You cannot understand Georgia through tourist restaurants. The real cuisine lives in homes where bread is baked in a tone oven right in front of you, and toasts last longer than the dinner itself. Seven places where we take our friends.
Signalaki in Tbilisi — a courtyard behind a carpet shop in Avlabari. The khinkali are folded in the morning, and by 1 pm they are gone. Come at eleven and order the lamb ones.
In Kakheti we stay with Giorgi, a third-generation winemaker. The qvevri in his marani are older than any of us, and lunch is laid out by his mother: lobio, mtsvadi and homemade suluguni that stretches a metre long.
Sighnaghi: the Okra café at the edge of the city wall. A view over the Alazani Valley, Imeretian khachapuri and chacha served in an unlabelled decanter. Order the seasonal vegetables — they come from the morning market.
In Mestia, Svaneti, it is Nana’s guesthouse. She cooks kubdari with meat only if ordered the evening before, so we let her know in advance. She will also show you how to eat it properly: with your hands, unhurried.
In Kazbegi we skip the hotels and go down to a family in Gergeti. The kharcho simmers in a cauldron over open fire, and neighbours join the feast. Toasts to the mountains, to the road, to the guests — and at some point you realise this is group therapy, Georgian-style.
And two addresses for the road: the bakery in Gudauri at the third kilometre — puri from the tone, impossibly hot; and the teahouse in Pasanauri, where khinkali were born. Simple, loud and very honest.
Routes we have travelled ourselves and are ready to share with you.
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