The Greek island of Santorini is a place of staggering beauty. Whitewashed houses cling to sheer volcanic cliffs as if hanging on for dear life, blue domes pop against the sky like scattered marbles, and the caldera’s jagged walls – streaked with deep crimson, burnt umber, and molten gold – plunge into sapphire waters below. The island, once a neat circular shape, was dramatically restructured when a volcano decided to make some rather radical renovations several thousand years ago.
I had never been. Never even been to Greece, in fact, a shortcoming that had long cast a shadow over my otherwise distinguished record of sunburn-related misadventures. And with Santorini’s summer crowds at their worst, it seemed increasingly unlikely I ever would.
But then, quite out of the blue, an invitation arrived. Shoulder season. Kivotos Santorini hotel. A room carved into the cliffs. A terrace with an uninterrupted view of the caldera. The kind of opportunity that makes one feel ever so slightly smug. This was before the earthquakes in January.
Earthquakes are part of life in Santorini. It sits on one of the most geologically lively bits of real estate in the Mediterranean, with not one but two volcanoes – one of which, Kolumbo, lurks just off the coast, still simmering beneath the sea. The locals take them in their stride, and schoolchildren practise monthly drills.
Churches are another defining feature – more than 600 of them scattered about – some barely large enough to hold a devout family. Some were built in moments of great religious fervour; others, so the locals will whisper, were constructed in strategic proximity to houses that may or may not have been built in strict compliance with the local planning regulations.
But to dwell too long on zoning laws would be to miss the point. Because beyond the precipices of volcanic rock and dramatic geology, Santorini is also a place of rather fine eating and drinking, once you know where to go. The volcanic soil, the salt air and the wind that whips through the vines have given rise to flavours so distinct they could never belong anywhere else.
Start in Fira, a warren of white alleys, the occasional flash of blue sea between buildings, the scent of souvlaki curling through the air. It is a place where cruise-ship crowds and luxury shoppers jostle past Missoni and Chopard boutiques, while stalls peddle evil-eye bracelets and floaty kaftans. By night the place roars to life. Restaurants spill on to terraces and bars crank up the volume as cocktails and Assyrtiko flow like some ancient bacchanalian rite.
It’s easy to be drawn to the terrace restaurants, all competing for the sunset, but better to slip down a side street to Lucky’s – a no-frills gyros spot where the set-up is gloriously simple. A long bar, a pork grill on one side, a chicken grill on the other. Bread hits the flat top, chips fry steadily in the background, and the meat – golden, crisp-edged, glistening – is shaved straight into warm pita with tomato, onion, and tzatziki. It is €4. You grab a seat, crack open an ice-cold beer, and consume the whole glorious mess straight from the greaseproof paper while three chaps keep the operation running with effortless efficiency, including Lucky himself, taking payment at the end.
The road out of Fira winds high above the sea, past vineyards and sheer drops, the land veering between deep black, rust-red and pale white. Eventually, Oia appears, the most photographed town on the island, its polished marble streets winding towards the ruins of a Venetian castle. Here, you will find Apsithia, a place for an inexpensive lunch with an uninterrupted view of the caldera.
The food is just as striking. The souvlaki arrives beautifully charred, skewered pork marinated and grilled, crisp outside and tender within, wrapped in warm pita with tzatziki, tomato and red onion. The moussaka is unapologetically indulgent – golden-topped with nutmeg-scented béchamel, layers of soft aubergine and spiced lamb.
For something even more removed from the tourist fray, Roka sits quietly on a shaded terrace with blue-painted beams overhead and trailing lilac blooms. No caldera view, but it doesn’t need one. A goat’s cheese tart is light and sharp, the smoked aubergine something between a mousse and a soufflé, full of depth without being heavy. The seafood is done simply – a whole grilled sea bream arrives in thick, charred fillets with puréed peas and delicate vegetables, while the squid is served as an imposing, flame-seared cylinder of torso, rather than the usual rings. The wine list is serious, the pours generous and the general sense of well-fed tranquillity overwhelming.
Farther south, the road winds towards Monolithos, where Galini Fish Tavern sits unassumingly by the water – the kind of family-run fish taverna you always hope to find but rarely do. The seafood is fresh and unfussy – whole sea bass, red snapper or sea bream, grilled, filleted tableside, and served with fries and olive oil-lemon dressing. The appetisers’ plate is a feast of Santorini’s best – tomato fritters, crisp courgettes, fava beans and slivers of white aubergine – all golden-fried and absurdly light. We follow with the mixed fish for two, exceptional value at €45. Dessert is baklava with vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of Vinsanto – a sharp contrast of warm spice and cool dairy.
Higher up, in the hills of Exo Gonia, is Metaxi Mas, a restaurant in a quiet village above the vineyards with sweeping views to the sea. A cobbled street leads to a terrace shaded by woven straw canopies, with fabric-covered tables and heaters for cooler evenings. It feels hidden away, but it’s one of the most beloved restaurants on the island.
