Letter from Georgia Carla Capalbo
This letter should have been written from Georgia, in the Caucasus, but I missed the cut-off: Georgia shut its borders on 16 March, so I’m self-isolating in London. As I write this, there are very few cases of Covid-19 in Georgia, but the government has moved fast to impose social distancing and has shut down restaurants, bars and other businesses.
Like many other countries, Georgia’s tourism will take a huge hit this year. That’s problematic for its already fragile economy. Last year, Georgians protested against
Russia’s attempts to increase its political influence in their country. In retaliation, Russia cancelled all its flights to Georgia starting in July 2019, effectively putting the Russians’ favourite holiday destination out of bounds as thousands of hotel and tour bookings were cancelled.
That economic blow was somewhat mitigated by visitors from further afield. In the last few years, Georgia has become popular with those keen to travel off the beaten path and, in particular, with wine lovers in search of viticulture’s origins. Recently, wine producers in the countryside have been able to supplement their income by hosting meals and tastings (see ‘Wine lover’s guide to Georgia’, p114). This new shutdown is going to be tough for them.
Rural Georgia is truly beautiful. Against a backdrop of the spectacular Caucasus mountains, small family holdings cluster around villages. I love the way the Georgians have retained an integrated relationship with the land. Although many people are cash poor, they grow their own vegetables and fruits, and they usually have a few animals – chickens, cows for milk and cheese, pigs to fatten for winter slaughter – as well as a vineyard for the production of the family’s wines. Everybody who is able to here makes wine: it’s their social and cultural glue.
It’s within this context of family selfsufficiency that qvevri should be understood and appreciated. The qvevri is a large, egg-shaped clay vessel with a pointed bottom that is buried in the ground. It functions as the main vinification tool in the Georgian arsenal: traditionally, Georgians have relied on these tried-and-tested pots of local clays rather than on wooden barrels or steel tanks. Qvevri shards from 8,000 years ago have been found in archaeological digs in Georgia. The grapes go into them at harvest, sometimes still on their stems, and the fermentation takes place spontaneously, as nature dictates.
Qvevri, like giant coil pots, are handmade by local craftsmen. In the old days there were scores of families capable of building them. Today, that number has shrunk to a mere handful. The Soviets tried to discourage the use of qvevri, and even broke them or poisoned them with petrol as a sign of disrespect for Georgian culture. But thanks to a new wave of interest in natural and traditional wines, they’re making a comeback. Today, the craftsmen can hardly keep up with demand. Orders often come from beyond Georgia’s borders, as winemakers in Italy, Spain, Slovenia and further afield turn to this ancient tool.
Qvevri and the wines made in them are what’s driving much of the high-level wine tourism heading for Georgia. Ironically, the small qvevri winemakers – many producing only a few thousand bottles per year – are large figures in the natural- and traditionalwine movements. Yet they represent only a few drops in the ocean of Georgian wine, much of which is mass-produced for export, mostly to Russia and the ex-Soviet countries.
Personally, I can’t wait to return to Georgia. I miss those family growers and their pure ‘fermented grape juice’ pulled from the ground in unassuming earth cellars. Most of all, I miss their culture of feasting and hospitality, which celebrates wine as a life force and as a common blood that unites us all.
DCarla Capalbo is a food, wine and travel writer, and author of award-winning book Tasting Georgia: A Food and Wine Journey in the Caucasus (Pallas Athene)
‘This shutdown is going to be tough for Georgia’s small wine producers’
Ramaz Nikoladze’s Aladasturi, a light red (almost rosé) from the central-western Imereti region. These grapes undergo just one day of skin maceration before pressing; the wine ferments naturally in qvevri, with no added sulphites. It’s earthy yet juicy and fresh, with wild-strawberry notes, and it keeps you asking for more.