By Margot van Lieshout-Koopmans
On the outskirts of Yerevan, hidden behind the walls of new builds, lies a small artisanal winery with a secret. Moonq Wines is modest in scale, but in its backyard stands a nursery that holds one of Armenia’s most improbable treasures. Among apricot and fruit trees, cuttings of a nearly forgotten grape variety stretch tender leaves toward the blistering sun. Their survival is not chance, but the result of one man’s devotion — and of a country’s fragile memory of its past. The grape is called Nrneni, and from its fruit comes one of the rarest rosés in the world.
It was 38 degrees when I arrived to meet Tevan Poghosyan, the man behind Moonq. We had spoken before, but this was my first time stepping into his winery. In October 2024, I had been among the fortunate few to taste his second-ever vintage of Nrneni Rosé (2023) — only 300 bottles existed, now sold out. By then, the 2024 vintage was already fermenting in the cellar, waiting for me to taste. If the first vintage was proof of survival, the second was a glimpse of what this grape might yet become.
But the story of this wine does not begin in Yerevan. It begins west of the city, in the sun-scorched plains of Armavir, where the Ararat Valley stretches beneath the shadow of Mount Ararat. Here, at around 900 meters above sea level, desert-like conditions and volcanic alluvial soils have tested vines for centuries. To speak of terroir in Armavir is to speak of extremes: of hot summers, bitter winters, and the resilience of both people and grape in the challenges set by its climate.
Armenia lies in the South Caucasus, a rugged land between Europe and Asia, bordered by Georgia, Azerbaijan, Iran, and Turkey. It has long been a crossroads of cultures and empires, and wine has always been part of that exchange. This small, landlocked country may be easy to overlook on a modern map, yet it holds one of the oldest winemaking landscapes in the world.
The Cradle of Wine, and a Lost Grape
Armenia is often called the cradle of wine. In the southern region of Vayots Dzor, beneath limestone cliffs, archaeologists uncovered the Areni-1 cave, home to the world’s oldest known winery – 6,100 years old. Inside, clay jars, a primitive press, and grape seeds were found: evidence that humans have been fermenting grapes here since the dawn of civilization.
That ancient legacy echoes across the country, from Vayots Dzor in the south to the vineyards of Tavush in the north, and the vineyards in Armavir in the west, where Nrneni now grows. Armenia’s vine story is not bound to one valley but to an entire nation shaped by millennia of winemaking.
And yet, not all of Armenia’s grapes carried forward equally. Through centuries of invasion, collectivization, and changing tastes, many native varieties slipped toward extinction. Nrneni was one of them. The vines were planted in 1980, during Soviet times, when vineyards were managed under the kolkhoz system, focused largely on spirit production rather than fine wine. By the late 1980s, as many vineyards were abandoned, Nrneni’s identity had slipped into obscurity.
When Armenia gained independence in 1991, land was privatized: roughly 7,000 square meters of land, whether orchard, vineyard, or rugged ground, were carved up into small plots and distributed among villagers, with little regard for what each parcel contained or who received it. Many sold their plots, some tore out the old plantings, but one grower quietly kept his half-hectare of gnarled bush vines. By chance, those vines turned out to be Nrneni. That they survived at all is a testament not to planning but to persistence – of both people and plant. Forgotten by history, these vines would become Tevan’s unlikely destiny.
The Rediscovery
By the time Tevan came across the vineyard, winemaking was still something he knew only in the most artisanal of ways. His grandfather had taught him to improvise with whatever was at hand – cotton cloths to keep the dust out, makeshift pumps, recycled bottles. It was how his own family had made wine when they lived in Artsakh, now part of Azerbaijan. For years, while working in politics, Tevan would make small batches to share as gifts with friends and colleagues. But when he stepped away from public life and began working with the vineyard owner from whom he bought grapes, one obvious problem emerged: he had no idea what grape he was working with.
“And when you commercially sell wines, putting anything like ‘grape vine’ on the label – that is not going to work,” Tevan laughed. “I needed to know what variety it is.”
