Imeruli khachapuri hails, not surprisingly, from the central region of Imereti and it’s essentially a flat bread stuffed with buttery Imeruli cheese curds and cooked on the stovetop. While adajruli’s dough is closer to that of pizza’s - with a satisfying crackle when you break off a piece - imeruli’s is soft, tender, and melts in your mouth.
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In February, I wrote Everything You Need to Know about Khachapuri for Culture magazine. I talked a little bit about its story and the culture that surrounds it (did you know the Georgians even have a Khachapuri Index to gauge inflation?) and listed a few of my favorite versions. I also promised you all a recipe for the Insta-famous Adjarian cheese boat, but deadlines and travel plans (aka Life) got in the way, and now here I am a month later finally addressing it.
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Lobio is a hearty, yet good-for-you Georgian bean stew chock-full of earthy spices and vibrant herbs that is traditionally served with cornbread.
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An afternoon of Georgian khinkali with me and my family!
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An epic journey through the Georgian Military highway inspires years of perfecting the culinary art of khinkali.
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Beep beep beep—ah, finally. You open the oven door to find your little roasted chicken inside, a perfect 165°. You set it on the counter top and give it a rest. Perfumes of lemon and sage fill your kitchen, triggering loud growls from your stomach, but you find ways to distract. Maybe you toast a chunk of bread or pour yourself a glass of wine, but you don’t bother with setting the table—you know perfectly well where this is going. The chicken should probably be given a few more minutes, but come on, hasn’t it rested enough already? You walk over, eying your poultry prize. There’s a moment pause, and then you dive right in. Pull off a wing here, a chunk of breast there. Crunchy, golden skin gives way to tender, supple meat, and ooh, yes, let’s mop up some of those pan drippings for good measure too. To eat with your hands is like choosing your own adventure, picking away until you reach the most rewarding and succulent bites. It’s all fun and Game-of-Thrones like, until you realize you’ve eaten way more bird than appropriate and you’ve got a hefty pile of bones to show for it. Whoops.
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The power of food—to transcend boundaries, both geographical and cultural, and unify—has been the main idea behind Chesnok. By focusing on the recipes that have allowed my own family to bond through the years, I have created a space, a virtual communal table if you will, where I too can forge a connection with others in my community and around the globe. This week marks exactly one year since I’ve started to share a little of my life and my family’s food heritage with you all and I’ve been rewarded with a warm and welcoming embrace. To know that others believe in me has gone, and will continue to go, an incredibly long way towards this passion project of mine.
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Even though I grew up in a household where the family meal was always the main focal point of holidays and family gatherings, where eating out was once-a-year kind of occasion, my own passion in the kitchen, particularly for baking, didn’t really take hold until high school. Not really sure the exact moment it all clicked, but I do remember coming across what was then a nascent blogging world, being subsequently introduced to the likes of smittenkitchen, David Leibovitz, and Joy the Baker. All of a sudden, obsessing over my RSS feed—making sure I was up to date on all my 20+ blogs— was my new and favorite source of procrastination. This was also around the same time that my usual visits to the library also began to change in motive. I would go and emerge hours later carrying literal stacks of books—no longer of novels, but of cookbooks and the occasional food memoir.
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In my last post I talked about summer’s generous bounty—how do you take full advantage of it?? It’s a bit tough, I have to admit—not only is there so much variety in produce available, but there’s also the sheer abundance of it too. At work, as a baker, I can’t seem to make enough pies, buckles, coffee cakes to keep up with all the peaches and nectarines that need to be made use of. Outside of work, I can’t seem to keep up with my impulse buying of heirloom eggplants, tomatoes and peppers at the farmer’s market. How can I resist when they’re all seeming to say, “Buy me before the season is over!!”
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Nature is so generous to us this time of year that, presented with such an abundant bounty, I often find myself facing the same dilemma. Do I savor this piece of fruit or vegetable immediately, teeming with all the goodness and flavor of summer, or do I save it instead to cook with? If I practice a little restraint and go with the latter, I’m then left with another dilemma: how do I make the absolute best use of it?
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In Tbilisi, the central marketplace is a city dweller’s link to the country. With two huge floors of stalls, not to mention the labyrinth of the outdoor market, you have an enchanting and exhilarating destination where vendors of every shape and size, from every part of the country, are unabashedly selling their wares. Counters are laden with farm-cured cheeses and meats, their sellers vying for attention and a chance to convince you their product is superior to all the rest. Rows of butchers wax poetic about their meat which, according to them, only that morning was still alive, grazing and sleeping in the meadows. Burlap sacks overflow with every nut, dried fruit, bean, and grain you can imagine, and barrels sit filled to the brim with pickles and marinades, hole heads of garlic soaking in verjuice or pomegranate juice.
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Birthdays are an interesting thing. Of course as a little kid, birthdays were the best day of the year—you are the birthday prince or princess and anything you say or want, goes. But as you grow older, things change. The day looses its luster for some and then others find that they’re better off without the yearly reminder that time is ticking away. Most likely the hedonist in me, I’ve always loved birthdays. Not only is it an excuse to eat, drink, and be all sorts of merry, but it’s also an occasion to bring together the people in your life to do so. And even when it’s not your birthday you’re celebrating, you can do what I did as a 4-year old and pout in the corner until you get a present too. Sorry, Mom.
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If I had to choose one dish that embodied home for me it is my mother’s borscht, a traditional Eastern European beet soup. There is nothing like sitting down to a piping hot bowl of it, a dollop of thick sour cream slowly swirled in, and for the heck of it, another dollop (or two) smeared on a hearty chunk of bread. Just looking at its gemstone color warms my soul, but one bite—spicy, sweet, sour, rich and creamy—fills me with all sorts of cozy, comforting feelings.
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Hey all! As I've said in the past, the reason why I started this blog was to be able to share my heritage and all of its delicious recipes with you all. It's one thing to post pretty pictures and talk about these dishes, hoping that you will try them on your own at home. But nothing will ever beat being able to gather in the kitchen and working with one another to create a bountiful feast. Well, I am pleased to announce that we'll have the opportunity to do just that!
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My lifetime of familiarity with the country of Georgia came full circle last year when my mother and I decided to make the 14+ hour journey to its ancient and rustic capital, Tbilisi. We flew from New York City to Istanbul, where we spent a few sultry days before boarding our midnight flight to Tbilisi Airport. A quirky place, the airport only comes alive in the wee hours of the night and dies down again at the first rays of sun. As we made our final descent, at the unfamiliar hour of 4am I may add, I found myself looking down at the quiet, twinkling city. The same city that my parents and I, a little babe at that point, flew out of exactly 23 years ago, never to return to until now.
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