"If we lean too much to the west, we're in trouble. And if we lean too much to the north, we're in trouble."

Patrick Honnef says this quietly, the way you say something you've been thinking about for a long time. He is the winemaker at Château Mukhrani, a historic estate in Georgia's Kartli region, and he has spent 12 years navigating the peculiar geopolitics of Georgian wine. His employer is Swedish. His adopted country shares a border — and a traumatic history — with Russia. His wine needs American consumers who have barely heard of the place. Sitting across from him at a long lunch table on a picturesque sun-drenched day, tasting through a lineup of wines made from grape varieties most Americans can not pronounce, I understand the bind he is describing in a way that no export chart could convey.

The pressure on Georgian wine in 2025 is not new, but it is acute. Russia accounts for roughly 60 to 65 percent of Georgia's total wine exports. Earlier this year, Russia raised excise taxes on imported alcohol. The result has been swift: Georgia's wine exports fell 15.8 percent in the first eight months of 2025, with shipments to Russia down 24 percent year-over-year, according to Georgia's National Statistics Office.

What makes Georgia's situation singular is its history. This has happened before. In 2006, Russia banned Georgian wine entirely — the official reason was pesticide contamination, though Georgia's then-president Mikheil Saakashvili called it "a political decision" tied to his NATO ambitions. The embargo caused an immediate 50 percent loss in exports. Georgian wine did not recover its pre-ban volume until 2013, the same year Russia lifted the restrictions. And then some Georgian producers drifted back. By 2024, Russia's share had climbed to 66 percent — the highest since before the ban.

"Russia can close the market anytime," Tamta Shvangiradze, an economics professor at Kutaisi International University, has said publicly. She was not speaking hypothetically.

Inside The Trap

The producers who understand this best are not always the ones most exposed to it. British wine consultant Robert Joseph, who has a joint wine project with Khareba's chief winemaker, Vladimer Kublashvili, at the vast Soviet-era Khareba Winery in Kakheti, says Russian exports for that company dropped from roughly 25 percent before the Ukraine war to approximately one percent today. The cause is largely financial: Russian sanctions made dollar-denominated bank transfers for wine sales effectively unworkable.

At Teliani Valley, one of Georgia's top-five producers by volume, roughly 40 percent of wine still goes to Russia. Export manager Shota Natroshvili is almost philosophical about the new excise taxes. "We are used to it," he says. "Whatever it is, we just adapt. Every year, there's a new rule." He pauses. "It's frustrating, yeah. But we got used to it." Teliani Valley is actively developing U.S. distribution and has added five importers in five new states. "Two years ago, distributors were not interested," he tells me. "Today, the market is searching for something new."

Château Mukhrani's situation is more precarious. The estate is part of Marusia Beverages, a distribution group more focused on spirits than wine, with U.S. relationships that were never designed for fine wine placement. A decade in the wrong channels has cost them American momentum. What surfaces in conversation with Patrick Honnef is a quieter anxiety: Château Mukhrani has a Swedish owner. A rumor is circulating among European-linked Georgian producers that any European-owned company could be moved to a Russian "bad list" — effectively frozen out. "Most of the money in Georgia is made in Russia," he says. "We hear we may be moved to a bad list."

"If Russia will close the market for Georgian wines," Honnef says, "then 90 percent of sales is away. Because still, you don't buy enough Georgian wine. That's why we're here. We need you, guys. We need to be independent."

The Producers Who Never Looked North

Not every Georgian producer made this bargain. In Kartli, natural winemaker Iago Bitarishvili has never exported to Russia. His reasoning is precise: Russia grants wine registration only to large producers, the regulations are suffocating, and he prefers markets where wine culture is sophisticated enough to receive his wines honestly. His wines go to Italy, France, the UK, Japan, and the United States.

When I asked him directly why he never sold to Russia, he looked slightly puzzled by the question. "I don't even sell in Georgia," he said. "Why would I need Russia?"

At Tchotiashvili Family Vineyards, a 16-hectare estate in Kakheti run by brothers Kakha and Ucha Tchotiashvili, the situation is more complicated. Kakha doesn't sell to Russia — but has heard his wines end up there anyway, purchased somewhere along the supply chain and redirected without his knowledge. He is focused elsewhere: his wines are in U.S. restaurants, and he travels personally to meet every sommelier who carries his bottles.

The American Question

At Georgia's National Wine Day conference in Tbilisi, Master of Wine Lisa Perotti-Brown delivered a frank assessment of the American market. U.S. wine imports fell 8 percent in late 2025 into early 2026. Consumption is contracting. And yet the $15 to $49 price category is outperforming, and consumers are actively looking for something new.

"I think there is a huge opportunity for Georgia in the U.S. market," Perotti-Brown says. "The story of discovery, the indigenous varieties, the ancient tradition — these are genuinely differentiated. But Georgia needs to focus. Too many choices overwhelm the consumer. Maybe five great varieties, clearly positioned."

Her specific recommendation: Saperavi. "Just like Argentina has Malbec, just like France has Cabernet, Georgia has Saperavi," she says. "It is probably the grape that can go global. It has a name that is relatively easy to pronounce. It has a meaning — Saperavi means dye in Georgian, a reference to the grape's extraordinary pigmentation. It has structure, it has balance. It is not hard to like."

Georgian wine exports to the U.S. have grown at a 15.5 percent compound annual growth rate from 2021 to 2024. The foundation is being built. But the gap between that growth rate and Russia's 60-plus percent share of overall exports makes clear how much work remains.

Back in Kartli, at the end of a lovely lunch at Château Mukhrani, Patrick Honnef is direct about what the moment requires. He knows the American market won't be won quickly. He knows that Georgian grape names are a pronunciation barrier on every shelf in the country. He knows that Marusia's distribution model wasn't designed for what he's trying to do. And he knows that the excise tax is only the latest version of a threat that has existed since the Soviet era ended.

The wine in the glass — a 2019 Chateau Mukhrani Tavkveri, one of Kartli's rarest indigenous red grapes, pale, spiced and deeply unfamiliar — is quietly extraordinary. It pairs perfect with the crisp spring day and the vast array of delicious Georgian cuisine. The question is whether enough Americans will find their way to it before Georgia runs out of time to introduce itself.

"If Russia will close the market for Georgian wines," Honnef says, "then 90 percent of sales is away. Because still, you don't buy enough Georgian wine." He pauses. "That's why we're here. We need you, guys. We need to be independent."

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