We just got back from two unforgettable weeks in Croatia — island hopping, winery touring, and eating and drinking our way across the Adriatic with thirty of our wine club members. I know, tough job.
One of our early stops was Korak Winery, just outside of Zagreb. The place felt like home — perched on a hillside, green and endless. Except, unlike home, they have a Michelin-starred restaurant on-site. We were treated to a multi-course lunch that blew us away. Their Sauvignon Blanc was a standout, and one dish — a toast topped with thin-sliced veal tongue and horseradish — instantly transported me back to pintxos bars in San Sebastian, Spain. I’m not even kidding, it was that good. That lunch became the benchmark for the rest of the trip… but there’s one wine I can’t stop thinking about — and it wasn’t from Korak.
It came from an old military bunker on the island of Vis.
That’s where we met Vugava — a white grape that only grows on Vis, and one we had never even heard of before. In Croatia, the white wine darling is Grk, grown on Korčula. It’s pricier, better known, and seems to get all the love. So why is Vugava the underdog?
At Lipanović Winery, tucked inside that chilly concrete bunker, our host poured us a glass of Vugava and my tasting notes went a little off the rails: Marasca cherry, French oil-cured olives, herbes de Provence, honey, and white flowers. Marasca cherries — the kind used in Maraschino liqueur — made sense since I had just tasted that for the first time earlier in the trip. But olives and dried herbs in a white wine? Those are red wine notes. Vugava was wild. And strong — it clocked in at 15.2% alcohol. That’s big for a red, let alone a white. I was intrigued, maybe even a little confused, but not yet in love.
What I was in love with was the tuna pâté they served alongside it — one of my favorite bites of the whole trip.
As we left, we handed our host a bottle of our Viognier as a thank you. Just as we stepped out into the warm sun, she chased us down. “The owner would like to meet you,” she said.
Enter Antonio — the huge guy I’d spotted earlier, casually smoking near the entrance. He had a welcoming smile, a curious energy, and a T-shirt that read “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” A quick scroll through Lipanović’s Instagram confirmed it: loud shirts are his thing. The contrast was great — bold clothes, buttoned-up wine labels.
Antonio was excited about the Viognier. He told us that for a long time, people thought Vugava was Viognier — but DNA testing had finally set the record straight. Just like how they discovered Zinfandel’s Croatian roots (Crljenak Kaštelanski, for the record).
We exchanged pleasantries, snapped a photo, and headed back to the ship. Our group couldn’t stop talking about the bunker winery. One couple bought a bottle of the Vugava but most weren’t quite sold. That night at dinner with our friends Frank and Kathleen, we saw it on the wine list. We ordered Pošip instead.
But something about Vugava stuck with me.
When I got home, I started digging. The Greek connection caught my eye — there’s evidence they introduced the variety to Vis centuries ago. And that high alcohol? Probably a holdover from ancient winemaking methods, like sun-drying grapes before fermentation. Suddenly it all made sense. The wine wasn’t trying to be fashionable. It was a time capsule.
That’s the kind of wine I respect — the kind that doesn’t chase trends or cater to the modern palate. These days, so many old-world wineries are tweaking their style to suit international tastes — more alcohol, less acid, new oak, sweet vanilla. But Vugava? It’s unapologetically itself.
There are only a handful of producers making it, all small, like us. I’ll probably have to go back to Vis for a second taste… Twist my arm. ; )
Frank — yes, that Frank — texted me after we got home, asking about Antonio and his wine. My reply was simple:
“Antonio is rad.”
Frank Ober is a sommelier and wine blogger. Check him out at frankober.net.
Živjeli,
Josh, co-winemaker
