When
it comes to wine making, the French are the new kids on the block,
and the New World wines are scarcely more than a glint in the
milkman’s eye. We know that the Greeks and Romans, both the mortals
and their gods, enjoyed an amphora of wine or two; indeed, the
Greek’s earliest name for southern Italy was Oenotria (“the land
of vines”). This was far from the start of the story, however, as a
little to the east, in a southern corner of the Caucasus, the
Georgians had been confidently making fine wines since at least the
7th
millennium BC.
Some 8,000 years after the first Georgian successfully fermented his grapes, drank the proceeds and felt sufficiently generous to enlighten his neighbours about his discovery, we arrived in Tbilisi, the country’s modern capital, on an Aerosvit flight from Kiev. The official cast a cursory glance at our passport photos, wielded his stamp with a flourish and then, la piece de resistance: we were each presented with a bottle of Georgian wine. It wasn’t an attempt to bribe the journalists; it is standard protocol. Every new arrival receives red wine. This simple gesture says that you’re warmly welcome in Georgia, and that even in the 21st century, wine remains at the very heart of Georgian hospitality and culture.
With so many vines
and so little time, we needed an expert guide. Fortunately, they
don’t come much more expert than Eko Glonti of Lagvinari, a
Georgian wine lover and fine wine producer who has made it his
mission to revive the traditional art of Georgian wine making and to
share it with the world. Our palates were in for a treat.
A fine wine starts
with the raw materials: the grapes. There are nearly 400 grape
varieties indigenous to Georgia, though less than a tenth of these
are still commercially grown. Of these, the Rkatsiteli (white) and
Saperavi (red) are the two most popular. Traditionally each different
variety of vine was paired with a specific terroir
(the
natural environment, including soil, topography and climate, in which
vines are grown) to produce the highest quality of grape and also
unique regional wines.
Meticulous records
of these pairings, and indeed of all aspects of viticulture, were
made and preserved in Georgia’s Orthodox monasteries as the tending
of vines and production of both sacramental wine and wines for
everyday drinking was an integral part of the monks’ work. Some of
the most detailed historical wine records were kept at the 6th
century Ikalto Monastery near Telavi in Kakheti, (Georgia’s
dominant wine-producing region), and as you wander around the
recently restored complex, the churches and other ecclesiastical
buildings still lie side by side with grape presses and wine cellars,
and lines of discarded kvevris
(vast clay jars in which wines are traditionally fermented and
stored) are propped up along dry stone walls. Only now, 20 years
after Independence, are Eko and his fellow Georgian wine makers able
to rediscover this wealth of ancient knowledge; what was collected
and so carefully preserved for millennia was almost lost forever
during the Soviet era when monasteries were destroyed, their monks
killed or exiled, and mass-production without regard for quality
became the focus of agricultural policy.
Georgia’s
finest vines have always been grown on the mountain slopes as opposed
to flat valley bottoms. Though yields on these slopes are often
lower, the vines are fed by mineral-rich springs and streams, and the
drainage of the soil is also better. The Caucasian Mountains have a
moderate climate, with warm, moist air drifting across from the Black
Sea. The winter months are relatively mild, with little if any frost
at the lower altitudes, and the long, warm summers give the grapes
plenty of time to ripen and become naturally very sweet.
Grapes
are still harvested by hand, then pressed to release their juice in
one of two ways. Deep stone troughs in the Uplistsikhe Archaeological
Museum, a rock-cut monastery complex first carved out in the 10th
century BC, show that the crushing of grapes was historically done
under foot, the juice running out through narrow channels into a
second trough below. Each trough is more than 3m long, which
indicates the scale of this ancient production. More familiar to
today’s artisanal winemakers, however, are the wooden presses still
often found in the cellars of older houses. Some 2-3m wide, the
grapes are tipped into the top, and a giant brass screw can be turned
to ensure maximum juice is extracted. The skins are not to be wasted,
however, for Georgian wine making requires that the skins (called the
must) should be fermented along with the grape juice, giving the
resulting wine its unique colour and flavour.
Wine
is fermented, and later stored, in a kvevri,
a vast clay pot (8,000-10,000 litre capactity is not uncommon) coated
outside with lime and sealed inside with natural beeswax. The kvevri
is buried beneath the ground, and it is this step that enabled
Georgia’s ancient wine makers to achieve such early successes as it
ensures the wine is kept at a constant temperature throughout the
fermentation process. As the kvevri
is pointed at the bottom, grape seeds sink to the bottom whilst the
skins float to the top; no additives are required to separate the
sediment from the wine.
Though kvevri
making was once widespread in Georgia, it is sadly a dying art. There
are now kvevri
makers in only three of Georgia’s regions: Kakheti, Imereti and
Guria. With the majority of wine makers using modern metal vats,
purists have a second fight on their hands – saving kvevri
production – if they are to be able to continue making Georgian
wines in the traditional way.
The proportion of
grape skins added to the kvevri
and the amount of time it is fermented for depends both on regional
style and whether red or white wine is being made. With Kakhetian
white wines, for example, Rkatisteli grapes are fermented with 100%
of their skins, and the two are left together even once fermentation
is complete, the wine taking on a deep, golden colour. The liquid is
completely clear as the skins and sediment naturally separate from
the wine.
If making
traditional Georgian wines is an intellectual exercise and a
logistical challenge, then the hard work is rewarded with that first
sip. The colour is intense and the smell pure – not a single whiff
of added yeast or chemicals – but these sensory delights are still
secondary to the taste. The red wines explode on your tongue with
rich, fruity flavours; the whites are still full-bodied but fresher,
more citrusy and bright. Though they can be enjoyed alone, they’re
also the perfect compliment to traditional Georgian foods: the
slightly salty white cheese, a chewy, baguette-style bread dipped in
nutty sunflower oil, and organic tomatoes bursting with taste.
Slowly but surely,
Georgia’s natural wine makers are drawing away from the
mass-produced pack and gaining recognition not only in the former
Soviet Union where their reputation is already well-established, but
also on the international stage. Georgian wines stole the show at the
2013 Raw Wine Fair in London, and have in the past year stormed onto
the menus at the Michelin-starred Fat Duck, Hibiscus and Noma restaurants.
Isabelle Legeron, France’s only female Master of Wine, has become
one of the most vocal (and well-qualified) proponents of Georgian
wine, bringing kvevri
wines in particular to popular attention in her Travel Channel
series.
Access to this
nectar is still restricted by low levels of production and limited
overseas distribution, but those wine lovers who are both determined
and have a taste for the finer things in life should be able to track
down the occasional bottle from specialist wine dealers. Lagvinari is
the brand that has so far earned the greatest critical acclaim.
Thankfully they sell wines by the case from their website
(www.lagvinari.com)
and will ship worldwide from Georgia or the UK. You should also look
out for Chveni Gvino (Our Wine), Soliko Tsaishvili, Shavnabada
Monastery’s Cellar, Antadze Winery, and Winery Nika. Pour a glass,
take a sip, and enjoy what is, quite literally, the Daddy of all
wines. 