Situated nearly 1,000 meters above sea level, with dark clay and sandstone soils beneath a 40 cm top soil. Organically farmed. Whole bunches (skins and stems included) are fermented and macerated in qvevri for six months, followed by an extended two-year aging period in the same qvevri before bottling. The wine bottle-ages for a number of years before it is released.
Okro's Wines
For John Okruashvili, wine isn’t a career pivot—it’s inheritance. He grew up in the hilltop town of Signaghi, drinking his father’s amber wine from demijohns, long before he left to earn a PhD in physics and build a life in telecom. But Georgia has a way of pulling you back. Wine here isn’t a hobby or a product—it’s culture, ritual, and pulsive. So he came home.
In 2004, he started small—300 kilos of Rkatsiteli, crushed in his apartment basement in Tbilisi, fermented in buried qvevri. The result wasn’t polished, but it had that feeling he’d been chasing: tannic grip, tea-like depth, a savory hum that only Georgian skin-contact wines carry. By 2010, Okro’s Wines was officially born.
Today, John farms organically across high-altitude sites in Kakheti—some nearing 1,000 meters—alongside parcels in Kartli and the Alazani Valley. No irrigation. No chemicals beyond minimal copper when needed. The goal is roots that drive deep and wines that taste like where they’re grown. New plantings start organic from day one; older vineyards are transitioned patiently and properly.
In the cellar, it’s qvevri all the way down. Whites from Eastern Georgia see skin contact—from a whisper of hours to months—depending on the grape and the season. Delicate Western varieties get direct press. Fermentations are native, aging happens underground in cool, cavernous spaces (including a converted Soviet-era reservoir), and the wines rest as long as they need—often two to three years. Nothing fined. Nothing filtered. Sulfur only if absolutely necessary.
John, along with his sister Jane (who crafts her own line, Sister’s Wines), was also early to pét-nat in Georgia—fermenting sparkling wines in small qvevri before it was fashionable. It wasn’t trend-chasing. It was curiosity meeting tradition.
The wines taste ancient and alive at the same time: amber Rkatsiteli with structure and savor, reds with wild herbs and mountain air, pét-nats that feel both joyful and grounded. There’s tannin, yes—but also energy.
Georgia claims 8,000 years of winemaking history. With Okro’s Wines, that history doesn’t feel museum-bound. It feels immediate, present, communal, and still moving.
