What Are We Really Tasting When We Talk About Minerality in Wine?

Minerality is one of those words that seems to say a great deal, yet begins to slip through our fingers the moment we try to define it...

It appears in tasting notes, technical data sheets, wine lists, and conversations among professionals. Wines are described as mineral, taut, stony, saline, chalky, or flinty. And the word is almost always associated with something positive: elegance, freshness, authenticity, terroir, and quality.

But what are we really tasting when we describe a wine as mineral? Are we tasting the minerals present in the soil where the vine grew? Are we identifying a specific aroma? A texture? Acidity? Salinity? Or are we bringing several different sensations together under the same word?

I recently attended a seminar devoted precisely to this subject. I came away with more information, but also with confirmation that there is no consensus on what minerality means in wine. Perhaps that is the first point we need to accept.

The most seductive explanation

For many years, a fairly simple and easy-to-communicate explanation prevailed. The vine grows in a particular soil, absorbs its minerals through the roots, and those minerals pass into the grapes and, subsequently, into the wine.

According to this idea, a wine produced in limestone soil would taste of limestone. A wine from a vineyard planted on schist might show aromas or flavors of stone. In Chablis, where marine fossils are found in the soil, notes reminiscent of oyster shell would be understood as a direct consequence of that geology.

It is a powerful image because it connects the vineyard to the wine and helps us imagine that we are literally tasting the landscape. The problem is that this explanation is both too simple and incorrect.

The vine does, of course, absorb elements from the soil, but it does so through complex and selective physiological processes. The presence of an element in the soil does not mean that it will automatically be absorbed by the roots, transported to the grape, and then found in the wine at concentrations high enough to produce a recognizable aroma or flavor. In finished wines, many of these elements are present below the threshold of human perception. In other words, they may be there, but we cannot necessarily taste them.

The fact that a vineyard grows on granite, schist, or limestone does not mean that we are literally tasting those rocks in the wine. That does not mean the soil is unimportant.

Soil influences the availability of water and nutrients, root development, vine vigor, grape ripening, and the way the plant responds to climatic conditions. The soil microbiome may also play an important role, although there is still much to understand about the relationship between microorganisms, the vine, and the wine's sensory expression.

Yes, climate influences the soil, the soil influences the plant, and the plant influences the grape. There is a relationship, but not necessarily a direct transfer of flavors from the rock to the glass.

There is another way to look at this question. When we say that a wine has a banana aroma, we know that no bananas were added during winemaking. We are using an analogy to describe an aromatic sensation that we recognize and associate with that fruit. The same applies when we speak of citrus, flowers, spices, leather, tobacco, or chocolate. So why should minerality be interpreted literally?

Perhaps the word does not have to mean that the wine contains minerals that taste like stone. It may simply function as a sensory analogy, like so many other words we use in tasting. That possibility seems reasonable. However, it leaves us with another question: what sensation are we describing through that analogy? This is where things become more complex.

Minerality is not a single sensation

The research presented during the seminar showed that minerality does not appear to correspond to one specific aroma, flavor, or compound. Rather, it is a combination of different sensory attributes.

Characteristics frequently associated with wines considered mineral include:

• Acidity/freshness;

• citrus aromas;

• flint or gunflint;

• graphite;

• wet stone;

• oyster shell or sea spray;

• a certain degree of concentration;

• slight bitterness;

• salinity;

• sulfurous or reductive notes.

Not all of these attributes are present at the same time, and not all tasters assign them the same importance. For some people, minerality is primarily aromatic and relates to notes that recall wet stone, flint, struck match, graphite, or oyster shell. For others, it is a mouthfeel that may be expressed through acidity, tension, salinity, bitterness, astringency, or a particularly firm and linear texture.

Some people associate minerality primarily with terroir, believing that certain characteristics of the soil, vineyard, and microclimate are expressed in the wine even when that expression cannot be attributed to a single compound. Others associate it with sulfur compounds and a slightly reductive state in the wine. So this is not a simple descriptor. It covers a very broad spectrum of sensations, and some of them are not always positive.

We do not all understand minerality in the same way

One of the most interesting aspects of the research presented was precisely the lack of agreement among tasters. In a study involving 34 experts from Burgundy, the participants tasted the same wines and rated their minerality.

The results revealed considerable disagreement. There was no global definition shared by everyone. However, researchers were able to identify small groups of tasters who behaved similarly. There was some consensus within each group, but that consensus did not necessarily extend to the other participants.

Another study compared two panels of experts, one from France and one from New Zealand, through tastings of Sauvignon Blanc wines. The French tended to associate minerality primarily with aromas, while the New Zealand tasters placed greater emphasis on sensations on the palate. Both groups used the same word, but they were not necessarily describing the same experience.

