Right, let me tell you about one of the most audacious wine rescue missions in modern history. Picture this: It's 1989, and a young Spanish winemaker from Rioja's most esteemed family tosses aside a comfortable inheritance to gamble everything on a forgotten, half-abandoned region called Priorat. His mates thought he'd lost the plot. Critics called him mad. But Alvaro Palacios saw something extraordinary in those ancient, gnarly vines clinging to slate hillsides—and what he created became nothing short of legendary. Today, his wines command prices that would make a Bordeaux First Growth blush, and he's single-handedly responsible for putting Spanish wine back on the world stage. Not bad for a bloke who started with absolutely bugger all, eh?
Born into the legendary Palacios family of Rioja in 1964, Alvaro had wine in his veins from day one. His family's estate, Palacios Remondo, had been crafting brilliant Riojas since 1945, and the natural assumption was that young Alvaro would eventually take the helm. He dutifully studied enology in Bordeaux—très sérieux education, naturellement—then spent time at Château Pétrus (yes, THAT Pétrus) learning the fine art of terroir-driven winemaking from the masters.
But here's where our protagonist goes deliciously off-script. Instead of returning to the family fold in Rioja, the 25-year-old Palacios heard whispers about a near-abandoned region called Priorat in Catalonia, where century-old Garnacha and Cariñena vines were practically begging for someone to care about them. The region had been decimated by phylloxera in the late 19th century and never properly recovered—most young people had fled to the cities, leaving behind these extraordinary old vines that produced minuscule yields of intensely concentrated fruit.
But Palacios had vision. He recognized that Priorat's unique llicorella soils—those dramatic black slate and quartz hillsides—combined with ancient, pre-phylloxera vines could produce wines of unprecedented intensity and complexity. He wasn't interested in making pleasant table wine; he wanted to create something that would rival the greatest wines of France. Ambitious? Absolutely. Insane? Possibly. Brilliant? History has proven him spectacularly right.
Let's talk about the wine that made critics and collectors completely lose their minds: L'Ermita. This single-vineyard masterpiece comes from a tiny 1.7-hectare plot of ungrafted vines (yes, you read that right—original rootstock that somehow escaped phylloxera) planted between 1902 and 1940. The vineyard sits on an impossibly steep hillside at 400 meters elevation, facing northeast, where the vines literally grow out of fractured slate. Production? A laughably small 500-800 cases per year. Price? Try $1,500-$2,000 per bottle, and good luck actually finding one.
The first vintage of L'Ermita was 1993, and it sent shockwaves through the wine world. Robert Parker awarded it 100 points—one of the first Spanish wines ever to receive that honor. Suddenly, everyone was asking: "Where the hell is Priorat?" The wine is predominantly old-vine Garnacha (Grenache) with a splash of Cariñena (Carignan), fermented with indigenous yeasts and aged in new French oak. But the magic isn't in the winemaking technique—it's in those ancient vines extracting something utterly profound from the llicorella.
Palacios didn't resurrect Priorat alone—he was part of a small group of pioneers known as the "Clos" movement (René Barbier, Carles Pastrana, José Luis Pérez, and Daphne Glorian) who all bet on the region in the late 1980s. But Palacios quickly became the movement's superstar, the face of Priorat's resurrection. His success with L'Ermita proved that Spain could produce wines to rival the world's finest, and it sparked a complete renaissance in the region.
By the late 1990s, wine producers were flooding into Priorat, buying up old vineyards and planting new ones. Property prices skyrocketed. The region achieved DO status in 1954 but was elevated to the prestigious DOCa (Denominació d'Origen Qualificada) in 2009—only the second Spanish region to achieve this status after Rioja. What had been a dying backwater became one of the world's most expensive and sought-after wine regions, producing bottles that command Burgundy-level prices.
Palacios's portfolio expanded beyond L'Ermita to include several other exceptional wines. Finca Dofà (around $150-200) comes from another spectacular single vineyard and offers similar intensity at a slightly more accessible price point. Les Terrasses (roughly $60-80) is the estate's "entry-level" wine, though calling it entry-level is rather cheeky considering its extraordinary quality. Even at the most accessible level, Camins del Priorat ($30-40) delivers authentic Priorat character—intense, mineral-driven, and absolutely smashing with food.
What makes Priorat wines so bloody special? Two things: ancient vines and llicorella soils. Let's start with the vines. Many of Palacios's Garnacha and Cariñena vines are 80-100+ years old, with some ungrafted parcels surviving from before phylloxera devastated Europe's vineyards. Old vines produce tiny yields—sometimes just 1-2 tons per acre—but the concentration and complexity are otherworldly. These vines have root systems diving 10-15 meters deep into fractured slate, accessing water and minerals that young vines can only dream about.