The meal begins with bread, olives and a small carafe of raki, strong and clear, poured into tiny glasses. Starters arrive bubbling hot – a rich, cheesy broccoli soufflé, edges crisp and golden, and baked asparagus, creamy, soft, just scorched on top. The main courses are generous. The lamb, slow-cooked until it barely clings to the bone, is served with sugar-sweet tomatoes and a grain dish, possibly bulgur. The beef fillet in Vinsanto sauce is rich, the wine’s sweetness adding nuance, served with mushrooms, asparagus and roasted baby potatoes.
A wine tasting in Santorini is essential. At Gaia Winery (€20), it’s a sun-drenched lesson in terroir, set on the island’s eastern coastline with waves crashing just beyond the terrace. Assyrtiko, Santorini’s flagship grape, grows in tight, low kouloura baskets to survive the island’s fierce winds, its roots driving deep into volcanic soil so barren that phylloxera never took hold. The wines reflect this struggle – bracing, mineral, sharpened by drought. The tasting moves from Assyrtiko to a rosé, a rich, oak-aged Nykteri, and finally Vinsanto, Santorini’s sun-dried answer to dessert wine.
A few kilometres from Gaia, in the centre of the island, Argyros Estate takes a forensic approach to winemaking. The vast, modern production facility hums with optical sorting machines, yet outside, the vineyards tell an older story. Two hundred-year-old Assyrtiko vines still grow in baskets, while alongside them the estate experiments with a vertical training system, lifting the vines slightly higher to improve airflow. There is no irrigation – just mist off the sea. Tastings take place on a terrace beside these two worlds, with citrus-edged Assyrtiko, oak-aged Nykteri, and Vinsanto – aged in underground vats.
Santorini’s architecture is shaped by its volcanic past. When the island first emerged, it was covered in black and grey volcanic rock – the first settlers built cave-like homes using these materials, mixing ash with water in place of cement. The island’s early buildings were dark, blending into the landscape. Today, strict regulations enforce the whitewashed Cycladic aesthetic, but there are exceptions. Kivotos Santorini, perched in Imerovigli, the island’s highest and most dramatic caldera village, has taken a different approach. Its dark stone facade is a quiet nod to the island’s past, its stark beauty standing out against the pale perfection of its surroundings.
The views are staggering – an uninterrupted sweep of blue, cradled by the caldera’s steep, sun-scorched walls. The hotel itself, opened in 2019, is an exercise in exclusivity – just 10 suites and one villa, each with private pools or Jacuzzis, interiors that manage to be both cave-like and luxurious, and stunning terraces with views of the caldera that make it close to impossible to leave the resort. For those without the good fortune (or well-padded bank account) to stay, the terrace is open to nonresidents, offering cocktails, dinner and a front-row seat to one of nature’s most theatrical sunsets for those who book ahead.
The terrace is where you will find Mavro restaurant, where seasonal produce such as fava beans and sun-dried tomatoes are not merely served but transformed. Tomatoes are cured in seaweed (kombu-jime), artichokes softened using an old Santorinian technique, and fish cooked in volcanic ash. Even the bread and cocktails take their cues from the land, with volcanic ash sneaking its way into vinaigrettes and infusions.
Santorini’s extreme terroir shapes more than just the wine. At Mavro, dishes reference the land itself – fossilised shrimp nods to prehistoric finds in the island’s caves; another dish echoes the mist (anhéla) that rises from the sea and waters the vines at night. Wine appears in unexpected ways – Assyrtiko barrels are used to smoke risotto rice, citrus peels from cocktails are repurposed into miso. It is a place where the island’s past, present and possible future sit at the same table. Most importantly, the food is superb – carefully constructed, precise, but never overwrought. At Mavro, they distil Santorini’s history on to the plate with the finesse of an artist and the curiosity of a scientist, balancing innovation with a deep respect for the island’s produce.
Beyond the staggering views and the endless camera clicks, food and wine are not an afterthought in Santorini. The scent of charred fish wafting into the air, the clean bite of Assyrtiko, the heat rising off marble streets, it all stays with you. It is an island where food and wine are shaped by fire and salt, where vines hug the earth to escape the wind, where even the tomatoes are different – smaller, sharper, more intense.
Santorini is best savoured beyond the crowds. In the shoulder months, the island breathes. The caldera is quiet, the roads are open, the best tables are waiting. And with a glass of Assyrtiko in hand, the sea stretching luminously ahead, there is nowhere else quite like it.
Corinna Hardgrave was a guest of Kivotos Santorini
Santorini notebook
- Lucky’s Souvlakis, Dekigala, Fira, +30-2286-022003
- Absithia, Nik. Nomikou, +30-2286-071038, apsithia.gr
- Roka, m.Mpotsari 6, Oía. +30-2286-071896, roka.gr
- Galini Fish Tavern, Μονόλιθος, Ag. Paraskevi, +30-2286-032924
- Metaxi Mas, Έξω Γωνιά, +30-2286-031323, santorini-metaximas.gr/en/
- Gaia Wines, Θέση Βραχειές, Έξω Γωνιά, Perivolia. tel: +30-2286-034186, gaiawines.gr/en/visit-santorini-en/
- Estate Argyros, Episkopi Gonias, +30-2286-031489, estateargyros.com
- Kivotos Santorini, Imerovigli, +30-2286-028490, kivotoshotels.com/santorini/luxury-hotel-villas
