Spinach spread or dip with walnuts and cilantro (Ispanakhis Pkhali)

May 28, 2014February 17, 2015 / georgiantable / 4 Comments

If you imagine a Venn diagram with three overlapping circles signifying dip, spread, and salad, pkhali falls somewhere in the middle. That’s a weird category for many Americans—we don’t quite know what to do with it.

Trust me, though: you’ll understand when you taste it. The garlicky, slightly salty, vinegary kick of this combo is as addictive as chips, yet you can enjoy it entirely without guilt. Georgians simply eat it with a fork or scoop it up with bread or a slice of khachapuri, but I’ve offered several other serving suggestions below as well. If you have time, make it a couple of hours ahead–it benefits from some time to chill in the fridge to let the flavors meld and the garlic mellow.

Spinach spread or dip with walnuts and cilantro (Ispanakhis Pkhali)
Serves a crowd as an appetizer

32 oz. fresh spinach leaves
1 1/2 cups walnuts, ground
3 medium cloves garlic, minced or mashed
1 cup minced fresh cilantro leaves
5 Tbsp. walnut oil (or vegetable oil)
4 tsp. tarragon vinegar or white wine vinegar
3/4 tsp. kosher salt, plus more for salting water
1 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. ground fenugreek
¼ tsp. ground red pepper or a pinch of cayenne pepper
Several grinds of black pepper
½ cup pomegranate seeds (optional)

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the spinach, stirring to submerge the leaves and make room for more. One all the spinach has wilted (about 3 minutes), drain the hot water and run cold water over the spinach. When the spinach is cool, squeeze out as much water as you can. (This is most effectively done by squeezing it, a chunk at a time, between your hands or in your fists.) Put the spinach in the bowl of a food processor or chop it very finely with a large knife and place in a bowl.
Add the rest of the ingredients except the pomegranate seeds to the spinach and mix well. If you are using a food processor, puree the mixture lightly. (It should still be thick enough to roll into balls.) Adjust seasonings to taste. If possible, chill the pkhali in the fridge for a couple of hours before serving.

Serving suggestions:

Spread on crostini or baguette slices and garnish each with a few pomegranate seeds
Serve as a dip with pita chips, crackers, or crispy vegetables. Mix in the pomegranate seeds or leave them on top. For a creamy dip, mix pkhali with yogurt in equal parts.
Use as a sandwich spread with mozzarella cheese and tomato slices or roast chicken and red leaf lettuce
Form the mixture into small balls (about ¾ inch in diameter), garnish with a few pomegranate seeds on top of each, and serve with khachapuri or mchadi (fried corn cakes).

Ajaran Khachapuri (Hot Breadbowl with Cheese and Egg)

May 25, 2014February 17, 2015 / georgiantable / 4 Comments

(Note: A version of this post appeared on my personal blog, Eat with Pleasure, in January 2014).

I first tried Georgian khachapuri (bread stuffed with salty melted cheese) in Moscow, where I found it at a street stand on a frigid, grimy morning in March. Fresh from the oven, it warmed my hands through my gloves and the molten cheese and buttery dough seemed to start insulating me from the cold almost as soon as I swallowed the first bite. From then on, I became a regular, at least until I stopped being able to fit comfortably into my jeans and had to take a temporary hiatus.

Khachapuri is arguably Georgia’s most celebrated national dish and one of its most recognizable cultural exports, at least among the countries of the former Soviet Union. The sort I’d tried in Moscow is known as penovani, the most popular street snack variety from Ukraine to Tajikistan. It substitutes puff pastry for the more traditional bread dough and comes apportioned for one. There are also several regional varieties: the classic imeruli (a flat, round pie stuffed with cheese, from the central region of Imereti), megruli (pretty much the same as imeruli, but topped with an extra layer of cheese, from the western Megruli region), and the decadent ajaruli khachapuri, which hails from the Ajara region on the Black Sea coast.

Ajaran khachapuri is essentially a breadbowl encompassing a molten lake of oozy, salty cheese and a poached egg. It is typically shaped like a boat or an eye, the egg’s yolk a sort of sunny pupil. I first tried it on a sweltering August afternoon after a sticky four-hour bus ride from another city—not the ideal conditions for this dish. (There were no other choices at the time.)

January, however, is another story. There’s nothing like biting cold (or a nasty hangover) to make you crave stick-to-your-bones food like this. Make it for a weekend brunch or your next snow day. It’s so filling you won’t need much on the side: just coffee and some grapefruit or orange juice to cut the richness.

