Often, foreigners’ first encounters with Georgian food revolve around khachapuri – the cheese-filled breadboat that is sometimes served with an omelet. The khinkali is not far behind, which is a soup dumpling that’s big and bold. It is considered disgraceful to eat the soup dumplings with anything other than your hands. The question of who serves the best khinkali in Tbilisi—as determined by the fillings, the spices, and the structural integrity of the twisted knobs of dough that form the shell—is a subject of heated dispute among locals.
Current favorites seem to be Café DaphnaThis sleek, modern restaurant is located in the middle of the city. The waiters, wearing leather aprons, serve me this national treasure. The beef khinkali tastes like a herb-infused meaty bath, with coriander, parsley and other herbs. While the potato and cheese version is more like a sweet, savory dessert. You can eat a khinkali in many ways. I prefer to turn it upside down and sprinkle black powder on its flat bottom. (This is a delicious snack.) The juice drips down my fingers. I catch it by holding the dumpling near my mouth.
After a khinkali I need a shvitz. From Istanbul Then, you can get in touch with us. CaspianThis region is known for the high-quality of its products bathhouses. The hot sulfur springs underground have made visitors like Alexander Pushkin and Alexandre Dumas happy and clean. Orbeliani’s blue-tiled architecture with a Persian flavor is my favorite. In a few minutes, I’m soaking in my own private bath with the sulfurous smell all around. A large Georgian walks in and begins to bathe me. After some friendly waterboarding he starts to scrub my body with what appears to be a coarse sponge trapped in a giant bubble of soap. He cuts off a bit of my chest. Eventually, the bleeding stops and I feel more clean than ever.
The bath attendant asks me in Russian, where I am from. I was speaking in English to show respect for Georgia’s recent difficult relationship with Russia.
“Leningrad,” he says.
“Which neighborhood?”
“Moskovskiy Prospekt.”
“My brother lives here!”
Georgia is a country where food and hospitality intersect with politics. The birthplace and target of Russian and Persian invasions, it has also been for centuries. I am sitting at one of Tbilisi’s most beautiful courtyards, if it is not the best in the world. The old courtyard. Writers’ House of Georgia, now also home to Café Littera, Tekuna’s restaurant. I am having dinner with Giorgi, a local reporter, and his friends. The dry white Mtsvane is in a bucket filled with ice, and the veal tartare has Georgian truffles. Even on a sunny summer day, the ghosts from the past can be seen in Tbilisi. The restaurant cats are seen pacing through the shrubbery, past a palm tree and past the restaurant. “Beria”—one of Stalin’s henchmen—”had a torture dungeon on the other side of this wall,” Giorgi tells me. Rumor has it that he placed the wall there to allow the writers to hear each other scream. It is common to hear the Georgian nighttime rhythm: friends, clinking glasses and horror.
With the help of new friends, my waistline continues to grow. In the city’s restaurants, I chase the garlic, walnuts, and pork fat away with chilled summer wine qvevri made using a Georgian technique that involves pressing all of the grapes, including the skins and stems, into an old jug, where it ferments for about half a year.
