In Georgia, a conversation about wine can easily turn into a conversation about family, history, pottery or what’s for lunch. Give it enough time, and someone will probably suggest opening a bottle.
Wine runs through so much of Georgian life that it rarely stays neatly within the glass. It brings people home for the harvest, gives shape to gatherings and appears in songs, stories and the patterns on our tablecloths.
To understand the attachment, it helps to start a little further back. About 8,000 years should do it.
A Very Long Relationship
Georgia is often called the birthplace of wine. It’s a phrase you’ll hear frequently here, and there is archaeological evidence behind the pride.
At Neolithic sites in Georgia, researchers have found traces of grape wine in pottery dating to around 6000–5800 BC. Long before anyone was designing a wine label, people here were already discovering what grapes could become.
Across the millennia, wine became woven into the country’s culture. Knowledge passed between generations, alongside the work of tending vines and the anticipation of another harvest.
That relationship continues to evolve. New ideas and techniques have joined older practices, while the vineyard remains a place where family knowledge matters.
Autumn Has an Appointment
In Georgia, autumn brings rtveli, the grape harvest.
The country is home to more than 500 indigenous grape varieties. Some are grown widely; others belong to particular places, with their own conditions and demands. By the time the grapes are ready to pick, a great deal of work has already gone into them.
Choosing the land, preparing the soil, planting and tending the vines: the harvest is the moment when a year’s attention finally fills the baskets.
Picking takes care, too. There are practical rules to follow and experience to draw on. Yet over generations, this demanding work has become an occasion people look forward to.
Family and friends gather, extra hands arrive, and the vineyard becomes a meeting place. For many Georgians, memories of rtveli are inseparable from the people who were there.
Good Wine Needs a Good Vessel
After the harvest comes another kind of patience.
One of the most distinctive parts of Georgian winemaking is the qvevri: a large, egg-shaped earthenware vessel buried in the ground, used for fermenting and storing wine.
Making one is a craft in itself. The clay is shaped by hand, dried and fired before the finished vessel can take its place in the cellar. The winemaker then brings another set of skills to the process, with careful attention at every stage.
The knowledge surrounding qvevri winemaking has been passed down through families and communities. In 2013, UNESCO inscribed the traditional Georgian method on its Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.
It is a remarkable piece of heritage to find still at work beneath your feet.
Best Understood at the Table
For all the history, one of the nicest ways to get to know Georgian wine is simply to sit down with it.
At a Georgian supra, the traditional gathering around a generously laid table, wine accompanies conversation, food and toasts. The occasion offers a glimpse of the country through the people sharing it with you.
Even the traditional blue tablecloth has a practical connection to wine: its deep colour helped make spills less conspicuous. A useful quality at a table where there is often something else worth raising a glass to.
Over time, the qvevri and the qantsi, the traditional drinking horn, have become recognisable symbols of this culture. You’ll find them far beyond the wine cellar.
From the Cellar to the Cloth
At BlueTabla, these familiar forms have found their way into our designs.
Our Qvevri tablecloth brings together vines, earthenware vessels and details drawn from Georgian wine culture. Qvevri and drinking-horn motifs also appear on our silk ties, carrying a little of that story beyond the table.
We love the shapes for their character, and for everything they call to mind: a vineyard in autumn, the cool of a wine cellar, a familiar voice proposing a toast.
Eight thousand years is a long history. There is still plenty to talk about over the next glass.