Note the amount of eggs called for in various steps here: you will use a full dozen eggs to make khachapuri for six people.)

Ajaran Khachapuri (Hot Breadbowl with Cheese and Egg)
Serves 6 as a main course
Time: about 2 and a half hours, largely unattended

Dough:
1 ½ cups warmed milk (105-115 degrees F)
2 (0.25 oz.) pkgs. active dry yeast (4 ½ tsp.)
2 tsp. sugar
1 ½ sticks melted butter, cooled to room temperature
2 eggs, beaten, plus 1 more for the egg wash
5 ½ cups flour, plus ¼ cup more for kneading and rolling
1 Tbsp. kosher salt

Filling:
1 ½ cup grated mozzarella
1 ½ cup crumbled feta
3/4 cup plain yogurt
2 eggs, beaten
1 Tbsp. kosher salt
6 eggs, whole
Butter, if desired

In a large bowl, combine the yeast, sugar, and warmed milk. Let stand for 5-10 minutes, until the mixture becomes foamy.

Add the melted butter, egg, flour, and salt and mix well to form a soft dough. (You’ll probably need to use your hands at the end to get everything thoroughly mixed.) The dough will still be fairly sticky but should pull away from the sides of the bowl.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 2-3 minutes, adding only enough flour to keep it from sticking.

Roll the dough into a ball and put it in a large buttered bowl, turning to coat. Cover the bowl with a towel and set it in a warm place to rise until roughly doubled in size, about 1 ½ hours.

Thirty minutes before you plan to bake the khachapuri, preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Line two heavy-duty baking sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.

Punch the dough down and divide it into six balls. Working one ball at a time on a lightly floured surface, roll each one into a circle about 10 inches in diameter. (You can also hold the dough in the air, turning it constantly and letting it stretch itself out: watch the video below to see my Georgian host mother’s technique.)

Roll the edges inward loosely to create an “eye” shape roughly 7-8 inches long and 4-5 inches wide in the middle. The rolled dough around the edges should be about 1 inch high. Twist the edges together at the ends (the corners of the eye) and press the twist down with your thumb to “seal” them. Transfer each khachapuri to the lined baking sheets and let them rest about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, mix the cheeses, yogurt, beaten eggs and salt together in a small bowl with a fork. Once the dough has rested, spoon some of the filling into each one (enough to fill them but not so high that it might overflow in the oven).

Beat 1 whole egg with 1 tsp. water to make an egg wash. Use a small brush to coat the sides of each khachapuri generously with it.

Bake for 12-17 minutes, until the crusts begin to turn golden. Remove the khachapuri from the oven. Use a spoon to make a 3-in. diameter well in the center of each khachapuri—you’ll need to crack the surface of the cheese to do this.Crack a whole egg into each well. Return the khachapuri to the oven and continue baking until crusts turn deep golden brown, another 6-8 minutes. The egg whites should be fairly opaque but still wobbly, the yolks glistening. (The eggs will continue to cook in the hot cheese after they emerge from the oven.) Serve each khachapuri on an individual plate.

To eat: Use your fork to mix the egg thoroughly into the cheese. Cut pieces of crust from the inside rim first, swirling them through the filling like fondue. Then move to the outer rim and the bottom.

Serving note: If you like, sprinkle the khachapuri with black or red pepper, smoked paprika, or chopped greens (cilantro, parsley, basil, mint, dill). If you prefer a spicier version, mix some ajika into the cheese while it’s hot. A light salad of cucumber, tomatoes, and red or green onions on the side would complement the rich khachapuri nicely.

Honey Nut Brittle (Gozinaki)

May 25, 2014August 23, 2014 / georgiantable / Leave a comment

(Note: An earlier version of this post appeared on my personal blog, Eat with Pleasure, in 2013.)

Walnuts candied in honey are traditionally enjoyed on New Year’s Eve and throughout the holiday season in Georgia. (Most Georgians who celebrate Christmas do so on January 7, when it falls according to the Orthodox Church (Julian) calendar.) The crisp brittle keeps well and doesn’t require too much space in stomachs already stretched from days of feasting. When I make gozinaki, I like to mix the walnuts with hazelnuts, pecans, or almonds and use single-flower honey to lend each batch a distinctive character. As the honey caramelizes, it fills the house with its warm, sweet perfume, somewhere between orange blossoms and gingerbread. By the time I’ve turned the brittle onto my cutting board to cool, everyone is already waiting by the kitchen door, clambering for a piece.

