Mencía’s Missing History

Ask a grower in Bierzo, Galicia, or Portugal where mencía comes from, and each will tell you it belongs to their backyard. Mencía may be the star grape of Bierzo and Ribeira Sacra, but it’s also grown throughout Galicia, and in the Douro and Trás-os-Montes regions of Portugal, where it’s known as Jaen. Mencía’s trail cris-crosses northwestern Iberia, but its presence likely predates the borders that divide Spain and Portugal. No one knows for sure where mencía came from. Its history is confusing and uncertain. And that’s exactly why it demands a closer look.

Although its origins are murky, the grape’s name has deep roots. Mencía, a Spanish female name, is most likely a diminutive of “Clemencía,” meaning “indulgent” or “kind.” Another possible origin links it to the Basque word “Mendia,” meaning “mountain.” Though less common today, the name is still used in Castilla y León and Galicia, and according to Spain’s National Statistics Institute, there are 2,971 women named Mencía.

There were a handful of famous Mencías throughout history, but one woman in particular might have inspired the naming of a grape that also crossed borders and defied expectations.

Mencía López de Haro was a noblewoman whose life story is worthy of adaptation into an 8-episode PBS Masterpiece period drama. Born around 1215 in the Basque Country to an important family connected to the kingdoms of both Castile and León, she eventually married Álvaro Pérez de Castro, a powerful noble involved in the ongoing conflicts between Christian and Muslim territories in southern Spain. While her husband oversaw the stronghold of Martos on the Cordoban frontier, Mencía showed courage and leadership by helping defend the town from Moorish attacks. Sadly, her husband died a few years later, leaving her a widow.

Afterward, Mencía married King Sancho II of Portugal. This marriage was controversial from the start, since both Mencía and Sancho were descended from Afonso I of Portugal. Many Portuguese nobles and the church were suspicious of her because she was a foreigner and because there were questions about their close family ties. At the same time, Portugal was going through political unrest, and mencía became a target for blame as tensions rose.

Spurred by whispers that the family ties between Mencía and Sancho were, *ahem* stronger than they should be, Pope Innocent IV annulled their marriage and threatened ‘appropriate measures’ if Sancho did not comply.

“Kidnapping of Queen Mencía López de Haro” - Illustration by Alfredo Roque Gameiro in the book História de Portugal, popular e ilustrada, by Manuel Pinheiro Chagas

Sancho refused to give up his wife, so noblemen loyal to his brother—who was a pretender to the throne—kidnapped Mencía from the royal palace and took her to Vila Nova de Ourém. Sancho abdicated and fled to Toledo, and died in 1248. As for Mencía, the trail goes pretty cold. Some say she went to Galicia from Ourém, and others say she continued to manage her own lands in Castile. She died around 1270, and she’s buried in the Monastery of Santa María in Nájera.

Mencía's life was filled with political drama, personal hardship, and moments of bravery. Despite the challenges she faced, her story shows a strong and determined figure who left a lasting mark on medieval Iberian history—and may have even given name to a grape that appeared centuries after her death. And just as Mencía the queen left behind a trail of intrigue and uncertainty, the origins of the grape called mencía are tangled in mystery, with the historical record raising as many questions as answers.

The earliest known mention of the name mencía in connection with a wine grape comes from the 19th-century Andalucian botanist Simón de Rojas Clemente y Rubio, who wrote about a grape called “Mencida” and claimed the name had Arabic roots. However, his description doesn’t match the mencía we know today.

In 1843, Antonio Casares (right, wearing some sweet mutton chops) published the first detailed catalog of 24 Galician grape varieties, but mencía wasn’t included among them. That would suggest that mencía likely wasn’t planted in Galicia until later, since Casares even included minority varieties such as Piquepoul—yes, apparently there was Piquepoul in Galicia—in his exhaustive survey.

The first author to reference mencía in Galicia was Darío Fernández Crespo, who chronicled the phylloxera invasion in the province of Lugo. Writing in 1897, he said that mencía, which he called “Cepa del Medoc” or “Cabernet de los Franceses”, was introduced to Lugo around 1884. He described it as high-yielding, with sweet, juicy, aromatic grapes, and wrote that it was resistant to moisture and diseases like mildew. According to Fernández Crespo, mencía performed excellently in the nearby Valdeorras region and was suited to vineyard areas like Chantada and Monforte—both in modern-day Ribeira Sacra—where it had already been established for some years.

Further records come from José Núñez, whose vine nurseries in Valdeorras supplied much of Galicia and northern Castilla y León with grafted rootstocks after phylloxera. His early 20th-century bills of sale also mention mencía by name. A 1911 government report stated that, before phylloxera, mencía covered around 5% of Lugo’s vineyards. Meanwhile, records compiled by Nicolás García de los Salmones in the early 1900s describe mencía as an old and well-established grape in the province of Ourense. He believed it to be “Garnachilla” or “Garnacha del Norte,” though he noted it was also commonly called “Medoc” or “Portugués Bleu.”

The notion that mencía was French, whether “Medoc,” “Cepa del Medoc,” or “Cabernet de los Franceses” was repeated by other writers, likely following Fernández Crespo’s lead. Despite being thoroughly debunked, the idea still persists that mencía is simply another name for Cabernet Franc.

Modern researchers place mencía in the “eastern Galicia genetic group,” alongside varieties like Godello. The latest hypothesis is that mencía descends from the grapes Albarín Tinto and Patorra. Albarín Tinto is cultivated in Spain under many names—baboso negro, bruñal, caíño gordo—and in Portugal as afroxeiro, tinta Francisca de Viseu, tinta bastardeira, or tinta bastardinha do Douro. Patorra was planted in 1865 in Alijó, in the Douro, leading some researchers to suggest that mencía could be Portuguese in origin. Others propose it may come from the Salamanca area of Castilla y León.

Mencía's story mirrors the complexity in the wines it yields. It’s been mistaken for other grapes and foreign varieties, and we know what it isn’t. But at the same time, modern research can’t seem to give us a definitive picture of its origins. What remains clear is that mencía is inextricably intertwined with the landscapes and cultures of northwestern Iberia. Exploring it means engaging with a history that crosses borders and centuries, and revealing how tradition and innovation coexist in the vineyards where it grows. For me, that makes mencía not only fascinating to the history student in me, but also a grape even more worthy of drinking.