Then there's the llicorella—those dramatic black and reddish slate soils mixed with quartz that define Priorat's landscape. The slate retains heat during the day and radiates it back at night, helping ripen the grapes in this mountainous region. But more importantly, the fractured, mineral-rich slate imparts a distinctive "minerality" to the wines—that crushed stone, graphite character that's utterly unmistakable once you've tasted it. The soils are poor in organic matter but rich in minerals, forcing the vines to struggle (in the best possible way) and concentrate their energy into small clusters of intensely flavored berries.
Palacios's philosophy is refreshingly simple: great wine is made in the vineyard, not the cellar. He practices organic and biodynamic viticulture, works with indigenous yeasts, and intervenes minimally in the winemaking process. The goal is to let the terroir speak—to capture the essence of those ancient vines and that spectacular llicorella in the bottle. And darling, does it ever speak volumes.
As if rescuing Priorat wasn't enough, Palacios set his sights on another forgotten Spanish region: Bierzo, in the northwest corner near Galicia. In 1999, he partnered with his nephew Ricardo PĂ©rez to found Descendientes de J. Palacios (named after Alvaro's father, JosĂ©), dedicated to resurrecting the region's ancient MencĂa vines. Once again, the playbook was the same: find old, forgotten vineyards on spectacular terroir, work organically, and make wines that express a profound sense of place.
The flagship wine, Las Lamas, comes from slate soils (sound familiar?) and century-old MencĂa vines. It's extraordinary—elegant, perfumed, with red fruit, flowers, and that unmistakable mineral spine. The wine sells for around $80-120, and critics have compared it favorably to great Burgundy. Villa de CorullĂłn ($40-50) offers similar character at a more accessible price, while PĂ©talos del Bierzo ($20-25) is an absolute steal—gorgeous, mineral-driven MencĂa that punches well above its weight.
The Bierzo project demonstrates that Palacios's magic isn't limited to Priorat—it's about understanding terroir, respecting old vines, and having the courage to bet on forgotten regions. Today, Bierzo is experiencing its own renaissance, with quality-focused producers following in Palacios's footsteps. Sensing a pattern here?
Palacios's wines are powerful and complex, demanding food that can stand up to their intensity while complementing their earthy, mineral character. Here's your pairing playbook:
For the Bierzo wines, which tend to be more elegant and Burgundian in style, try roasted duck breast with cherry sauce, grilled salmon with herbs (yes, really—MencĂa can handle it), or mushroom risotto with truffle oil. The lighter hand and red fruit profile make these wines more versatile with food than their Priorat siblings.
It's impossible to overstate Alvaro Palacios's impact on Spanish wine. Before Priorat's resurrection, Spanish wine was largely synonymous with Rioja and value-priced Tempranillo. Fine, but hardly inspiring. Palacios proved that Spain could produce wines to rival Bordeaux, Burgundy, and the Rhône—wines with soul, complexity, and profound terroir expression. He showed the world that old-vine Garnacha could be as noble as Pinot Noir, and that Spanish terroir was every bit as distinctive as France's grand crus.
His influence extends far beyond Priorat and Bierzo. He inspired a generation of Spanish winemakers to focus on quality over quantity, to value old vines, to work organically, and to have the courage to challenge conventional wisdom. Today, Spain is experiencing a wine revolution—from Ribera del Sacra to the Canary Islands, winemakers are rediscovering forgotten regions and indigenous varieties, following the path that Palacios blazed.
In 2015, Palacios was awarded the prestigious Prix Œnologique by the Office International de la Vigne et du Vin (OIV), recognizing his lifetime contribution to wine. But perhaps his greatest legacy is this: he proved that with vision, courage, and respect for terroir, you can transform an entire wine region—and in doing so, change the trajectory of a nation's wine industry.
That philosophy—terroir über alles, respect for old vines, minimal intervention, complete authenticity—has become the gospel for serious Spanish winemakers. And those of us lucky enough to taste the results? We're the grateful beneficiaries of one man's glorious obsession with forgotten hillsides and century-old vines.
Here's the tricky bit: Palacios's wines range from accessible to "mortgage your house" expensive. L'Ermita ($1,500-2,000) is essentially unobtainable unless you have serious collector connections. Finca DofĂ ($150-200) is more available but still requires hunting. Your best entry points are Les Terrasses ($60-80) for serious Priorat or Camins del Priorat ($30-40) for an introduction to the style.
For the Bierzo wines, Pétalos del Bierzo ($20-25) is brilliantly accessible and widely available—absolute dynamite value for the quality. Villa de Corullón ($40-50) offers more complexity if you want to go deeper, while Las Lamas ($80-120) is the serious collector's choice.
Fair warning: these wines need time in the bottle. The entry-level wines drink beautifully young, but the serious stuff (Finca DofĂ, L'Ermita, Las Lamas) really wants 5-10 years of cellaring to show their full glory. If you're opening a young bottle, decant generously—at least 2-3 hours—to let the wine open up.