Snack on a square of this to get you through the mid-afternoon slump at work, pair it with a shot of espresso for a sweet treat you won’t feel guilty about eating, or bring a bag of it along on your next hiking trip to keep you energized.

Honey Nut Brittle (Gozinaki)
Makes about 25 2-in. pieces

1 ½ cups walnut halves
1 ½ cups hazelnuts
1 cup good-quality honey
1 Tbsp. sugar
1/2 tsp. sea salt, divided

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Spread the nuts on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or foil and bake for 8-10 minutes, stirring once halfway through. Allow to cool slightly, then coarsely chop the nuts. (It is best to roast nuts whole and chop them later, because pre-chopped pieces burn easily. Warm nuts are also easier to chop without shards flying everywhere.)
Heat the honey and sugar in a heavy-bottomed skillet or saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture comes to a rolling boil. (It will look like soap suds.) Let it boil for 1 minute, stirring frequently. (The sugar is there to help the brittle set.)
Add the chopped nuts and ¼ tsp. of sea salt to the boiling honey. Let the mixture come back up to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the nuts become very sticky and the honey thickens and turns a tawny brown color. Depending on the thickness of your pan and the heat of your stove, this should take about 7-10 minutes. Be careful not to let the nuts burn as they cook, nor the honey smoke.
Turn the honey-nut mixture out onto a moistened cutting board. Spread the nuts into a ½ inch thick layer with a rubber spatula or the back of a wooden spoon. Sprinkle the remaining ¼ tsp. of sea salt on top. Allow to cool ten minutes, then chop into pieces of whatever size you desire. (Diamonds are traditional.) Transfer them to a plate or another hard surface, sticky sides up, and allow to cool completely—the brittle will harden as it cools. Store in an airtight container or in the freezer.

Lamb Stew with Eggplant and Potatoes (Chanakhi)

May 25, 2014August 23, 2014 / georgiantable / 5 Comments

(Note: This post originally appeared on my personal blog, Eat with Pleasure, in 2013.)

This hearty stew is traditionally baked and served in individual clay pots called chanakhi, which is where the dish gets its name. It’s also the custom to make slits in each eggplant and stuff them with herbs and chunks of lamb fat before layering them into the stew to braise. Most Georgian home cooks today make a simpler version like the one I present here.

My notes from the time Shushana (my host mother in Batumi) and I cooked it together make me laugh now. Apparently the gas ran out midway, so Shushana had to call the utility company to bring out a fresh propane tank. My host father Misha wandered in to find out what the holdup was, then spread a layer of sour cream on some bread to tide himself over while I drank a glass of homemade Cornelian cherry juice and Shushana tackled the dishes. My host sister Diana came home with a scarlet red dress she’d found for her engagement party. Half an hour later, the guy from the gas company showed up to screw in the new tank on the balcony. We were back in business, the stew again bubbling away on the stove. (Shushana preferred the stovetop to the oven, which is where she stored her pots and pans.) “Now I remember why I never make chanakhi,” Shushana chuckled as we sat down to eat around 11 pm.

This is certainly not a recipe to whip out in a time crunch. Luckily it’s the kind of dish that actually tastes better the second and third time you reheat it, once the flavors have had a chance to meld. I’d advise making it a day ahead of time.

Lamb Stew with Eggplant and Potatoes (Chanakhi)

2 lbs. lamb stew meat (like boneless lamb shoulder), cut into bite-size (1 in.) chunks
1 ½ tsp. kosher salt, plus more for salting the eggplant
¼ tsp. ground black pepper
1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper
4 Tbsp. vegetable oil or butter, divided
2 medium onions, cut in half and sliced into ½-inch wide strips
10 cloves garlic, minced
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 ½ Tbsp. red wine vinegar
3 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, quartered and cut into ½-in.-thick wedges. (No need to peel.)
1 medium globe eggplant or 4 narrow Japanese eggplants (about 1 ½ pounds), stemmed, quartered lengthwise (or cut into eighths if your eggplant is large), and sliced into ½-in.-thick wedges
2 medium bell peppers, any color, stemmed, seeded and cut into 1-in. pieces
1 ½ cups each fresh basil, cilantro, and flat-leaf parsley leaves, coarsely chopped. (At my grocery store, this is one full bunch of each herb. If some stems get in there, it’s no big deal.)
3 medium ripe tomatoes, diced

