Back in April of 2025, the City Vino Wine Cru received bottles from the land of Texas with a question. Who produced wine first? Was it Viginia or was it Texas? You would think this would be an easy answer. We Virginians are pretty proud of our viticulture. But that month we spent some time on diving into Cortes’s adventures defeating the Aztecs in 1521, sort of (Montezuma’s Revenge). The Jesuits and Franciscan monks followed, proselytizing, trying to make Christians out of everyone working their way form Cozumel to eventually, like 100 years it took them, to the western side of Texas, then New Mexico, Arizona, and up into California planting the mission grape, Pais. Why 100 years to get from Cozumel to Texas?
The Basque Country, straddling northern Spain and southwestern France along the Bay of Biscay, is a region defined by contrasts that somehow resolve into coherence: Ancient language and cutting-edge cuisine, rugged fishing villages and avant-garde architecture, deep rural tradition and global culinary influence.
The wine world has often told a very specific story about who wine belongs to. Historically, that story has been European, white, and rooted in centuries-old traditions that rarely made room for voices outside that culture. For many people of color entering the industry, the message was often subtle, but clear: Wine wasn’t really for you—or if it was, it belonged in sweeter, simpler, cheaper forms.
In the world of fine wine, few names carry the same weight as Paul Hobbs. Revered for crafting world-class Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and for helping elevate wine regions across multiple continents, Hobbs has become one of the most respected winemakers of his generation. Yet the story of Paul Hobbs does not begin in Napa Valley tasting rooms or among collectors chasing 100-point scores. It begins on a fruit farm in upstate New York, where hard labor, cold winters, and a deep connection to the land shaped the philosophy that would define his career.
Spanish cultivation of Vitis vinifera, the common ancestor of almost all vines in existence today, began in earnest with Phoenician settlements in the southern provinces. Later, according to the Roman writer Columella, vines were grown all over the Iberian Peninsula, establishing a long viticultural tradition. Within this context, Tempranillo emerges as an old grape dating back to at least the ninth century, where there were only scattered references to the name. This is presumably because, in many places, such as the Valdepeñas region, it was the dominant indigenous variety and simply assumed to be a different grape.
