“We dreamed of creating our own winery, every Georgian does,” the proprietors of Marani Milorauli Winery told me. Considering how obsessed the people are with Georgian wine, that was almost an understatement.

Tasting wines in the cellar of Marani Milorauli Winery with proprietors Tamara and Sandro Milorava.

Millennia of obsession with the grape in Georgia is punctuated by the fact that they have always made wine in their own, surprisingly unique way. Not only is it a different process than anywhere else in the wine world, but it’s virtually anathema to Western oenology.

I had toured some of the larger, well-known wineries in the Duruji Valley, the heartland of the Georgia wine industry, and I asked my hosts at the guesthouse where I was staying if they could recommend a small, boutique winery, preferably one that is forging its own, innovative path. They took me to see their friends Tamara and Sandro Milorava of Marani Milorauli Winery.

They were extraordinarily gracious and welcoming, opening their doors and arms to me, showing and describing their entire operation, and then taking me into their cool cellar to sample their roster of wines while we nibbled on an array of Georgian snacks.

The wine tasting was complemented with Georgian snacks: bread, salty local cheese and churchkhela, walnuts coated with a concentrated grape juice, flour and sugar concoction.

They had some family experience with making wine, testified to by the huge, 85-year-old vine in their verdant yard of flowers, herbs and vegetables that was planted by great grandfather – and is still producing fruit today. The Miloravas are among an estimated 100,000 Georgians, out of a population of some four million, who make their own wine at home (they typically supply family and friends with wine as well, so it’s actually hundreds of thousands of Georgians who drink homemade brew). But then, about three years ago, the Miloravas decided to get serious about their winemaking, strive to create high-quality products and turn it into a viable business. Today, they are producing some very promising wines, and the most recent vintages are for sale in local shops as well as in the capital, Tbilisi.

The 85-year-old vine in the Milorava’s verdant yard of flowers, herbs and vegetables was planted by a great grandfather and is still producing fruit today.

Grapes are fermented naturally in Georgia ‒ with skins, seeds and often stems too ‒ in large terra-cotta pots typically holding 800 liters buried in the ground called qvevri. The process is organic with nothing added, with no metal fermentation tanks and no aging in oak barrels. They’ve done it their way, according to archaeological evidence, since at least the 4th millennium B.C. The qvevri system produces reds and whites with unique characteristics. They’re generally dense and weighty with generous acidity and tannins. The reds can be so dark they’re almost black, almost chewable, and often have notes of dried fruits. The whites are amber colored, often strong and complex, with mineral notes.

Sandro, the winemaker, pulled the tops off of several of the seven quevri in the ground in their backyard, checking the fermenting batches of both red and white grapes. He nodded satisfaction with the evolution of the process so far, and then we headed down into the nexus of the operation: the cellar under their house with its well-organized maze of storage tanks filled with wines and stacks of bottles of different years, all labeled with a range of details.

A Georgian wine-making qvevri which is buried in the ground and filled with grapes.

The fun was just beginning: they lined up a row of bottles on the table, representing older and newer production, and we began tasting. Among them was a smoky Kisi, one of Georgia’s most popular whites; a Superavi, a star among Georgian reds; and a chacha, the potent Georgian brandy (theirs was 45 percent alcohol). We also tasted an experimental wine made from Italian Montepulciano grapes that they were testing to see how it came out when made in a quevri. A few minutes into the tasting, grandma appeared with a plate of Georgian foods, including bite-size pieces of bread, salty local cheese and churchkhela, walnuts coated with a concentrated grape juice, flour and sugar concoction that is a favorite Georgian snack.

Overall, the wines had good body and bouquet, but were young at heart. The progress in just a few years was evident, however, a harbinger of better wines in the years ahead. Currently, they have a small production of 3,000 bottles per year, but they are very ambitious: “We hope to build the winery up to 20,000 bottles per year, but only if we can maintain good quality,” said Tamara.

Sandro Milorava, the winemaker at Marani Milorauli Winery, with his qvevri filled with fermenting batches of red and white grapes.

We finished the tasting with the fiery chacha, and then, to my great surprise, they invited me to a supra at their house that evening. The quintessential manifestation of the Georgians’ love of the vine, a supra is a roaring bacchanalian feast – hours and hours of eating, toasting and consuming huge quantities of wine. I walked back to my guesthouse in the middle of the night under a light drizzle, causing dogs to bark as I passed, feeling exhilarated and carefree (Ok, I’d consumed who knows how many liters of wine at the supra), and appreciative that I was included in an age-old Georgian tradition that defines the people of this warm and welcoming land.

— Story & Photos by Edward Placidi

Hungry for more? Read more about Georgian wine in another wonderful article by Ed, Wine-Mad Georgia: A Night at the “Supra.”  And if you enjoy that, you’ll love his recent article about Eastern European Chimney Cakes, which are quite a treat!

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