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange the oven rack so it is in the bottom third of the oven and there is enough room above it to slide in the pot you’ll be using with its lid on.
Toss the eggplant slices with a good handful of kosher salt, mixing to coat. Set aside for half an hour, then use your hands to knead down the eggplant slices, squeezing out their dark juice as you go. Rinse well and pat the slices dry on a dishcloth or paper towels.
Mix the lamb with ½ tsp. of the kosher salt, the black pepper, and the cayenne pepper, stirring well to coat. (Your hands are the best tool for this. Just wash and dry them well afterwards.)
Heat 2 Tbsp. of the oil or butter in a large Dutch oven or deep enameled cast iron pot with a tight-fitting, oven-safe lid. Brown the lamb over high heat, 2-3 minutes on each side. Remove lamb to another dish and set aside.
Add the remaining 2 Tbsp. of oil or butter to the pot and heat. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 3 minutes. Add half the minced garlic and cook for another 30 seconds or so, stirring, until you can really smell the garlic. Turn off the heat or remove the pot from the burner (if using electric stove).
Add the lamb back into the pot and stir to mix with the onion and garlic. Add the contents of the can of tomatoes (with juice), the red wine vinegar, and the remaining 1 tsp. of salt. Then layer half the potatoes, eggplant, peppers, and herbs on top, each in its own layer. Repeat with the remaining potatoes, eggplant, and peppers, continuing to layer. Add the fresh diced tomato on top. (Your vegetables will likely be nearing the top of the pot at this point.) Pour 4 cups of water over the vegetables. Do not stir.
Cover the pan and bring to a boil over high heat. Do not stir. Move the pot to the oven and bake for 1 ½ hours. Remove the pot from the oven and increase the temperature to 400 degrees F. Add half the remaining herbs and the rest of the minced garlic to the pot. Put the to back in the oven, uncovered, and bake for 15-20 minutes more, until the broth has thickened slightly.
Serve hot with crusty bread. Sprinkle the remaining herbs over each serving at the table.

Chicken Stew with Tomatoes and Herbs (Chakhokhbili)

May 25, 2014August 23, 2014 / georgiantable / 2 Comments

(Note: An earlier version of this post and recipe appeared on my personal blog, Eat with Pleasure, in 2013.)

Chakhokhbili is a lot easier to make than it is to pronounce. (The “kh” sounds like the “h” in a Russian-accented “hello,” or the “ch” in the German “ich.”) While you can certainly find this dish on restaurant menus in Georgia, it is equally likely to show up on weeknight dinner tables at home because it comes together quickly and is the kind of thing you can make a big batch of and then easily reheat the leftovers for another meal (or two or three, if there’s only one of you).

The dish’s name comes from the Georgian word for pheasant (khokhobi), and if you happen to have a pheasant on hand, you can substitute it for the chicken in the recipe. You could also use turkey, duck, or Cornish game hen. In Georgia today, chicken is the most common bird used for this recipe.

My Georgian host mother Shushana used to serve chakhokhbili with the slightly salty, pully bread she’d pick up at the bakery across the street from our apartment building. It was perfect for mopping up the last sweet, tomatoey juices from our plates. Serve yours with fresh baguette, Middle Eastern flatbread, or sturdy cornbread. You can also ladle it over basmati rice.

Chicken Stew with Tomatoes and Herbs (Chakhokhbili)
Serves 4-6

2 lbs. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, trimmed of fat and cut into 2-in. chunks
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter or vegetable oil
½ tsp. kosher salt
¼ tsp. ground black pepper
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne pepper
2 medium yellow onions, cut in half and then into ½ in. slices
1 medium green bell pepper, chopped into slices roughly the same size as the onions
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes with their juice (or 4 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, cored and diced)
½ tsp. ground coriander
½ tsp. ground fenugreek
½ tsp. sweet paprika
½ Tbsp. red wine vinegar
About 1 ¼ cups finely chopped mixed fresh herbs, divided
(Choose from cilantro, flat-leaf parsley, basil, dill, tarragon, summer savory, celery greens) I like:
½ cup finely chopped cilantro
½ cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 Tbsp. finely chopped dill

Note on herbs: Georgians often use both the leaves and stems of fresh herbs unless the stems are particularly tough. If you dislike the sharper taste of the stems, feel free to discard them before chopping.

