Rioja Reconsidered: Terroir, Organic Viticulture and the Wines of Alonso & Pedrajo

Last October, during a short trip to Spain, I felt a strong urge to spend at least a day in Rioja. Not out of nostalgia, but curiosity. Rioja is clearly in motion. Over the past years, the region has begun to shift its internal language from ageing and blending toward village expression and single-site thinking, placing renewed emphasis on where wines come from, not just how long they age.

Alongside this, long known but often overlooked grape varieties are re-emerging, and viticultural decisions once considered marginal are being re-examined. For anyone teaching Rioja today, this matters. Rioja’s history is not only written in barrels and bodegas, but also in infrastructure: the early adoption of rail transport, the role of the Ebro Valley as a commercial corridor, and even the region’s early relationship with electrification and mechanisation. Rioja has always been more dynamic than its simplified image suggests.

As a Rioja wine educator — and as someone who has been involved in organic viticulture and low-intervention wines — I tend to ask a simple question when visiting a region: who is currently aligning place, farming, and cellar work in a coherent way? Since publishing my book on natural wines, I have been particularly interested in seeing how these ideas translate in a region as historically codified as Rioja.

The answer came quickly and consistently: Alonso & Pedrajo Viticultores.

Climate and geology: why place matters more than ever in Rioja

When we teach Rioja, we usually rely on a simplified but useful framework. Calcareous clay soils dominate much of Rioja Alavesa; they are poor in organic matter but rich in calcium, with shallow to moderate root penetration. Ferrous clay soils appear in higher, inland zones, deeper and more compact, marked by their reddish colour. Along the Ebro and its tributaries, alluvial soils form flat terraces of sand and stones, well-drained and heat-retaining.

However, while standing in the vineyards near Villalba de Rioja, it became evident that this framework does not fully convey the entire story.

Geologically, this area sits at the intersection of several forces. The Sierra Cantabria rises immediately to the north, acting as a climatic barrier but also allowing Atlantic air masses to enter through specific corridors. The Ebro Valley runs east to west, channelling continental and Mediterranean influences. Rioja, here, is not defined by one climate but by the interaction of several.

What surprised me most was not the climate, but the soil beneath it.

During the visit, Alberto Pedrajo repeatedly pointed to deep soils formed under unusual geological conditions. Beyond marine sediments from an ancient seabed, there are localised pockets of basalt linked to extinct volcanic activity and tectonic fractures. Basalt is not part of Rioja’s standard soil vocabulary, and I admit some disbelief at first. Rioja is rarely discussed in volcanic terms, and rightly so.

What emerged from the discussion was not a claim of “volcanic Rioja”, but a far more precise observation: basalt appears here because of tectonic stress zones, not as a surface layer, and always in combination with deep sedimentary soils. Alberto even pointed to a nearby basalt quarry still used for railway construction, grounding the explanation firmly in geology rather than metaphor. The relevance lies less in the rock itself than in what it allows — exceptionally deep rooting, greater water access, and a buffering effect against climatic extremes.

These soils allow roots to penetrate far deeper than the one-metre benchmark often cited in Rioja education. The result is resilience. Vines cope better with drought stress and show less sensitivity to short-term climatic extremes. This geological context helps explain why farming decisions here differ from more uniform parts of the region.

Climate and soil cannot be separated from viticulture. In the organically farmed parcels discussed during the visit, living soils appeared more responsive and better balanced. Disease pressure was lower, not because of intervention, but because the vines were better equipped to defend themselves. In this context, organic viticulture should not be viewed as merely a statement. It is a practical response to site conditions.

Seen this way, Rioja becomes less a uniform appellation and more a mosaic. Understanding these local interactions between climate, geology, and soil is essential when discussing municipalities, villages, or single vineyards. Place, here, is not an abstract concept. It is measurable, visible, and decisive.

Rethinking classification: ageing, place, and what truly defines origin

Barrel ageing has always been central to Rioja’s identity. Some of the region’s most compelling red wines owe their complexity, longevity, and balance to extended time in oak. Used well, ageing adds structure, integrates tannins, and allows wines to develop tertiary character that few regions can rival. There is no need to dismiss this tradition.

At the same time, it is increasingly clear that ageing alone does not define provenance or quality. Extended time in a barrel, particularly when combined with the blending of fruit from multiple sites, can dilute the sensory signals that link a wine to a specific place. Dominant winemaking variables — including oak regime, oxygen exposure, and blending — can override more subtle site-specific markers, especially in early to mid-term tasting windows.

This tension sits at the heart of Rioja’s current classification debate.

The recent focus on village and single-site wines is therefore welcome. Rioja counts more than 140 municipalities, each with distinct climatic exposures, soils, and viticultural traditions. Some will achieve more recognition than others. Over time, quality will determine which names resonate with the market. This process cannot be legislated into existence; it has to be earned.