Local research institutions could offer no clarity for months. So he turned to Kristina Margaryan, – a work relation of his sister Bella Grigoryan. Kristina is head of the Plant Genomics Research Group at the Institute of Molecular Biology, National Academy of Sciences of Armenia and sent her a bundle of cuttings. Days later, Kristina phoned back, barely able to contain her excitement:
“Tevan, get in your car, go to the vineyard, and fence it immediately. Put up surveillance if you have to.”
He was baffled. “Just tell me already what variety it is.”
Her answer changed everything. The vines he was tending – and from which he bought grapes from its original owner – were thought to be extinct. It was Nrneni, a dark-skinned Armenian grape no one believed still existed. Suddenly, Tevan was not just making wine; he was holding a piece of ancient history in his hands.
Kristina spent months returning to the site, also teaching Tevan how to choose the right cuttings so the lab could test each vine for authenticity. The results were conclusive: Tevan’s parcel contained the only known, proven vines of Nrneni in all of Armenia. The vineyard was later officially certified by the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) as authentic Nrneni.
From this forgotten vineyard and his backyard nursery, a new chapter for Armenian reds and rosé was about to be written.
The Terroir of Extremes
To understand Nrneni Rosé, one must first understand its place. In the western plains of Armavir, vineyards lie in the shadow of Mount Ararat, where desert-like conditions and volcanic alluvial soils make viticulture both possible and precarious. At around 900 meters above sea level, the summers are scorching, with daytime temperatures that regularly climb beyond 30 °C, before dropping easily 20 degrees at night. Rainfall is sparse – average being 165 millimetres a year, in which July and August are mainly the driest months – and winds sweep across the Ararat Valley, while winters can be bitterly cold and plunge to -7 °C. Vines survive here not because conditions are easy, but because they are resilient. That resilience is mirrored in the wines themselves: concentrated, structured, and carrying an elegance born of hardship.
Yet terroir here is not only geological but cultural. That Nrneni survived Soviet Times at all is a testament to the resilience of both people and plant.
For Nrneni Rosé, this terroir is transformative. The hot, arid summers of Armavir give the grape its concentration and ripe dark fruit, while the cool nights preserve its acidity and lift. Its berries are not only dark and thick-skinned, but Nrneni is also a teinturier grape, carrying pigment in both its skins and flesh. Because of this, they require only four to five hours of skin contact — any longer and the result veers toward red wine. This brief maceration — longer than in a typical Provence rosé — yields a wine closer in hue to ruby than to salmon, reminiscent of Bordeaux’s clairet, often mistaken for a light red. The aromas are equally unconventional: wildflowers and green herbs, a distinctive marshmallow sweetness, and dark fruits like prunes and forest fruits, while the palate marries crisp acidity, that freshness, with ripe, supple tannins — a textural depth almost unheard of in rosé. This to me, is the signature profile of Nrneni Rosé: a wine that consistently expresses its terroir with both freshness and lively structure, and that typical red and dark stone fruits, no matter the vintage.
It is a style shaped as much by the land as by the hand: a wine made without oak, only stainless steel, to let the terroir speak unaltered.
A Rosé Born of Scarcity
If terroir is the stage, scarcity is the drama. Each year, Moonq Wines bottles no more than 600 bottles of Nrneni Rosé. In its first vintage (2022), there were only 600 bottles; in 2023, 300; & 2024, 600; and in 2025, Tevan hopes to repeat the same.
Its creation, in fact, was not Tevan’s original plan. His passion lies with red wines, and it was only after advisors urged him to make a rosé – since “everybody makes one” – that he agreed. What began as a concession to the market has since become something far more meaningful: a rosé so rare, so unlike anything else, that Tevan admits he is relieved to see the small production sell out each year.
Scarcity, however, gives the wine its gravity. Every bottle becomes more than a drink – it is a fragment of preservation, proof that Nrneni still exists. Collectors and sommeliers seek it out not only for its rarity but for what it represents: a grape that could have vanished, reborn as a wine that challenges the very definition of rosé.
I have been fortunate enough to taste each of the first three vintages of Nrneni Rosé, on two occasions during visits to Armenia in 2024 and 2025, when I met with Tevan. Even in such tiny production, the differences are striking.