Heat butter or oil in a large pot, Dutch oven, or cast iron skillet until it begins to sizzle. (You can use any heavy-bottomed pan with high sides, but avoid nonstick pans, which keep things from browning properly.) Add the chicken, salt, pepper, and cayenne, stirring to coat. Brown the chicken lightly on all sides.
Remove the chicken from the skillet and add the onions and bell peppers. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic until it turns fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the tomatoes with their juice, the other spices, the vinegar, and half the herbs, stirring to combine.
Bring the stew to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and add the chicken back to the pan. Simmer, covered, until chicken is cooked through, about 15-20 minutes. Stir in the rest of the herbs and adjust salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste. Serve with crusty bread, flatbread, mchadi, or over basmati rice.

Baking Georgian Kiln Bread (and Some Bakery Acrobatics)

May 25, 2014August 23, 2014 / georgiantable / Leave a comment

(Note: I originally published this post on my personal blog, Eat with Pleasure, in 2010.)

Simple picnic lunch in Sighnaghi, Kakheti, Georgia.

Prior to moving to Georgia, I had no idea what a huge role bread plays in the country’s culinary heritage and the day-to-day life of the people. It is present on the table in some form or another at nearly every meal, and, for poorer families, it may make up the majority of the day’s calories, along with potatoes.

While low, oblong loaves of European-style white bread are available in most corner grocery stores, it’s worth going out of your way to find a streetside bakery where traditional flat, diamond-shaped loaves are baked on the inner walls of a tone (to-nay), or earthen kiln. The day before leaving Batumi, I stopped by one of these to watch the baker at work and learn all I could about the process.

Baker Timur Jikhadze in his shop in Batumi

Temur Jikhadze has been baking tonis puri (kiln bread, also known as shotis puri) for 35 years so far, and has no plans of stopping anytime soon. He picked up the craft on the job as a young man and now, he says, “I can make anything out of dough.” I don’t doubt it. His calm and practiced movements between the table where he forms the loaves and the kiln where he bakes them put me at ease: my questions and clarifications seem not to faze him in the slightest.

Every morning, he makes a basic dough of flour, yeast, water, and salt, letting it rise in a plastic tub while the kiln heats up. I was imagining him standing there in the flour-dusted dawn light, stoking up a roaring fire, but in actuality he just plugs the oven into an industrial-size outlet. Jikhadze admits he should come in earlier than he does (around 7:30 am), because it takes an hour and a half for the kiln to reach proper baking temperature. But Georgians on the whole tend to be late sleepers, it seems to me, so I can’t imagine he’d do much business before nine o’clock anyway.

After punching down the dough and letting it rise once more in evenly shaped mounds atop his table, Jikhadze stretches each loaf individually across an oblong form–a wooden board on the bottom piled with a hillock of foam and covered with cotton cloth. He pokes a hole in the center of the dough with his finger, then sticks his thumb into a small opening at the side of the form, removes the kiln’s metal cover, places a folded towel on its rim to shield his skin from the intense heat, and smacks the form onto the inner wall of the oven, leaving the dough clinging to the bricks where it will puff, blister, and brown in 6-8 minutes, depending on how close he has placed it to the source of the heat, near the floor.

The salt, he says, is a key element. Too much and the bread won’t taste good; too little and the dough won’t stick to the wall of the oven while it bakes. To place loaves deep inside, short-statured Jikhadze must launch himself bodily into the kiln, using his hips as a lever and letting his feet float up off the ground. He smiles wide when I show him the photo I’ve captured of him in this precarious position.

Into the tone he goes!

The baker must keep mental track of how long each loaf has been baking and when he must remove them using two long wooden sticks, one with a metal hook at the end to poke through the hole in the center of the bread, the other with a metal scraper to pry it gently from the bricks. He transports it on the end of the hook to slatted wooden shelves in the corner, where fresh loaves are cooling. Meanwhile, he distributes loaves for 70 tetri (about 40 cents) each to customers who appear every 3 minutes or so at the open door. He makes change from a flour-dusted matchbox sitting in front of his dough scale.

Removing the bread from the tone

Most Georgian families don’t buy these loaves for their everyday bread, reserving them instead for special meals or those with some kind of ritual meaning. Jikhadze sends me home with a steaming loaf of my own, which I nevertheless can’t help but devour straight out of its plastic bag as I make my way along crowded, exhaust-choked Chavchavadze Avenue. Usually I hate traversing this stretch of the city, but it’s a testament to the quality of Jikhadze’s work that today, I hardly even notice the annoyances.

If you visit:

Follow your nose to the tiny bakery at Giorgiashvili St. 6 in Batumi, not far from the port. Don’t leave without also trying one of the penovani khachapuri, a hot pocket of buttery puff pastry stuffed with melted cheese.