On a whim, me and the Missus decided on a night out on the town to sample the flavours of Georgia. Not the peach-tree Georgia but rather the ancient country of Georgia that is nestled between the shores of the Black Sea and the crumpled mountains of Azerbaijan.
The menu offers plates from Georgia as well as other areas of the former Soviet Union but we tried to keep to a traditional Georgian meal plan.
Entree:
Khatchapouri - A baked cheese
Kharcho soup - OMG the flavours!
Main:
Lamb Chachlyk - Brochettes
Khinkali -Giant Georgian Dumplings!
Desert:
Tchourtchkhela- try saying that five times fast!
The cheese entree was very basic and, sadly forgettable but the Khacho soup... oh my!
The broth was rich and hearty and left the happiest of coatings on my glistening lips while the body of the soup fortified me with its delicious morsels of lamb, walnuts, barley and cilantro. Had this not been a civilized restaurant I'd have been smacking my lips like a gleeful medieval emperor at his royal birthday feast. What a great recovery from the lackluster start that was the Khatchapouri.
What followed was only going to add to our delight. Promptly following our starters I had the lamb brochettes while the Missus was served 4 gigantic dumplings. My lamb, marinated to perfection and full of flavour was a bit on the overcooked side, but the Missus' dumplings ... oh ho! Those were fragrant with beef and cilantro redolent with the flavours of a caucasian summer. Absolutely wonderful!
A bit of a side note here; I tricked the Missus into sharing two starters with the hopes that she might later feel too full to eat all her dumplings. Heehee; mission accomplished!
The meal complete, we threw all caution to the wind and ordered a desert. Our shared Tchourtchkhela was essentially a plump fruit roll-up loaded with honeyed walnuts and sprinkled with powdered sugar. It was the perfect sweet and chewy finish to a wonderful meal.
The service throughout the meal was the most professional that the Missus had experienced in a long while. Plates arrived in perfect time and order and our wine glasses were topped up with discretion.
The ambiance itself was comfortable and a little anachronistic, almost like a pre-tourist-boom Europe. Eurovision flickered silently on the the giant wall-mounted screen behind me while a sixty-something year old violinist sat by the far wall and accompanied his eclectic and endearing playlist during the meal.