God (or Beauty) Lives in Khinkali (or Soup Dumplings)
THE DIVERSE SIMPLICITY OF GEORGIAN FOOD
Art by Lydia Funk
There was a fuckin’ Dutch Jew one time, who talked about how he thought that the whole of the universe was made from one substance, which he identified as God, or “nature and its modes” (same thing as God, basically). That’s a pretty beautiful thought, that might make it easier to see the beauty – or perhaps a small bit of whatever the fuck God is – in everyday things.
So, Georgian food. Georgia is a small country, about half the size of the U.S. state and a third of the population. It has its own writing system and exists in the Caucasus, a region between the Black and Caspian Seas with places like Eastern Turkey and Iran (definitely the Middle East) to the south and Russia and Ukraine (definitely Eastern Europe) to the north. That gives Georgia the nice vague label of a “transcontinental nation.” In other words, Georgia experiences a mix of exposures to many different cultures.
This is something that comes across in Georgian cuisine. The first dish, at this particular Georgian restaurant, was called, aptly enough, “Taste of Georgia.”
It consisted of five dips, each in a neat little scoop, with several pieces of house-baked bread and an authentic Georgian cheese off to the side. The dips were, in order: eggplant (beige), beets (bright pink), Ekala (a type of flower stalk that’s basically a spinach, greenish-brown), spinach (light green), and red kidney bean (brown). In a wooden bowl, they formed a colorful spectrum, with various textures visible from each of the scoops. The Ekala looked roughly chopped, with the stalk appearing almost mushroom-like and a pomegranate molasses (FLAG: Persian influence) dripping off the ball. The beets (FLAG: Eastern European influence) were smooth, with their traditional watery-earth petrichor flavor dominating. Spinach was next: a creamy green flavor not unlike what an artichoke dip might bring you, except with the crunch of a single pomegranate seed that had been artfully pressed into the dip as you bit down. Eggplant, then, was different; in bigger chunks, with a light smokiness to it and the familiar feeling (less creaminess) of vegetable flesh breaking between teeth as you ate. Ekala was perhaps the best, with its texture still mushroom-like, somehow very tender, with the dribble of pomegranate molasses adding a uniquely deep and fruity note in contrast. Each of the five was complex, interesting, and subtle at the same time—not trying to be more than the given ingredients, letting each base speak for itself. The bread, which quickly ran out, was likewise simple, but soft, and authentically itself. Good bread.
The curveball, the wild child, was the Georgian cheese. It had been placed off to the side, easy to miss behind the vibrant dips, sprig of mint garnish, bread, and pomegranate seeds elsewhere in the bowl. The cheese looked like dried mushrooms, or maybe rope—dozens of thin white strands that had been twisted into 1.5-inch strands, each with a few frayed strands hanging off. If you weren’t paying attention, you might casually place a bit of the cheese on top of some bread with sauce smeared over it—oh boy, what a surprise. Should you do so, you’d be quickly overwhelmed with the cheese’s intense flavor. Smoky, salty, and powerful, a small serving would quickly overpower any of the subtle and earthy dips it had been placed over, and a large bite would leave you reaching for water as the salt dehydrated your mouth. Oh boy.
It’s not that the cheese wasn’t still good. It was. Just, surprising.
This dish, like all things, slowly disappeared. Ekala first, then beet, eggplant . . . soon all of them were gone. On to the next.
Next was khinkali. Or, as they’re more commonly known, soup dumplings (FLAG: Central Asian/Turkish influence). There were three of them, large, white, soft, and crimped—exactly what you might expect from Chinese cuisine. They weren’t Chinese, though. Georgia!
Eating them, as instructed, was a finger food experience: pinch the base, flip the dumpling upside down, take a small bite, and then suck the broth, or soup, out from the dumpling. Meaty, warm, cozy, and delicious. No notes.
Lastly came the star of the show. What you might think of if you’ve ever thought of Georgian food. The name is khachapuri, and apparently this one was from the Adjaruli region. A khachapuri is perhaps like a bread bowl—flat and round but with two points jutting off in opposite directions, each a crust of Georgia bread. This shape was designed to mimic and honor the boats of Adjaruli, on the Black Sea coast. In the middle, in the circle that’s the center of the bread bowl, there’s a mix of more Georgian cheese—feta (FLAG: Greek influence), and mozzarella (FLAG: Italian influence). In the middle of that, a single egg yolk sits. If you ask – a friendly waiter might humor you – add a dollop of butter to the khachapuri, and, with silverware, mix the yolk, cheese, and butter together in the middle of the dish to a gloppy delicious confection. However, like the soup dumplings, khachapuri is not traditionally eaten with silverware. The first step – taking the corner crust piece, dipping into the glorious middle, and consuming – is easy enough. The bread is soft, fluffy, perhaps buttery. The middle is cheesy and messy, rich and delicious—exactly what you would expect. The real challenge arises after the crust pieces are gone. Break the middle and the cheese may escape. Be on guard, and best of luck.
There’s much more Georgian cuisine offers, including a lush and beautiful wine culture, the oldest in the world. Supposedly if you fly into Tbilisi they hand you a free bottle at the passport check-in. Still, one has to stop eating and drinking sometime.
Georgian cuisine is special because it’s nothing but itself (a beautiful ingredient-forward cuisine that is distinct and relies on the quality of its components) and simultaneously a cosmopolitan blend of many distinct and different cuisines, carefully forged into one. If you like what the Dutch Jew said, though, the way Georgian cuisine shows the simple deliciousness of natural ingredients is a great place to start for experiencing beauty. Or God. Pick one
