Good Eats - Khachapuri

If there is one food in Georgia that will book you a one way ticket to an early heart attack my bet's on khachapuri. Of course, the stuff that's bad for you is always soooo good and this cheesy delight is no exception. The best part about khachapuri is that it comes in so many different varieties, so you can literally choose how you would like to clog your arteries.

Megrelian khachapuri is pretty much a cheese pizza that's been stuffed with cheese before being topped with even more cheese and then baked
in all it's cheesy goodness. The khachapuri that we make here at home is more like a grilled cheese but the bread is a buttery, flaky, phyllo like dough. (I think my blood pressure is rising as I sit here thinking about this...). Perhaps the definitive version is Adjarian khachapuri. Every other restaurant in town has a picture of this hanging in their front window. This one puts the cheese in a boat shaped bread where it is melted and served with a pat of butter and a raw egg. Then you get to mix it all together and eat it like fondue, ripping off pieces of bread from the edges and dipping them into the cheesy, gooey, goodness in the center of it all.

The defining feature of all khachapuri is the cheese itself. To my knowledge you can't get it anywhere but in Georgia and it's like no
cheese you've ever had. It's salty and crumbly like feta but full of little air bubbles. It took me awhile to get used to the flavor but now I can't have enough of it...which is probably a good thing because it makes an appearance at every meal.

Khachapuri...a heart attack on a plate, but irresitably good eats.

Good Eats - Mtsvadi

Nino informed me that the most Georgian food, after khinkali, is mtsvadi (მცვათი). Therefore my description of Georgian foods should have this dish in a high place of honor.

Like khinkali, mtsvadi is a dish for special occasions. I've only had it about three times myself so far. In essence it is barbecued pork minus the sauces. The pork is rubbed down with some salt, pepper and a few other spices and skewered with onions then placed over hot coals to roast for about 15 minutes. Then the meat slid off the skewer and onto a waiting plate before being brought to the table, hot and delicious. Seriously, you would not believe how quickly this gets gobbled up.

The last time I had mtsvadi it was at a supra (სუფრა), a celebratory traditional Georgian feast, for Eka's cousin's son and his new wife. Like my experience with khinkali we had eaten, what I erroneously assumed, to be the entire meal. I thought the fire in the fireplace was there to warm up the exceptionally cold room. While not entirely wrong, my assumption was not entirely right either. The fire's purpose was twofold; one, heat up the particularly thin skinned guests and two, make a nice bed of coals for the next round of food. Beka and Giorgi (the previously aforementioned son) were in charge of tending to the meat as it cooked, making sure that it was properly turned and of course performing the all important taste test. Then it was just a matter of bringing it from the fireplace to the table, thankfully just a few short feet. The overall combination of salt, pepper, onions and the smoke from the hot coals makes for a great flavor and some really good eats!

In other news today...a key strategy in fighting my otherwise losing caloric battle with Georgian food was discovered. The answer...Georgian dancing. A few of the teachers at school have been tossing around the idea in the break room for a few weeks and yesterday it came up again. I said that I would be really interested. Number one, I'd love a hobby outside of school; two, I'm always up for meeting new people; three, I sort of miss my English country dancing and four, see above. :)

For my first day I was both terrible and not so bad. Three years of dancing at Colonial Williamsburg definitely equipped me with the basics of foot positions and stepping patterns. I was actually amazed (and frankly delighted) that so many of the steps seemed to be variations on the setting and slipping steps I already know. Unfortunately for me Georgian dancing is equal parts feet and hand movements and needless to say it's sort of like patting your head and rubbing your belly. There were several times when the teacher just grabbed my arms and moved them for me. But for my first day I thought I wasn't a total trainwreck and I sure had a blast. It was a frantic race to keep up but I do think that I should get some sort of A for effort for being the only non-Georgian there. Coincidentally, I will know my numbers 1-8 really well when this is said and done. I'm looking forward to going back tomorrow (with my new dance shoes in tow)!

