On the ragged edge of adrenaline, shaky from two—maybe four—espresso shots on an empty stomach, I pass through Tiger, Georgia. To call it a small mountain town would be generous, with a population of 429. Still, I can’t help but smile as I approach the lone stoplight. It’s a welcome pause—an excuse to change my Spotify playlist and to take in this quaint outpost on the edge of Clayton, near the North Carolina border.
I first noticed the biscuit place, appropriately named The Biscuit Place. I consider pulling over for a snack, but my commitment to keto keeps my hands firmly planted on the steering wheel of my Kia Soul.
Moving forward, it’s obvious that this community is defined as much by what it has as by what it lacks. I pass a drive-in movie theater, a charming Airbnb with a towering billboard, and the largest building so far—the senior center. It’s clear where this town’s priorities lie, and as a Millennial with an old soul and a glasses prescription of -5.00 diopters, I respect it.
Yet, just beyond the town’s edge, where the road nudges up against a small wood, Tiger Mountain Vineyard emerges–both a reflection of its community and a defining feature of it.
I pull into the gravel parking lot just as the dark clouds finally follow through on it’s threat to rain. I check for an umbrella, no dice, naturally. Yet, my enthusiasm cannot be dampened, despite my determination to appear otherwise, this is my first real wine tasting. With a pink cashmere sweater wrapped around my shoulders and a Nautica sweater beneath, I feel I have all the prerequisites covered.
Shielding my head with a piece of paper, I follow the signs to the door, reminding myself as the rain seeps into my shoes that the tasting room awaits, glowing with the hospitable warmth of soft lighting and an inviting air. Nicolette, the impeccably poised marketing director, greets me with a pleasant hello as I step inside, dripping like a homeless cat.
The Tasting
Awaiting my arrival sat a menu and a long-stemmed wine glass, its bowl deep and generous—the kind of glass I imagine resting elegantly on the coffee table of Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment. After a brief exchange, the tasting begins.
The first sip is careful—tentative, even. The Viognier ‘22 is light and crisp, and while I don’t have the vocabulary of a sommelier, I recognize the freshness, the way it glides over my tongue without resistance.
“Stainless steel aging,” Nicollette explains, “keeps the flavor clean.” I nod as if I understand completely.
By the time I reach the White Tiger NV, I feel more at ease. Fruity notes bloom across my palate, and I start to see the appeal—not just of the wine itself but of the ritual. The slow pour, the swirl, the sip.
The corners of my mouth turn upward into a smile as Nicollette describes the vintages tropical complexity, and I find myself nodding because I can actually taste it this time.
“Butterscotch,” she says, and—yes—there it is, just at the end.
With the Petit Manseng ‘22, I take a bolder sip. Heavier, richer, yet still not sweet. It’s award-winning, I’m told, a small vineyard’s triumph over European and West Coast
competitors. I appreciate the weight of it, how it lingers longer than the others. I swirl the glass, watching the legs form against the bowl, and feel like I’ve unlocked a tiny secret.
The reds bring a shift. Rabun Red, the vineyard’s first blend, introduces a deeper complexity, the difference between Aristotle and Mr. Rogers. Boysenberry, black licorice, a touch of spice—notes I would have missed entirely had they not been pointed out. I take another sip, trying to find them, and to my surprise, I do.
By Fearful Symmetry NV, I’m less concerned about appearing knowledgeable and more
interested in simply enjoying the experience. Earthy, dark, and traditional, it feels serious but inviting- like a friendly librarian. I take my time, letting it settle, waiting for its layers to reveal themselves.
Then comes the Cabernet Franc—this saucy wench is the boldest of them all. A sip and I immediately understand its reputation as a good-time girl. It’s as quirky as Jessica Day from New Girl but without the contrivance.
More surprising still is the peppery undertone, sharp and familiar, like an irascible but beloved grandfather whose gruff exterior hides an undeniable
warmth.
If the other wines were measured and composed, this one has a bit of attitude. It doesn’t wait to be appreciated—this vixen demands it. Nicollette laughs as I react to its strange, mushroom-like depth, and I can’t help but blurt out, “This tastes like something from The Hobbit!”
She nods knowingly, a real professional, accepting increasingly eccentric metaphors as
we get deeper into the tasting.
Eventually, as I polish off my sixth sample, I remember that my breakfast has consisted solely of an IV line of espresso—woefully inadequate for the sumptuous amount of wine I have consumed. As a novice wine taster, I am ill-prepared for the looseness in my limbs, though I feel pleasantly warm and sated. Nicolette, the consummate professional, gives no sign that she recognizes my predicament, though she clearly does. Without missing a beat, she provides me with a tray of cheese and crackers—this girl is an angel.
The Atmosphere
I’ve visited a lot of vineyards in my time as a weekend warrior, but few hit the mark as precisely as Tiger Mountain Vineyards. The room reminds me of a caramel macchiato—espresso with warm milk and the richest touches of deep caramel. The walls are accented with honeyed wood, and the floors swirl like milk poured into ice coffee.
A roaring fire flickers on the television while string lights cast a soft glow beneath the bar. The wall of wine, housed in an enormous rack of geometric shapes, stands out as the most
impressive feature. Where many food and beverage establishments force customers into
furniture that feels more like a hostile attack, Tiger Mountain Vineyards offers comfortable
chairs that avoid the trap of appearing orthopedic—or worse, antiquated.
The theme is mid-century modern without slipping into Soviet-styled brutalism or the white-washed, LED-lit hellscape of too many corporate chains that mistake sterile uniformity for sophistication. How do they achieve this? Through a warm color palette and subtle nods to Southern hospitality, reflected in the cozy throw blankets draped over plush armchairs.
The History
For five generations, the property served as a dairy farm, preserved by Dr. John Arrendale
Ezzard, who left the timbered mountains of Denver in 1995 and a career in medicine for the sloped foothills on a windswept hill in Rabun County.
Instead of towing heavy milk pails, he cultivated succulent European grapes that persevered despite the intemperate and capricious North Georgia weather.
Ownership of the property eventually passed to the Vitello family, who now operate, expand, and preserve this generational treasure. Exhausted from the grind and competition of his career as a technology entrepreneur, Vitello felt the mountains calling and knew he had to answer. He tried his hand as a gentleman farmer and succeeded. Now a prominent venue for weddings, the Vitellos plan to expand their offerings to include not just the venue, menu, and seating but also overnight accommodations—perfect for bridal parties seeking a seamless and memorable celebration.
Conclusion
While the property has transitioned from a dairy farm to a vineyard and eventually to an agro-tourism destination and event space, the premise remains the same.
This land is carved out to be both utilized and preserved, where the very work of the farm maintains it as a place of retreat, with no fear of it becoming the next Dollar General.
It’s a place of escape not only for the professionals who manage the space but also for those seeking a good vintage and a taste of elegance in an eccentric little town at the edge of the world.
This article comes to Now Habersham in partnership with The Cute North Georgian