Where the system becomes harder to justify is in the regulatory framing of Vino de Municipio. While the requirement that grapes originate from a single municipality makes clear sense, the obligation that production, ageing, and bottling must also take place within that same municipality raises questions. If the goal is to communicate origin, then the decisive factor is the vineyard. The land does not change because a barrel was moved a few kilometres down the road.

During my visit, Alberto Pedrajo expressed scepticism toward increasingly fine-grained classifications imposed from above. His scepticism was not directed at recognising place, but at introducing increasingly fine classifications before consumers have had the chance to understand Rioja at a broader level.

Wine, as he put it, remains a slow business. It cannot be rushed into hierarchies without long-term experience. He was contemplating whether Rioja’s current three-zone structure fully reflects reality, suggesting that the Ebro Valley itself functions as a distinct climatic corridor, a kind of ‘central valley’ that cuts across existing boundaries but remains unrecognised.

Looking at regions such as Burgundy is instructive. There, a single producer may work vineyards across multiple communes while vinifying them in one cellar. Provenance is preserved because the classification follows the grapes, not the building. In this light, Rioja’s emphasis on local ageing risks confusing administrative geography with terroir expression.

The challenge for Rioja is not whether to embrace origin, but how to do so without obscuring it. Place matters. The question is how clearly the system allows it to speak.

Organic viticulture: soil as the starting point

Much of the discussion in the vineyards returned to one central idea: soil condition determines viticultural freedom. Organic viticulture, as practiced here, is not framed as a philosophical stance or a marketing signal. It is treated as a practical necessity if the aim is to preserve soil structure, root depth, and long-term vine balance.

In the parcels we walked together, Alberto Pedrajo was clear that the transition to organic farming initially required adjustment.

He focused instead on the longer-term effects, arguing that organically farmed vines develop stronger natural defence mechanisms.

A key point raised during the visit was soil disturbance. Mechanical work is kept to a minimum, often limited to a single pass per year. Cover crops and spontaneous vegetation are tolerated rather than eliminated. In older vineyards, this creates little competition because roots penetrate deeply, well beyond the topsoil. The goal is not to maximise vegetative growth, but to maintain soil porosity, microbial activity, and water retention. These factors matter increasingly in a region facing hotter summers and more erratic rainfall.

What emerges from these discussions is a functional definition of organic viticulture. It is not presented as an end in itself, but as a precondition. Living soils allow vines to cope with stress. Balanced vines reduce the need for correction. Reduced correction makes low-intervention winemaking viable. In this context, organic farming is not a statement about purity. It is a structural decision that supports clarity of site expression over the long term.

This approach also explains why certain practices, often debated in isolation, make sense here. Organic viticulture is not separated from geology, climate, or cellar work. It serves as a vital link between these elements.

Old vines and forgotten varieties: beyond Tempranillo

For many consumers, Rioja still means Tempranillo. While the variety is undeniably central to the region today, this shorthand is historically incomplete. Until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Garnacha was widely planted and often dominant, particularly in warmer and drier parts of Rioja. The shift towards Tempranillo accelerated with changes in viticultural priorities, replanting after phylloxera, and later with the rise of ageing-driven styles that favoured structure, colour stability, and compatibility with long oak maturation. Tempranillo proved well suited to that model, and gradually took centre stage.

That historical shift matters. It reminds us that Rioja’s varietal identity has never been fixed. What we now consider “traditional” is, in part, the result of relatively recent agronomic and stylistic decisions rather than an immutable inheritance.

Walking the vineyards around Villalba, this sense of continuity and rediscovery becomes tangible. Many parcels are planted with old vines, often fifty years or more, sometimes in mixed plantings. These vines were established before varietal simplification became the norm. Their deep root systems, genetic diversity, and naturally moderated yields form the backbone of the wines made here. Old vines are not treated as a marketing category, but as a working reality that shapes viticulture and harvest decisions.

The same openness applies to white varieties, an area where Rioja is quietly regaining confidence. Alongside better-known names, local grapes such as Maturana Blanca play an increasingly important role. Historically documented as early as the seventeenth century, Maturana Blanca is unique to Rioja. Its naturally low pH, high tartaric acidity, and low potassium levels make it particularly valuable in a warming climate.

Taken together, old vines and varietal diversity underline a broader point. Rioja has always been more complex than its dominant narratives suggest. Revisiting grapes that once shaped the region, and preserving the vineyards that carry that memory, is not an exercise in nostalgia. It is a way of widening the region’s expressive range without abandoning its identity.

