The grapes nobody wanted are back. Here’s which ones to buy.

Short answer: the question is whether the odd names showing up on shelves, Timorasso, Trousseau, Savagnin, Mondeuse, Godello, are worth your money or a sommelier’s hobby. They are worth your money, and the reason is arithmetic. These grapes were pulled out in the twentieth century because they ripened late, cropped small and had no name, and every one of those faults is now a virtue: late ripening is what a hot year needs, small crops are what a glutted market needs, and no name means no name tax. The same quality in a bottle that says Pinot Noir costs a third more. The rejects are the best value on the shelf, and the window is open until they get famous.

The evidence, not the vibe

Timorasso, a white grape from the hills around Tortona in Piedmont, was down to half a hectare in 1985 and stood at 500 hectares by 2025. One grower, Walter Massa, kept it alive because he believed it aged; the region planted Cortese and Barbera instead because they were easier. Timorasso is now the fastest-growing planting in its zone and on course to pass Barbera there. That is not a fad. That is a thousandfold reversal over forty years.

Bordeaux, the most conservative address in wine, did something it had not done in living memory. In 2021 France’s appellation body approved six new grapes for Bordeaux, four red and two white, chosen for their ability to cope with heat and shorter growing seasons. Touriga Nacional from Portugal, Marselan, Castets, Arinarnoa, Alvarinho and Liliorila. Two of those, Castets and Liliorila, are grapes almost nobody alive had tasted. Capped at 10 percent of a blend and never on a label, so you will not see them, but the direction is the point: the region that invented the grape hierarchy is quietly rewriting it from the bottom.

Champagne went further. In 2022 Champagne authorized Voltis, a mildew-resistant hybrid, the first grape with non-vinifera blood ever admitted to a French appellation, on a ten-year trial that lets a grower plant it on 5 percent of the vineyard and use 10 percent in a blend. The first real harvest came in 2025. Nobody will taste it in a bottle before 2030, but a region that guards its rules like scripture opened the door.

And in California, the trend has a face. Rajat Parr, the sommelier who helped build Sandhi and Domaine de la Côte, spent 2017 to 2020 grafting a coastal vineyard at Cambria over to Alpine grapes: Trousseau, Poulsard, Mondeuse, Savagnin, Gringet, Jacquère, Altesse, Pink Chardonnay and Mencía from Spain. His reasoning was the shopper’s reasoning turned inside out: he wanted grapes that would ripen in October at 12 percent alcohol in a cold summer, not grapes that ripened in August at 15. By his own account the experiment sorted itself; not every grape took, and the ones that did best were Savagnin, Gringet and Trousseau. The failures are part of the story. A grape that would not grow got pulled again, which is exactly how these varieties disappeared the first time. The difference now is that someone was tasting instead of counting tons.

Why the rejects are cheap, and how long that lasts

A bottle’s price has two parts: what the wine is worth and what the name is worth. A Timorasso that would be $45 with a famous grape on it sells for $28 because the shelf tag has to explain itself. The name tax on the big varieties is real money: for a wine of equal quality, Pinot Noir carries something like a third over Trousseau, and Chardonnay a quarter over Savagnin. That gap is your margin, and it closes as the grape gets known. Timorasso’s has already narrowed; ten years ago it was a $20 wine with a $35 wine inside it, and today the tag has caught up halfway. Trousseau and Mondeuse are where Timorasso was in 2015. Godello is a few years ahead of them and still cheap.

The catch is honest: some rejects were rejected for a reason. Altesse would not grow in Cambria; Poulsard is a nightmare in a wet year; plenty of revived grapes make thin, sour wine that a label calls “mineral.” The tell is who is planting them. When the person with the grafting knife is someone who tastes for a living, the odds are good. When it is a marketing department that found a rare name, they are not. On the shelf you can read that from two things: a real appellation on the label, and a price under about $35, because the honest revivals are priced by people who know the grape has no name yet.

What to buy, by what you already like

If you drink Pinot Noir, buy Trousseau or Poulsard from the Jura: the same weight, more spice, less fruit, ~$30 to me. If you drink Chardonnay, buy Timorasso, ~$28 to me, or an ouillé Savagnin, the fresh kind rather than the sherry-like kind, ~$28. If you drink Sauvignon Blanc, buy Jacquère from Savoie or Vermentino from Sardinia, ~$16 and ~$15. If you drink Cabernet, buy Mondeuse, ~$22, which drinks like a northern Rhône Syrah that missed the memo about being expensive, or Bobal from Spain, ~$12, the grape that used to go into bulk red and now makes the best cheap red in the country. If you drink Albariño, buy Godello, ~$16, the same coast and a rounder glass.

Every number above is what the wine is worth to me, not what the tag says. When the tag is under the number, buy it. When the tag is a third over, the name tax has arrived and the window has closed; move to the next reject.