What Is My Favorite Grape? Çal Karası

 

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This year the Jancis Robinson summer writing competition theme was “my favorite grape”. Both an easy and yet incredibly difficult topic! My entry was not short-listed but I wanted to share it anyway. 

My favorite grape: Çal Karası.

Falling for Çal Karası

What is a ‘favorite’ grape, anyway? Is it the one you prefer to drink? The one that challenges you? Or the one that you connect with emotionally? For many, each of those questions could be answered by a different grape.

I believe that wine lovers drink wine for reasons beyond its pleasant taste. We’re the people who, while our friends roll their eyes, wax poetic about agriculture, argue about the origins of wine, and have strong opinions about “natural” wine. We do this because we feel emotionally invested, regardless of whether we had anything to do with the making of the wine.

If you ask me which grape I prefer to drink, which challenges me, which is my ‘desert island’ grape, I would tell you that it’s a three-way tie between three white varieties. And yet. While I might feel a whirl of emotions while drinking them, I otherwise don’t connect with them. That connection is reserved for my favorite grape: Çal Karası.

Çal Karası

Çal Karası, a native grape of Turkey’s inner Aegean, grows mostly on the Denizli plateau in the Çal district, where old bush vines thrive. Though DNA research by Paşaeli Winery and José Vouillamoz revealed it’s genetically identical to Crete’s Liatiko, its true origins remain a mystery.

Naturally low in anthocyanins, Çal Karası produces pale, medium-bodied reds with lively acidity, moderate alcohol, and a silky texture. The wines carry vivid notes of red fruits like strawberry, sour cherry, and rhubarb, layered with hints of lavender, bay leaf, and black pepper.

A Reflection of the Modern Turkish Wine Industry

In many ways, Çal Karası’s rise in popularity mirrors the development of modern Turkish wine. From neglected and unknown to innovative and elegant, this grape and the industry have progressed apace.

Modern Turkish wine production began after the foundation of the Republic (1923), but its development was slow and fraught with challenges. The population exchange resulted in the loss of skilled winemakers, and the devastating phylloxera pest eventually reached Turkish vineyards. As a result, many vineyards were abandoned, overtaken by nature, or simply withered away. Compounding these difficulties, the scarcity of trained viticulturists led to poor cultivation practices. In this environment, easier to grow foreign grape varieties began to replace native ones.

Thus began the country’s obsession with and reliance on grapes like Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah. Soon enough, many native grapes were barely a memory. Wineries invested most of their high-quality winemaking efforts in international grapes, leaving native grapes like Dimrit and Horoz Karası for bulk wine production. This possibly created an assumption that Turkish grapes couldn’t make quality wine.

It wouldn’t be until the late 1990s – early 2000s that the spotlight turned to native grapes. Thanks to a small, dedicated group of wineries, Turkish grapes are growing in popularity and proving that they can make high-quality wines. This is where Çal Karası’s Cinderella story opens.

Turkey’s Cinderella Grape

Like many of Turkey’s black grape varieties, Çal Karası takes its name from its place of origin. It is the “black from Çal”. I, however, call it something else: Turkey’s Cinderella grape.

Much like Cinderella was relegated to obscurity and drudgery, early Çal Karası wines often filled the bulk wine category. It was a grape not to be taken seriously; one used to fill gaps in cheap, insipid red blends or rosés.

That changed when it found its fairy godmother in the form of Seyit Karagözoğlu and Paşaeli. In 2010, Paşaeli released its first Çal Karası, arguably the first quality Çal Karası. While not an overnight sensation, Çal Karası’s rise to nobility was assured.

After mastering quality red wine, Turkish wineries moved on to discovering what else the grape could do. Rosé wines made in different ways have hit the shelves, as have several blanc de noir wines, blends, sweet wines, and bubbles, which have all delighted drinkers.

People’s confidence in the grape also sparked a whole new wine route in Turkey. Formed in 2022, The Çal Bağ Yolu includes, yes, wineries based in the Çal district, but several feel strong ties to the Çal Karası grape and the old vineyards that dot the plateau.

Çal Karası and Me

I’m no Cinderella—but somehow, I see much of myself in Çal Karası’s story. Its journey out of obscurity mirrors my own unexpected transformation through wine.

Before I moved to Turkey, wine was something I enjoyed casually. I liked it, but I never thought deeply about where it came from, what made it special, or the stories it could tell. That all changed when I was introduced to Turkish wine—and more importantly, Turkish grapes.

Tasting varieties I’d never even heard of was like unlocking a secret language. Each grape had its own history, flavor, and fingerprint. They sparked a curiosity in me that I couldn’t ignore. I found myself diving into research, reading voraciously, learning technical terms, even building my Turkish vocabulary so I could better talk to people. Wine was no longer a simple pleasure; it became a calling.

That calling led me down an unexpected road: becoming a Turkish wine advocate and eventually penning the first major book dedicated to Turkish wine—a project born out of passion and deep admiration for something so often overlooked.

Çal Karası is a perfect symbol of that journey. Long dismissed as a rustic, local oddity—useful, perhaps, but never celebrated—it has slowly begun to win hearts with its elegance and charm. Once a workhorse grape with little fanfare, it’s now being treated with care, allowed to shine, and finally getting the attention it deserves.

In that transformation, I see my own: from someone who barely knew one grape from another to someone who has dedicated years to learning, exploring, and championing the world of Turkish wine.

Is it my desert island wine? Maybe not. But Çal Karası is my glass slipper—the reminder of how far I’ve come, and how beautifully unexpected paths can lead to the most meaningful destinations.

While you’re here, check out my previous posts about Çal Karası and learn more about why I feel so close to this grape.