Wine

What is wine?” Ramaz Nikoladze savours the question as he pauses in his efforts to prise open the clay seal of a buried qvevri. “You have a grape, you crush it and wait. But you must do it with your heart, not your head – though sometimes you need your head too,” he adds wryly. The opening of a qvevri is a ritual that often takes place with spectators gathered and an air of celebration and suspense. Before he built his new indoor cellar in 2015, Ramaz followed the customs of his part of the country by burying his qvevri outdoors, covered only with a makeshift roof to keep the worst of the rain off. The neck was all you saw poking up from the ground, with a large stone over its wooden cover. To remove the clay seal takes strength and precision. When it’s done, and the wine appears just below the surface, there’s a round of applause. Now Ramaz looks serious: he scoops out the first glassful of amber liquid, takes a sniff and then a big sip. His eyes are closed but he’s smiling. “Yes, this is a wine.”