Daria Antonenko writes Daria Antonenko is a Wine Specialist from Ukraine / DipWSET, student of Court of Master Sommeliers / Wine judge and Gérard Basset Foundation Scholar.
Telti-Kuruk: Fox’s Tail and smell of sea
I must confess: ever since wine became my profession, the romance of seeking answers at the bottom of a bottle has lost its relevance. The poetry of the moment gave way to a systematic approach to tastings, and with it came adulthood, war, a move to London, and a deep longing for my hometown Odesa.
I first tasted Telti-Kuruk on Langeron beach, on a sun-bleached veranda that smelled of sea salt, fried red mullet, and late-afternoon heart-to-hearts. According to local winemakers, Telti-Kuruk means “fox’s tail” in Turkish, a poetic name earned by the elongated, fluffy, slightly curved grape bunches. But in truth, it’s the kind of wine that leaves a silky trace of late summer on your lips.
In the glass, it’s a pale straw color. On the nose - ripe yellow plum, dried pear, green almond, wild honey, orange zest, and a touch of iodine, as if the sea breeze itself had gotten trapped in the bottle.
That same breeze, that used to tousle my hair during childhood walks down Primorskyi Boulevard, the one that now visits me in dreams, especially on days when I feel painfully homesick.
One sip, vibrant acidity, a light oily texture, and everything else fades into the background: deadlines, to-do lists, even my allergy to ragweed. What remains is a subtle, lingering aftertaste of sage, with a trace of salt and minerality. Nothing flashy, but incredibly honest.
Telti-Kuruk doesn’t have the photogenic glamour of Sauvignon Blanc or the polished luxury of Chardonnay. But it has its own charm, stubborn, Odesan, and unbending. It doesn’t try to please. It simply exists. And in that quiet authenticity lies its true beauty.
Telti-Kuruk is an indigenous variety to the Black Sea region, and especially to Bessarabia, where Greek, Turkic, Bulgarian, Moldovan, and Slavic traditions have historically intersected. It is a place where grapes have been cultivated since ancient times, and where local grape varieties often lacked written documentation, passed down instead from generation to generation through oral tradition. It nearly disappeared in the 20th century, dismissed as too “local” for industrial winemaking. But it quietly and modestly survived in small backyard vineyards and in the memories of older generations.
It performs best on the calcareous and sandy soils of southern Ukraine, near the Black Sea coast, where the vines quite literally breathe sea air. It’s a late-ripening grape that requires patience and a careful hand: picked too early, it gives only sharp acidity without character; too late, and it loses its freshness.
In recent years, a handful of winemakers, bold enough, and perhaps a little sentimental, have started bringing Telti-Kuruk back into the spotlight. Not as a wine trend, but as an act of preservation.
Telti-Kuruk is made in a variety of styles: sparkling or still, fresh or aged, but in any case, it’s not a wine for weddings or corporate parties. It’s a wine for quiet moments. For evenings alone with your thoughts. For heartfelt conversations with someone who knows you too well.
It doesn’t demand applause or medals. It is, by nature, an introvert. And like many introverts, it harbors an inner world that is both rich and fiercely honest, if you’re willing to meet it halfway.
To me, Telti-Kuruk is not just a grape. It’s a mirror. A whisper from home. A liquid bridge between who I was and who I am still becoming. It carries the scent of the Black Sea and fried red mullets, the sound of laughter echoing from my grandmother’s kitchen, and the warmth of old friends. It speaks of resilience, of humor, of all the things Odesa teaches you without ever saying a word.
Telti-Kuruk is a wine about values. About identity. And about the truth that the darkest hour really does come just before the dawn.
So if you ever find yourself standing on the shore of the Black Sea, with salt on your lips, wind in your hair, and a quiet ache for something that maybe never was, - order a glass of Telti-Kuruk.
It will understand you.
The main image, of Telti-Kuruk bunches, was provided by the author.