Story of the winery

Alonso & Pedrajo Viticultores was founded as a partnership, and the story of its creation is closely tied to decisions about land, place, and long-term commitment rather than brand positioning. From the outset, the intention was not simply to build a winery, but to live with the vineyards. This ambition immediately introduced practical constraints. Any future site needed to remain connected to everyday life, with access to schools, healthcare, and basic infrastructure. Several locations were visited and evaluated with this in mind, and not all of them worked. In some cases, the resistance was external. Alberto described situations where neighbouring growers made it clear that they did not want new entrants in the area, and where purchasing land proved impossible despite interest.

The first acquisition was modest, and for a long time it remained the only foothold. Alberto spoke of this period as one of patience rather than certainty, where progress came in small steps and expansion was not assumed. Only later, as trust developed and intentions became clear, did the holding gradually grow beyond its initial limits. For me, this is where the story settles: something of real and lasting value has taken shape, quietly and without compromise.

Winemaking: low intervention

Throughout the visit, Alberto Pedrajo returned to one recurring idea: it is easy to speak about terroir in the vineyard and erase it in the cellar. His response is not a single technique, but a sequence of choices designed to limit disruption once the grapes arrive.

The process begins with handling. Grapes move through the winery by gravity rather than pumps, a practical decision intended to reduce mechanical stress. Fermentations proceed without routine temperature control, additives, or corrective inputs. Alberto repeatedly emphasised that the cellar is designed to move wine gently and as little as possible, with forklifts and gravity replacing hoses and pumps wherever feasible. Bottling is the only unavoidable moment where gravity alone no longer suffices.

Skin contact plays a central role, including for white wines. Alberto spoke about working with a wide range of maceration times, from roughly two weeks to several months. His reasoning is functional rather than stylistic. Rioja has historically relied on oak ageing to provide structure and longevity, particularly for red wines. By extracting tannins from skins instead, he builds structural capacity earlier in the wine’s life, reducing the need for heavy oak influence later. In this context, skin contact is not an aesthetic statement but an alternative structural tool.

Lees work and oxygen exposure are treated with similar pragmatism. Wines are allowed to settle naturally, then moved to barrels, for instance, when needed to manage reduction, texture, or aromatic development. He also accepted that some wines pass through reductive phases, provided they resolve with time and controlled oxygen exposure rather than intervention.

Additions are deliberately limited. Alberto listed what he avoids as standard practice: nutrients, acidification, routine cooling, fining, and filtration. Sulphur is used sparingly or not at all, depending on the wine and its stability. Rather than presenting this as a claim, he showed analytical results and stressed that tools remain available if a wine becomes genuinely at risk. Minimal intervention here is not framed as bravado but as restraint supported by healthy fruit.

One of the most specific techniques discussed was madreo, a historical northern Spanish method. Alberto explained how whole bunches are added gradually to a partially filled tank, promoting internal carbonic effects and retaining natural CO₂. He linked this directly to the freshness, tension, and subtle spritz perceived in certain wines and described it as a traditional solution to preservation rather than a modern invention.

The result of these choices is a set of wines that do not always align with familiar Rioja categories. Some rosés behave structurally like light reds. Some whites carry tannic grip and ageing capacity without relying on oak. Alberto acknowledged that this can be confusing but saw it as a consequence rather than a problem. Even if they don’t fit in established boxes, the wines reflect their origins and how they’re made.

Taken together, the winemaking approach is coherent rather than radical. Healthy vineyards allow for restraint. Restraint allows texture, structure, and site expression to emerge without excessive correction. What ends up in the glass is not the result of a single technique, but of a consistent refusal to intervene unless there is a clear reason to do so.

The wines

Nauda Viura 2023

Bright gold. Baked apple skin and light caramel, followed by subtle herbal notes. Rounded palate with a fresh acidic core, giving lift and balance. Juicy, energetic and complete, with a long, clean finish driven more by texture than aroma.

Nauda Clarete 2023

Amber-pink hue. Floral spice, dried citrus peel and a distinctive lactonic note followed by almond, peach and a dash of smoky tone, despite the absence of oak. Dry and refreshing, with crunchy acidity and lively CO₂ tension. Juicy, tangy and persistent. Sits deliberately between rosé and light red.

Garnacha 2022

Medium ruby-purple. Pure red berry fruit with notable concentration. Focused and direct on the palate, showing ripeness without excess. Structured, fruit-driven and balanced, with clarity rather than oak-derived weight.

La Pequeñita 2019

Deep amber. Dried apricot, raisin and marmalade notes, with a sense of oxidative development without heaviness. Rich yet controlled, with sweet–acid tension and considerable length. Intense, layered and persistent, finishing savoury rather than overt.

La Pequeñita Rosado

Amber-orange colour. Highly aromatic, marked by floral spice and lifted freshness. Made using the madreo technique, showing internal carbonic character and natural CO₂. Structured and intense, with grip and energy more reminiscent of a light red than a conventional rosé.

Across the range, these wines prioritise texture, tension and structure over primary aroma with drinkability and fun, reflecting vineyard health and cellar restraint rather than stylistic conformity.