Good Eats - Khinkali

When thinking of how best to write about the amazing food that Georgia has to offer I consulted two people; my little "sister" and Georgian cuisine connoisseur, Nino and my personal hero (when it comes to food) and all around incomparable chef personality, Alton Brown. Nino informed me that I should begin my quest through the delights of Georgia's kitchens with khinkali. Alton inspired me to model my journey like an episode of Good Eats* (my all time favorite food show).

Our scene opens with a crowd of hungry Georgians, crowded around a table eating all sort of tasty dishes. An outsider might mistake all the food for the main course but those veterens at the table know the best is yet to come. Suddenly there comes from the kitchen a steaming plate and the guests hurry to clear a space on the table for the dish. Hands dive in to get the piping hot dumplings before they cool, or worse, disappear altogether. The silence that always accompanies great food falls over the table and all that can be heard is the slurps of those relishing the juices concealed within the perfectly pleated folds of dough. Within minutes the tray has been emptied and the only remnants that remain are the doughy stubs, the only evidence to the meal and a record counter for how many each person has devoured.

Such was the case with my first encounter with Khinkali (ხინკალი) the quintessentially Georgian meal. In fact, it is the national dish of Georgia. And what makes it even more unique is the fact that you can't just get it anywhere. Getting the proper proportion of dough for the shell and meat for the filling is not for the faint of heart. Then comes the art of assembling the khinkali. It is not just a simple matter of filling a dumpling with meat and pinching it shut. Like all great food, there is an element of presentation that only some have the patience (and talent) for. For that very reason, Eka doesn't make them but instead prefers to buy them. You can, of course get khinkali at any Georgian restaurant worth its salt, but there are also special take out locations that sell it, all you have to do is bring your pot from home and they will fill it for you.

Georgians can get pretty particular about their khinkali. Different regions specialize in different fillings, or rather how they spice the fillings. My first khinkali was on a trip out to Mskheta, which I later found out is particularly famous for their preparation of the dish. We stopped at a restaurant that served them by the trayful and they were delicious!

In its composition it doesn't differ much from dumplings, ravioli or even wontons. My first description placed it in the category of a giant meat filled pierogi (they are about the size of your fist). But, like all things Georgian, there is a certain aspect of the khinkali that sets it apart. When the khinkali is prepared the meat filling is uncooked and so when it is boiling the juices are trapped inside, which makes for a great time when you go to eat it. The first time I ate khinkali I made a huge mess. I took one bite and the juices went everywhere. It was then that Nino informed me that it's not just the preparation of the khinkali that's an art, so is the eating of it. With each bite that you take you must suck up the juices within so as not to make a mess. The sign of an accomplished khinkali eater is one that finishes without any drips on their plate. Good thing I'm such a quick study. My first time might have been a disaster but I was eating like a pro on my second go round. Heres a tip though, if you ever find yourself treated to khinkali don't give yourself away by digging in with a fork and knife, this is meant to be picked up and eaten with your hands.

Most Georgians also eat khinkali with a bit of black pepper poured on the outside of the dumpling. Personally I haven't found out the trick to eating khinkali without choking on the pepper because as I take a breath to drink up the juices I inevitably inhale the pepper. Needless to say the result is unpleasant. The tip of the khinkali, where the dough is twisted off, is too dense to be eaten but serves nicely as a badge of honor for how many you were able to down in a single serving. So far, I've only ever gotten up to 5.

So there you have it, khinkali, the keystone of Georgian cuisine and most definately...Good Eats.

*And now a note from our sponsors...If you have never seen Good Eats, check it out Monday through Friday at 7pm on Food Network! :)

Weighing In

I have never really been one to be too concerned about my body type. In fact, despite a few rogue pounds here and there I have always considered myself to be pretty fortunate. When I go clothes shopping I face relatively few hurdles. My legs are neither too long nor too short nor am I terribly disproportionate from top to bottom. I am, in short, fairly average. Resting content in that fact, I have never really strived to improve my figure with the latest beauty trends or health routines. Further knowing that I would never rise to any great heights (or even qualify for that matter) in either the sporting or modeling world I remained untroubled by my lackadaisical approach to fitness and eating habits.

