since then Ribeiro has systematically tried to rediscover the 2015 mix without luck. Humbled, but undeterred, he has been methodically narrowing in on probables and, nevertheless, says he ‘will make it again.’
Here’s the rub. Because the wine was racked off skins without being officially observed and certified for Vinho de Talha DOC designation, Jupiter can’t legally use the word Talha, hence the term ‘amphora’ made. An own goal for Vinho de Talha DOC regs?
History is a moving object, ever slippery, especially for those of us who want to capture it to keep it dissolving into a dead end or an altogether different future form. An example is: what is Irish traditional music? Is it scratchy old folk recordings from the 1920s? or later recognizable folk interpretations by the Chieftains? or the Pogues punkishly fracturing all that into something related, but radically different?
That’s kind of where Talha culture is now. Back when it was on its last legs, those formulating how to save it through standardization were fighting a losing battle. Already there were modern wine producers branding around Talha, either visibly on their labels or by pretending to be ‘anfora’ wines, but in fact were made industrially in stainless steel.
The eventual Vinho de Talha AOC certification rules fundamentally require that a wine is kept in a Talha on its ‘mother’ (seeds, skins, lees) until at least St Martin’s Day (2nd Sunday in November). Only after that can it be certified, precisely at the point when removed from its mother. Secondarily, grapes must be officially sanctioned within the seven designated subregions known for Talha use. Yet traditionally most wine was drunk directly from the talha until drained, so didn’t need certification. Bottled Talha wine only became common in the 1970s.
The contentious issues here revolve around those making wine in Talha but who don’t follow the St. Martin’s Day formula of two months of skin contact or want more flexibility in how rules are applied.
Fitapreta’s winemaker Antonio Mancanita believes ‘there’s a conflict between memory and history’ as per the current DOC rules that determine certification for a Vinho de Talha wine. The implications are that the current rules may have captured a 20th century or even late 20th century practice, rather than different Talha practice from previous periods.
He makes a compelling case for more flexibility in how Talha wine is made or at least for different Talha classifications to serve other styles.
A prime example is that the current DOC certification requires skin contact until St. Martin’s Day. After 2-3 months of contact, both white and red wines become more tannic and less freshly fruited than modern wine styles. But has this always been the case with Talha made wine?
Thinking this through, with his agricultural engineering background, Mancanita notes that ‘maceration was a luxury historically and is a much more complicated way of making wine. It’s better (easier) to just move the liquid.’ His experience with traditional winemaking practices in the Pico islands, where foot trodden lagars are used only for crushing grapes, rather than promoting skin contact, led him to look deeper into how Talha winemaking may have evolved in the past.
He notes a Cadiz source from 70 A.D. that talks of squeezing juice off skins before fermentation. The Roman ruin at Sao Cucufate apparently had both a destemming and crushing facility. Further evidence suggests that only juice was fermented in the earliest local Dolium-like Talha designs. In the medieval period Portuguese lagars were often squeezed on site in vineyards with juice carried to villages for fermentation, a practice also mentioned in the Bible. Similarly, the Dao region is riddled with hundreds of small, ancient ‘lagaretas’ located in vineyards for this purpose.
In subsequent centuries, wealth was concentrated and houses grew larger with designated space in adegas for large lagars devoted to pre-processing grapes headed for Talha. Antonio speculates that Fitapreta’s own 14 C palace’s lagar’s were perfectly sized for this.
Alentejo’s most famous large scale 17-19th century wine estates (Mouchao, Tapadas do Chaves, Dona Maria, Jose de Sousa...) contain very large lagars to de-stem, crush and foot tread grapes before fermentation in Talha - although only Jose de Sousa continued this practice. And so, depending on a particular desired outcome, there appeared to be a choice whether to place relatively pure juice into Talha, or a smaller, more controlled amount of skins and stems.
Smaller scale family oriented wine-making may have evolved differently. As farm workers gained enough land to grow their own grapes and make wine at home, ever larger Talha became more common. Mancanita speculates that by the 19th and 20th centuries there is considerable evidence of small lagars being removed from family homes to make more living space.
The 19th century saw the development of small crushing mills that fit atop Talha allowing everything to drop into the pot, seeds, skins, stems and all. Thereafter Talha adjusted to more skin contact, incorporating that into fermentation and maturation.
And that led to the current practice of keeping on skins until St. Martin’s Day, with a single pot serving all aspects of making and storing wine for a family or a cafe/restaurant to serve its customers throughout the year. As most people couldn’t afford sulphur, increased skin contact positively compensated as a natural preservative. And that became a universal ‘people’s wine style’.
As winemaking technology progressed, the larger adegas steadily adopted basket presses and large concrete tanks and bottled wine, leaving behind the remnants of Talha altogether. Coops appeared and took most of the grape production away from home made Talha wine, adopting similar styles to the larger adegas. By the 21st century, the last vestiges of the small family made talha wine style was enshrined in DOC certification.
All of this suggests that some Talha wine may have had much less skin, stem and seed contact before or during the 19th-20th than the current Talha DOC rules allow. Counterintuitively, white wines, having less skin tannins, might have been more ‘modern’ in the sense of being fruitier, fresher and softer. And reds might have had a lighter color and softer tannins. In both cases, Talha still would have provided for fuller, rounder textures, similar to barrel fermentation, created by terracotta’s ability to transfer oxygen at micro-levels, but there would have been more latitude to gauge the length of time involved.
Somewhat related to this is a regionality problem. Ground Zero for the modern Talha revival movement centers around an important group of villages: Vila de Frades, Vidigueira, Vila Alva, Cuba, all near Iberia’s largest intact ruined Roman villa, Sao Cucufate.