- The 2022 carried a raw, untamed energy that I can hardly describe, a brisk acidity wrapped around dark berry and stone fruit, laced with wild herbs, with a structure that hinted at red wine more than pink, It was a brutally hot, dry vintage, with July highs around 34 °C and virtually no rain – Armavir’s heat concentrated the fruit, while the cooling nights kept the wine fresh and defined.
- The 2023, by contrast, showed greater poise: firmer tannins, an even deeper core of dark stone fruits, like prunes and plums, and a more refined balance between freshness and weight. A slightly gentler summer that year preserved structure without losing power.
- The 2024, still young when I tasted it in July 2025, already promised to have a silkier texture and a more expressive aromatic profile – wild herbs, rose petals, that distinctive marshmallow sweetness, and dark stone fruits all lifted by mouthwatering freshness.
Even in its young age, it reflected how Armavir’s climate can shape a wine that is both bold and refined. All three vintages finish bone dry, with less than 2g/L of residual sugar.
Tasting across these three vintages is to taste not only the evolution of a grape, but the dialogue between scarcity and terroir – wines that carry the mark of their place. And while each release is small and fleeting, Tevan is already working to ensure that Nrneni’s story does not end here.
Preserving a Future for Nrneni
If the first vintages of Nrneni Rosé are proof of survival, Tevan’s next challenge is to secure its future. The half-hectare of vines in Armavir can only produce so much, and every bottle feels like a gamble. To give the variety a chance beyond scarcity, he has begun propagating new vines by layering the originals, patiently waiting until they are strong enough to be uprooted and replanted.
In spring 2025, he established his own vineyard, though it will not be until 2026 that he learns how many vines have truly taken (new) root. Importantly, all of them grow on their own roots — Tevan refuses to graft them onto American rootstocks, convinced that doing so would dilute their Armenian identity. For him, Nrneni must remain wholly itself, unaltered by foreign DNA. At least for now. Almost all Armenian varieties are still on their own rootstocks and ungrafted, only a fair few newly planted vines, European varieties are grafted on American rootstocks.
If all goes well, within five years he will nurture a fully operational half-hectare of Nrneni under his own care. Until then, every vintage remains precarious – and every bottle, precious.
And if scarcity defines the vineyard, so too does it define the cellar. In an era of stainless-steel efficiency and marketing gloss, Moonq Wines is almost defiantly artisanal. The cellar is compact, modest, and largely handmade. Equipment is scarce; improvisation is constant. Each bottle, Tevan says, passes through his hands more than seventy times before release. The process of making Nrneni Rosé is as unconventional as the grape itself.
A Future Written in Pink
Rosé has long been trapped by clichés: summer quaffs, poolside refreshment, pretty labels. Nrneni breaks free. It proves that rosé can be serious, structured, and rooted in place — even when made in the tiniest of quantities. With only a few hundred bottles released each year, its very existence is a reminder that rarity can carry meaning beyond luxury: it is survival, bottled.
Will Armenia redefine rosé? Probably not. But it doesn’t need to. Wines like Nrneni live in a category of their own: not benchmarks, but touchstones. Rare, improbable, fleeting – the kind of bottle that lingers in memory long after the last sip. If Provence rosé is the wardrobe staple, Nrneni is the heirloom jewel: a wine you may only encounter once in your lifetime, but one you will never forget.
Where Heritage Takes Root
On the outskirts of Yerevan, the cuttings in Tevan’s backyard nursery continue to grow. In Armavir, vines set their roots in volcanic soils that have witnessed six millennia of winemaking. And in Moonq’s cellar, a handful of bottles of Nrneni Rosé lie in silence, waiting for the world to catch up.
This is rosé not as fashion, but as heritage. Not as summer pink, but as a reflection of a once-forgotten terroir. In every glass of Nrneni Rosé, Armenia speaks – of stone and survival, of history and hope, of a grape that refused to disappear.
And in that voice, rosé finds a new identity: not an accessory of the season, but a fine wine of place – reborn in the terroir of Armavir.