That is until I came to Georgia.

I might be overreacting but when I can see a significant difference in how my clothes fit after only a month of living here I have begun to be quite concerned. Now I could look at this as an opportunity to outfit myself with a chic new European wardrobe. True. And there are certain merits to that idea, but I do feel it smacks of admitting defeat before a battle has been fought. To date there have been a few skirmishes. One afternoon, as Eka, Nino and I were baking cookies (can anyone see the warning signs here?) I pointed out what my Georgian diet was doing to me. So we all trekked out to the porch to weigh in on the medical scale (who doesn't have one of them just lying about?). I had to convert the measurement from kilos to pounds (thank you Google calculate) but before I even did that Eka was shaking her head and saying that it was a bit much. Great. Thanks! It's your irresistibly delicious food that's doing it!! We all had a good laugh about it but after the first weigh in I made a firm resolve to cut back and asked Eka and Nino to help me and stop feeding me so much. Riiiight.

Well, breakfast, lunch and dinner (and the second dinner that comes at around 9 pm) still come with four or five dishes to choose from and I find myself exerting all effort to say "no" to some of the best food I've ever had in an attempt to maintain my dignity, and my skirt size. Unfortunately, my self-discipline has always been a little lacking in stalwart resolve. So the battle continues.

All of this to say, I think I intend to begin a short series on Georgian food. It is, by far, the thing I can talk about, in Georgian, with the most confidence. I guess that says something about how important food is here as it comprises half of the vocabulary that I currently know. Besides that, it's honestly too good not to share!

For now, I'm just going to try not to be tempted by a late night trip to the kitchen...

Catching Up

So...I've been a bit lazy the past few weeks. A combination of work picking up and me not feeling particularly up to snuff has resulted in many evenings spent watching movies on my computer and not much else...

It's not that things haven't been going on...in fact I've been doing a whole lot, I just couldn't be bothered to actually write anything about it. Which, honestly makes an appalling statement of just how lazy I am, since typing requires so little

effort. In any event, a short list of the major things that have happened since I last picked up the proverbial pen.

Thursday, October 21 - I started private lessons with the wife of the man who runs the school that we currently share our building with. Her name is Fatma and she is Turkish. I'm looking forward to working with her, though am a bit overwhelmed at the number of hours she wants (or rather, her husband wants) in a week.

Friday, October 22 - Hearing that I was giving lessons to anoth

er teacher, the science teacher asked me if I would tutor his wife as well. I wouldn't have minded so much but the English word he chose when asking for it was n

ot the greatest..."My wife demands English lessons." I knew that wasn't exactly what he meant (at least I hope not ) but it didn't help my enthusiasm for the idea. Suddenly my schedule is filling up. Ugh. P.S. I'm exhausted.

Saturday/Sunday, October 23-24 - Did and accomplished absolutely nothing. Had a terrible headache on Saturday but rallied for Eka's birthday in the evening for which I appointed myself chief dishwasher. Why not? It's not like I can converse with anyone, so I might as well make myself useful. Plus I saw it as a sma

ll gift to Eka for everything that she does on

a daily basis. (No, she is not 5, but it was either that or 0 as they were the only Birthday candles in the drawer...)

Wednesday, October 27 - Was home sick. A combination of sick children and exhaustion finally combined forces and kept me in bed. I woke up with no voice and a killer headache. Thanks to Doctor Eka, some unidentified Russian tablets and vinegar and warm water, my voice and my health was ready enough to face Thursday!

