Georgian Fortifieds
Posted: 09:54 Fri 29 Jul 2022
We went to Georgia on holiday this year. I’d highly recommend it. The food is absolutely excellent, from small places to expensive restaurants.
Georgia is one of a number of countries which has a legitimate claim to have invented wine. They have a very high number of indigenous grapes, most of which I did not recognise and which vary from region to region. There is a very large amount of small-scale wine making for personal consumption: wine drinking is really important to Georgian culture.
Interestingly, most decent-sized producers now make 3 main types of wine: semi-sweet table wines which are popular with the Russians (the main drinkers of Georgian wine); dry “international”-style wines; and wines aged in clay pots, usually called Queveri. These are sometimes called amber or, in more trendy places, orange wines. The Queveri wines are the most traditional and were, I think, the ones traditionally made for personal consumption. The technique is attractively simple: the Queveri is buried under the floor. After harvest, it is filled with pressed grapes and their skins. These are then stired daily for a few weeks until fermentation is complete. The Queveri is then left to mature for a few months, during which time the wine naturally falls clear. The wine is drawn off the top and bottled: the skins, pips and liquid in the bottom is then removed and distilled to make something like grappa called chacha (“ja-ja”), and the Queveri is cleaned for next year.
To my palate, the very best wines are the white amber ones: the extended maturation on the skin in the Queveri makes them go a beautiful dark colour like a 20-year-old tawny Port and they have both the freshness of being a white wine but also some body from the tannins from the skins. Acidity is generally quite modest but the tannins allow them to age very well.
Qutie a few places also seemed to be experimenting with fortified wines, too. There was a huge amount of experimentation. I tried some which were made with the spirit added to arrest the fermentation; others where the spirit was added to the wine. One place was making something out of grape must and spirits. Others were playing around with expensive rather than neutral spirits.
Near Telavi (which is the centre of the biggest wine region in the East), a company called Shumi produced something called Zigu. This was made from grapes from their “library” collection: a vineyard containing 425 different varieties. I’m not sure when they fortified it, but they used expensive chacha and then matured it in both barrels and rather nice clear bottles. I wasn’t massively keen on it: less would definitely have been more.
The best fortifieds were simpler. The one I enjoyed the most was from Rostomaant Marani in Telavi. This was made using his normal red wine blend. I think fermentation was arrested with some mild chacha. It was then aged for quite some time. As with many of the better Georgian fortifieds, it reminded me of a red Maury or a Banyuls: full bodied: decently tannic; good acidity balancing the sweetness; and with a rustic directness that comes from non-Portuguese blends.
Unfortunately, beyond the Zigu, very few of these wines are easy to get in the UK. But if you ever have the chance to visit and try these intriguing wines do so: I don’t think you’ll regret it.
Georgia is one of a number of countries which has a legitimate claim to have invented wine. They have a very high number of indigenous grapes, most of which I did not recognise and which vary from region to region. There is a very large amount of small-scale wine making for personal consumption: wine drinking is really important to Georgian culture.
Interestingly, most decent-sized producers now make 3 main types of wine: semi-sweet table wines which are popular with the Russians (the main drinkers of Georgian wine); dry “international”-style wines; and wines aged in clay pots, usually called Queveri. These are sometimes called amber or, in more trendy places, orange wines. The Queveri wines are the most traditional and were, I think, the ones traditionally made for personal consumption. The technique is attractively simple: the Queveri is buried under the floor. After harvest, it is filled with pressed grapes and their skins. These are then stired daily for a few weeks until fermentation is complete. The Queveri is then left to mature for a few months, during which time the wine naturally falls clear. The wine is drawn off the top and bottled: the skins, pips and liquid in the bottom is then removed and distilled to make something like grappa called chacha (“ja-ja”), and the Queveri is cleaned for next year.
To my palate, the very best wines are the white amber ones: the extended maturation on the skin in the Queveri makes them go a beautiful dark colour like a 20-year-old tawny Port and they have both the freshness of being a white wine but also some body from the tannins from the skins. Acidity is generally quite modest but the tannins allow them to age very well.
Qutie a few places also seemed to be experimenting with fortified wines, too. There was a huge amount of experimentation. I tried some which were made with the spirit added to arrest the fermentation; others where the spirit was added to the wine. One place was making something out of grape must and spirits. Others were playing around with expensive rather than neutral spirits.
Near Telavi (which is the centre of the biggest wine region in the East), a company called Shumi produced something called Zigu. This was made from grapes from their “library” collection: a vineyard containing 425 different varieties. I’m not sure when they fortified it, but they used expensive chacha and then matured it in both barrels and rather nice clear bottles. I wasn’t massively keen on it: less would definitely have been more.
The best fortifieds were simpler. The one I enjoyed the most was from Rostomaant Marani in Telavi. This was made using his normal red wine blend. I think fermentation was arrested with some mild chacha. It was then aged for quite some time. As with many of the better Georgian fortifieds, it reminded me of a red Maury or a Banyuls: full bodied: decently tannic; good acidity balancing the sweetness; and with a rustic directness that comes from non-Portuguese blends.
Unfortunately, beyond the Zigu, very few of these wines are easy to get in the UK. But if you ever have the chance to visit and try these intriguing wines do so: I don’t think you’ll regret it.