A Most Dangerous Dinner

I like my khachapuri with a side of danger.

You see, I quite foolishly booked a dinner for one in a stranger’s basement my first night in Tbilisi.

Was it a trap? Was it dangerous? How awkward was this about to be?

I walked into a house in a shabby neighborhood 10 minutes outside the city, followed a guy to his backyard to the grill, and awkwardly petted the dog.

This was a mistake. What the hell was I doing here? Where the hell was I? Where would I even go if something went wrong?

I was handed a glass of wine and sipped it suspiciously, watching flames leap from the grill.

I was then led into the basement and directed to sit. Next, some apps came out, and before I knew what was happening the table was groaning under ten courses made by my host and his wife - completely from scratch.

Turns out, I had unwittingly walked into my first Supra – a traditional Georgian feast – and an absolute masterclass in Georgian hospitality.

Sizzling sausages straight off the coals. Cheesy Khachapuri tearing open in a cloud of steam. Scalding soup dumplings. Stuffed eggplant. Grilled chicken wings. Local wine poured from clay jugs.                

After several pitchers of wine, my host’s son joined us, the Cha Cha came out and the night completely fractured. We fired up cigars and a gigantic speaker, blasting blues that shook his basement walls.

Through the smoke and over the noise, we toasted repeatedly to food, life and a newborn, undying friendship. And we still keep in touch to this day.

It was both the best meal and the most fun dining experience of my life. No one takes hospitality more seriously than the Georgians. And it turns out the only real danger was my headache the next morning.