Friday, October 29 - I got another reprieve in the form of a school concert. Usually my Friday's are crazy busy, with 6 lessons and then private lessons after. Well, (for some unknown reason) we gave a concert (in the middle of the fall semester and to no one in particular) on Friday afternoon. It was a bit of a rushed affair. We only started prepping the week before but we pulled it off. My first graders sang "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean," which was quite adorable. (The picture is of three 1st graders Yasin, Mesut and Baha, and one 3rd grader Saladin.) There was also some awesome Georgian dancing. Seriously watching them made me miss 18th century dancing. Not that they were similar in any way, but the way they are both such huge parts of their society is very similar. It never ceases to amaze me how proud Georgians are of anything Georgian and their dancing is just another facet of life. It's not dead either, it's alive and well and very cool for young people to do it. Which I think is awesome!

Sunday, October 31 - I did not celebrate Halloween in any way at all, though I enjoyed seeing everyone else,s pictures on Facebook. Maybe dressing in costume everyday for 4 years sort of settled that fix, who knows. I did laundry though and that's clothes related so it's got to count for something. I did venture out again with Sopho though. We went up to Old Tbilisi and climbed around the old castle that overlooks the old part of the city. We were seriously overdressed for the occasion. She was in a short jean skirt and I was in heals. Hardly proper attire for climbing 1000 year old ruins but hey, we had a grand time! Then we proceeded to walk all over the old part of town. We must have walked for miles around town, which is probably a good thing for all of the food that I've been eating...but that's the subject of another entry entirely.

Which brings me to today. Beka returned home from France early this morning...like 3 am early. I was going to go with the family to the airport to greet him and the rest of the triumphant Georgian rugby team who were the European Cup Champions!! Sadly I fell asleep in the 11th hour and was left behind. I did awake to hear them return at 4:30 am. As the door opened I heard them creep in and then Beka called out "Amy! Chai!" (A bit of an inside joke and a long story but suffice it to say that he jokingly demands me bring him tea every time I'm around.) The last thing I heard was a chorus of "Shhhh!!!" and giggles before I promptly rolled over and went back to sleep. :)

Though perhaps not the most introspective look on my life in the past few weeks, I do feel like I have at least catalogued it enough so that it does not slip by completely forgotten. ...Now I think it's time for a movie. :)

Sameba

Last night Tamaz, Eka and I, along with Eka's friend Nino went to Sameba (Trinity Cathedral) in Old Tbilisi. The decision to go had stemmed from a lunchtime discussion in which they asked me if I was bored. I begrudgingly admitted that I was getting a little tired of just sitting around the house (which was, of course communicated by the only Georgian word I knew to convey that particular feeling...tsota...a little). And so it was decided that we should all go to Sameba that evening.

Nino was feeling sick all day so she stayed at home and as we took off I began to wonder how this excursion would go with just the three of us. My fears of what I would do if I had a question were soon put to rest when I saw that we were stopping to pick up Eka's friend, Nino. She's an English teacher at another school and so with my translator in tow, we were off.

The only downside of this outing was that Eka was getting another driving lesson in the process. I honestly think it would be better if Tamaz didn't bother. When he isn't grabbing the wheel, he's yelling and it's all very disconcerting. It reminds me of my first few times behind the wheel. My stomach was in knots the whole way there and back.

That being said the journey was well worth it when we arrived at our destination. Like everything else I've come across here, the Georgians are incredibly proud of their cathedral, though I was surprised to find out that it was only 6 years old. It sits perched atop a hill in the center of the city and is surrounded by beautiful grounds and fountains. It was such a peaceful enclave in the center of an otherwise busy and run down part of town. We passed through the main gate of the fortress like wall that surrounds it and strolled through the gardens before climbing the stairs that led to the cathedral itself.

It was stunning, especially at that time of the evening. When we went inside they were having Saturday night mass. It was unlike any mass I've ever seen. There were just groups of people crowding around priests, who were scattered randomly throughout the church. They were all performing different acts, some were blessing people with oil, others were praying, some were speaking and all the time I could hear chanting coming from somewhere within the cathedral. I don't know if it was the beginning, middle or end of service but I thought it was almost fitting that worship appeared as chaotic as the rest of life seems to be here in Tbilisi.

