The barn here outside Sonoma has a small reading room off the tasting bench, and one shelf is given over to bottles that surprise people. Most visitors expect the Cotes du Rhone, the Chianti, maybe a Napa cab from a friend up the road. They don't expect the Koshu from Yamanashi or the qvevri-aged Rkatsiteli from Kakheti. But those bottles are the ones that pull a chair closer to the table. After thirty-some years repping small producers, I can tell you the most interesting pour in any given week is rarely the one from the country you'd guess.
The trade still leans on the old shorthand: Old World versus New World. France, Italy, Spain, Germany, Portugal on one side. California, Oregon, Washington, Chile, Argentina, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa on the other. Useful enough as a starting frame. But it leaves out a lot of countries that have been making wine longer than France has been a country, and a few newer arrivals that are quietly turning out bottles worth the shelf space.
The ancient producers people forget
Georgia, the country, not the state, has been making wine for roughly eight thousand years. That isn't marketing; archaeologists keep confirming it. What's changed recently is that those wines are finally reaching American shelves in any quantity. Georgian wine is traditionally made in qvevri, clay vessels buried in the ground, where the juice ferments on the skins for months. The white grapes treated this way produce what most of us now call amber or orange wine. Rkatsiteli, Mtsvane, and Kisi are the names worth memorizing. In 2025, exports from Georgia to the U.S. continued climbing, and qvevri-method wines in particular saw a sharp jump in Europe.
Moldova sits just east of Romania and produces more wine per capita than almost any country on earth. The reds from Feteasca Neagra and the whites from Feteasca Alba and Viorica deserve a look. After a long pivot away from the old Russian market, Moldova now sends most of its production to the EU and a growing share to the U.S. Production was up 31 percent in 2025, and the country hosted the International Organisation of Vine and Wine congress that same year, which says something about how seriously the rest of the trade is taking it.
Greece has never stopped making wine, but for decades the only Greek bottle Americans knew was retsina. That has shifted. Assyrtiko from Santorini is now on serious wine lists, and Xinomavro from Naoussa shows up in side-by-side tastings with Nebbiolo without embarrassing itself. If a guest at the table likes Barolo, pour them a well-aged Xinomavro and watch the conversation slow down.
Newer regions worth a pour
England, the country, is making sparkling wine that wins international medals against Champagne in blind tastings. The chalk soils of Sussex, Kent, and Hampshire turn out to be the same band of geology that runs under the Champagne hills in France. At the 2024 International Wine Challenge, an English Blanc de Blancs from Sussex took best in show for English wine. At the Decanter World Wine Awards in 2025, UK sparklers swept a clutch of top medals. The wines are not cheap, and they are not pretending to be Champagne. They are their own thing, with a brighter acid line and a sharper green-apple note.
Japan deserves more attention than it gets. The native Koshu grape, grown mostly in Yamanashi prefecture at the foot of Mount Fuji, produces a quiet, low-alcohol white with a citrus-and-stone-fruit character that pairs beautifully with light fish and tempura. In 2024 a Koshu from Suntory's Tomi vineyard became the first Japanese wine ever named Best in Show at the Decanter awards. That was a real signal. Japanese producers have been working seriously on this grape for forty years; the world is finally catching up.
The North American surprise list
Most Americans of our age can name Napa, Sonoma, Willamette, and maybe Finger Lakes. Here's where else to look:
- Niagara Peninsula, Ontario. Still the world's largest producer of true ice wine, made from grapes left on the vine into the deep freeze. The Rieslings and Chardonnays from that microclimate are quietly excellent, though the warming winters are making ice wine production less reliable year over year.
- Virginia. Thomas Jefferson tried to grow European grapes at Monticello and failed. Two centuries later, the state is producing serious Viognier, Petit Manseng, and Cabernet Franc. The Blue Ridge foothills give cooler nights and a longer hang time than the humidity would suggest.
- Texas High Plains. Elevation around 3,500 feet, dry days, cool nights. The grapes that work here are Mediterranean: Tempranillo, Mourvedre, Aglianico. Worth ordering by the glass if you see them on a list.
- Michigan. The Leelanau and Old Mission peninsulas put cool-climate Rieslings and Pinot Noirs on the table that hold up against the Finger Lakes.
How to actually drink these
The trick with unfamiliar regions is to buy one bottle at a time. Don't case anything until you know how it sits on your table. A few practical notes for the home stretch:
- Find one merchant who knows these regions. Independent wine shops, not the big-box stores. Tell them what you usually drink and ask for a single bottle from somewhere you've never tried. Most good shop folks will be glad you asked.
- Pour blind if you can. Have your spouse cover the label with a napkin. Most of us decide a wine is good or bad before the first sip, based on the bottle. Take that out of the equation.
- Match to a dish you already cook. The Georgian amber wines love a roast chicken with walnuts. The Koshu pairs with anything you'd serve a Muscadet alongside. The Xinomavro wants lamb.
- Take notes, even short ones. A line in a pocket notebook is enough. Six months from now you'll thank your past self when you can't remember which Moldovan red you actually liked.
Susan and I do a Friday evening pour of something from one of these unexpected places, maybe once a month. Half the time it's a producer I've never bought from. Some are misses; that's fair. But the hits stay with you. A 2019 Saperavi from Kakheti we opened last fall is still the bottle I keep recommending to friends, and it cost less than a midrange Cotes du Rhone. The wine world is wider than the labels at the front of the store. It's worth wandering further back.