The way we learn to taste, the country where we live, the wines we know, our training, and even the words used by the professionals who taught us all influence the way we construct these concepts.

A word that elevates a wine

There is another reason for minerality's popularity... it carries a very positive connotation. We rarely hear anyone say that a wine is excessively mineral or that its minerality is a flaw. On the contrary, the term tends to suggest distinction, elegance, authenticity, and a deep connection to place.

One of the producers on the panel described it as a charming word. When consumers say that her wines are mineral, she takes the observation as a compliment, even though she cannot say exactly what they mean. She also noted that the term is often associated with low-yielding vineyards, wines from cooler vintages, young wines with good acidity, and soils composed of schist or quartz.

Another comment struck me as particularly revealing and curious. Telling consumers that a Riesling has high acidity may be interpreted negatively, but saying that the same wine has minerality communicates a similar idea of freshness or tension, but immediately elevates the perceived quality of the wine.

This is precisely where the word begins to bother me... Minerality can function not only as a descriptor, but also as a way of elevating a wine.

Consider this: a fruity wine may be simple or complex, an acidic wine may be balanced or aggressive, and a bitter wine may be interesting or unpleasant. But a mineral wine seems, almost by definition, to be a good wine. The word therefore stops merely describing a sensation and begins to function as a seal of quality.

And what about Portuguese wines?

Although the word minerality has been used in the wine world for around 40 years, I did not encounter it during my sommelier training in 2000, and only began hearing it in Portugal more recently, almost always in relation to white wines. Examples include wines from Bairrada, the Douro, Pico, and Colares, regions whose landscapes and geology seem naturally to invite this vocabulary.

During the seminar, however, much broader examples were presented, some of which surprised me.

In response to a question about the wines in which the idea of minerality was most often used, António Graça of Sogrape mentioned white wines from the Dão, particularly those made from Encruzado, as well as Douro wines aged in new oak and then aged in bottle. He added that, although less obviously, this association could also arise in White Ports, Vintage Ports, and very old Tawny Ports, in which some tasters might perceive sensations reminiscent of wet stone. He also mentioned aged Arinto and Alvarinho wines, in which kerosene notes may be interpreted by some people as part of this idea of minerality.

I admit that I had never heard the word minerality applied to these styles of Port, and it was one of the observations from the session that surprised me most.

These examples clearly show the scale of the problem. What do a young, citrusy Encruzado, a Pico wine with evident salinity, an aged Arinto with kerosene notes, and a fifty-year-old Tawny reminiscent of wet stone have in common?

Why I do not use the word minerality

I do not use the term minerality in my tastings or classes. Not because I believe people are not sensing what they describe, but because there is not enough agreement about what the word means.

When someone tells me that a wine is mineral, I try to understand what that person found in the glass. Is it the acidity? A saline sensation? An aroma of wet stone, flint, or graphite? A firm, vertical texture? A bitter finish? Freshness and concentration? All of these descriptions give us information, while the word minerality, on its own, tells us very little.

I prefer to use more specific descriptors that allow other people to understand what I am actually sensing and what I want to teach. I may speak of bright acidity, salinity, tension, concentration, or a more linear texture. These words may be less magical, but they are clearer.

This does not mean that the word minerality has to disappear from the language of wine. It can be useful, provided it is explained. When someone uses it in a written assignment, tasting note, or presentation, they should develop the concept and explain in what sense they mean “mineral.” Without that explanation, the word becomes too broad and allows each person to understand something different.

So, does minerality exist?

It depends on what we mean by minerality. If we define it as the literal taste of minerals from the soil passing through the roots into the grapes and then into the wine, that explanation does not have sufficient scientific support.

If we understand it as a sensory concept that brings together aromas, flavors, textures, and sensations associated with stone, salinity, acidity, freshness, or reduction, then yes, that experience exists.

But it does not exist as a single, universal sensation, it exists as a sensory, cultural, and emotional construction. A word that tries to bring many different things together and, for that very reason, can both help and confuse.

Wine is full of analogies, we do not need to abandon imagination or strip all the poetry from tasting, but poetry should not prevent us from seeking clarity. The next time you hear someone describe a wine as mineral, rather than simply saying whether you agree, perhaps you should ask: What do you mean by mineral?

This article was inspired by the online seminar “Minerality in Wine: What Are We Really Tasting?”, presented by Professor Jordi Ballester and organized by the Bund Deutscher Oenologen in cooperation with the International Viticulture and Enology Society and the Union Internationale des Œnologues on June 22, 2026. The scientific ideas, sensory studies, and panelists’ perspectives mentioned in the article were drawn from my notes from the session.