What is especially significant is that many of the traditional white grapes used in these locations have a long association with clay pot winemaking, and - given the high degree of DNA diversity locally - may have originated when Roman Cucufate was active. Interestingly, that local set often weighs in around 12-12.5% alcohol with high acidity, out of sync with the relatively hotter climate surrounding it.
Although the Talha tradition remained at its strongest and longest in this small area, Talha winemaking also thrived in other parts of Alentejo. There are residues near Moura and Reguengos, two of the hottest parts of Portugal, which favor their own set of red grapes. Further North is another residual Talha culture based in the cool high country around Borba, Estremoz and Arcos, again with their own set of favored grapes. And further north is the still cooler, more mountainous Portalegre region. Again with its own favored blends.
The gist of this is that all these regions have different harvest times and desired degrees of grape ripeness. Where skin contact until St Martin’s Day might suit a Vidigueira Talha wine, those harvesting more delicate fruit in Portalegre may struggle to make the wine they want.
The issue that underpins all this is the requirement for Talha DOC wine to undergo a couple of months of skin contact. It seems to confuse a traditional process with a traditional technology. Neither seems mutually exclusive or damaging to one another. Vinho de Talha DOC is a classic style in its own right at this point. Wine made in Talha becomes what it is.
Whether this merits any change of rules is for Alentejo to decide for itself. From my perspective there seems to be an unnecessary barrier to the use of the word Talha. Forcing some to call their Talha an amphora is neither logical, nor correct, given an amphora is for transporting wine, not fermentation or maturation. Secondly, hardly anyone outside of Alentejo has heard of a Talha. Frankly, the word Talha needs all the branding help it can get considering its global competition is from Georgian Qvevri, Armenian Karas, Spanish Tinajas, Italian Dolium and all the other pots called amphora.
Looking at the situation with Jupiter’s amphora designation and others who are forced to call their wines amphora for other reasons, it often turns out that their wines are selling globally quite nicely for good prices. If anything it would seem Talha wine culture needs them more than they need it.
I first visited XXVI Talhas in August 2021 to watch them dramatically apply pés to their first large Talha. Driven by ‘a group of four childhood friends born and raised in Vila Alva,’ they re-established their grandfather’s winery Adega Mestre Daniel in 2018, finding 26 Talha inside mothballed since 1985. Scrubbed up and open for business, the adega is a fount of enthusiastic energy.
The partners live and work in Lisbon for now, with grandson Daniel Parreira project managing, his sister Alda and her partner Samuel Pernicha handling communications and Ricardo Santos working as senior enologist. Ricardo’s father, João Manuel Santos, handles day to day winemaking in Vila Alva. Having worked and helped Mestre Daniel in his childhood Manuel provides the link back to lost Talha secrets. All gather on weekends to work Talha together.
XXVI Talhas source grapes from 12 different vineyards (average of 0.5 hectare) from within 6km of the village. All are dry farmed, ranging from 25-50 years old, mostly Alentejo centric grapes: Antão Vaz, Perrum, Roupeiro, Manteúdo, Diagalves (locally called "uva rei") and Larião (locally called "uva de algibeira"). Red wines focus on Tinta Grossa, Trincadeira and Aragonês. Intriguingly Vila Alvans call Tinta Grossa ‘our grape’ for its local dominance.
They have revitalized local styles, making a traditional Toreco for fast consumption, longer term Vinho de Talha DOC and, a la Jupiter, single Talha bottlings designated by number. Talha XV, for example, contains a field blend that is almost 100% Tinta Grossa. The southeast vines (between Vila Alva and Vidigueira) are planted in granitic soils and the northwest vines are planted in schist. All potential for single Talha wine in future.
The same pattern of reclamation and innovative rebirth can be seen across Alentejo with 20-30 somethings carrying on where their retired grandparents left off. Professor Arlindo’s grand-daughter Teresa is revitalizing his old adega, newly renamed Geracoes da Talha. The sons of venerable Talha restaurateurs, Pais das Uvas, have refurbished a ruined 17th C adega next door to bottle their new Honrado branded DOC wines.
But the XXVI Talhas project is greater than just Talha wine. All are deeply committed to revitalizing their little village which has been losing people for decades, and now has a population of 400. Compare this to 1950 when Vila Alva had 1300 people, over 70 wineries and almost every household owned a small talha to serve the family for the year.
I was shocked by how much Talha culture still remains hidden behind Vila Alva’s doors. Currently at least eight adegas, with over 130 Talhas, still produce wine. Another 86 Talhas sit unused, hidden behind locked doors of 14 fallow adegas. Hundreds more existed pre-20th century, before vineyards shrank from 1200 down to 400 hectares. All of which could return to production.
Daniel and cousin João Taborda, researched and wrote an illuminating booklet for an exhibition that launched their project in 2018. Entitled "Vila Alva - Terras de Vinho" this documents grape and Talha wine production going back to Roman occupation through the 21 C.
This includes previously unknown, local Talha fabrication, alongside the broader aspects of how absolutely central Talha culture was to the daily life of the village. Happy times when people could pop in to local cafes, tabernas, restaurants or adegas and fill up a jug to take home for family dinner. 20 in the past, barely a couple of takeaways now. Especially important were the taverns where men came together at night to sing a uniquely indigenous form of polyphonic song.
This Talha legacy probably still remains, hidden, in the neighboring villages of Vila de Frades, Vidigueira, Cuba and elsewhere across Alentejo.