As we made our way out of the church through the silent corridors of the underground chapels I marveled at how remarkable and varied are the ways in which God's glory is proclaimed. Sometimes it's heralded from the hilltops from great cathedrals and sometimes its silently professed in prayer but his presence in all is undeniable.

Language Barrier

While it seems strange to look at the calendar and realize that I've been here just a few days short of a month it seems so much longer, especially from a language standpoint. By this time in Italy I could form fairly coherent sentences in the present tense and was beginning to delve into communicating deeper thoughts. Though I try to keep telling myself that at least there I had the benefit of knowing enough of Spanish, its vocabulary and grammar, to give me a good head-start, it has provides little comfort.

I'm getting frustrated. True studying languages has always been sort of a love-hate relationship with me. More of a love the language, hate myself for not being able to pick it up easier. I remember having this problem the four years that I studied Spanish. My tenacity and hunger for new vocab and grammatical structures (a trait that endeared me to my teachers and won me a few class medals on the way) was matched by the frustration that came with my inability to speak fluently on my first try. Clearly I expected too much of myself then. I wish I could say, however, that wisdom and insight has come with age. When I went to Morocco for a month in college I jumped into Arabic with both feet, and though I was the best in the class there, I felt that I had failed because I couldn't communicate on even a basic level in the markets. The trend, of course, continued in Italy. While pleased with my self taught progress I was perturbed that I couldn't retain more, comprehend more, or communicate more.

When I think of being immersed in something, I think of a hot bath, pleasantly surrounded by bubbles and soothed by warm water; and in general I find being surrounded by something a good thing. It's comforting to be surrounded with love by my mom, and I love it when I'm surrounded by friends and enjoying a board game or a night at the movies. So, why then, do I feel so utterly cut off? Yes, I know that immersion is the best way to learn a language but what they never tell you is that you are going to feel so incredibly isolated until it all starts to make sense. I miss out on jokes, on stories, on interesting conversations, on boring conversations, in short on everything. And I've now been here long enough that no one wants to bother translating anything for me. In fact, I feel more and more like a shiny new toy that has lost some of its luster. Every time I'm around Tamaz I feel like he's just expecting me to be able to talk to him soon and is frankly getting bored waiting for me. Juju (Eka's mom) actually asked why I didn't know more Georgian yet the other night. She was only asking out of concern for me, but I understood where she was coming from. The worst part is that I feel like such a child. It's humbling and humiliating all at the same time. Everything has to be done for me, or explained to me.

And the truth is I want to be able to participate in things. I want to be able to express how I'm feeling other than "fine." I want to ask questions, I want to share stories, I want to be able to lounge around at night with the family to watch TV and understand what they're saying. And I am making progress, but Georgian just doesn't seem to stick in my head. The words are so different. It would be one thing if I was just trying to remember vocabulary, but I'm usually so focused on trying to negotiate how to get my mouth around four or five consonants in a row that I forget the actual word.

But until I can participate I just have to endure the isolating boredom. Yesterday I went with two other teachers to visit the family of one of my first graders. (It's a Georgian thing for class teachers to have these parent-teacher conferences at home at the beginning of the year.) Well the mom didn't speak any English so I had expressed my concerns for the girl to the other teachers and let them do all the talking. So I sat there for an hour and a half as they chatted. Now I have trouble sitting still in social gatherings as it is, an hour's conversation is about all I can handle, and that's when I can be actively involved. But even though I spent most of my time ardently listening to them (and successfully identifying the general topics they covered), I was bored. As time dragged on I felt myself zoning in and out more often...wondering if it would look bad if I kept eating the food on the table (for lack of anything else to do)...counting to 100 in Georgian...worrying that I wouldn't have correct change of the taxi...

No wonder they call it a barrier.