ST. PETERSBURG, Russia — The late-model Subaru Legacy Outback sent slush flying onto the frigid Russian sidewalks as my friend raced through the narrow streets like a scene from “Gorky Park.” But we were chasing hunger, not murderers, and our destination was worth the rush.
Yes, folks, Russian food can make your heart skip a beat and your car skip a curb. This is my third trip to Russia in four years, and my jaw no longer drops at the quality and array of food in this country.
If you think about it — and have an atlas handy — it makes sense. Russia covers 11 time zones and is home to 357 nationalities. When perestroika gave way to capitalism in 1991, the old Soviet Union turned into Russia and 15 republics, stretching from the Black Sea to the Mongolian border.
Russia’s exploding restaurant scene has representatives from nearly all 15 republics. That covers a lot of farmland and waterways.
Suddenly, major cities like St. Petersburg are rife with ethnic food. If you don’t think food from a former Soviet republic is considered ethnic, then you’ve never dug your fingers into an entire salted cod and chased it with vodka as I once did in a Caucasian restaurant in Moscow.
That’s “Caucasian” as in “Caucasus Mountains,” not “rural Utah.” The Caucasus span the southwest corner of Russia connecting the Caspian and Black seas. On the other side of the Russian border is the former Soviet republic that has become the crème de la Kremlin of the Russian ethnic food scene.
Georgia cuisine is to Russia what French food is to the United States. Dinner at a Georgian restaurant is a special night. That concept has always been hard to wrap my taste buds around. I think the last column I did on Georgia cuisine was about Waffle House.
But this is the other Georgia, where castles are sprinkled around snowcapped mountains and fun-loving towns dot the Black Sea coastline. It’s home to Lenin, endless toasts and the best food you’ll find in all of Russia. Nothing can convince Russians otherwise.
Not even war.
My friend’s car finally stopped in front of Tbiliso, his favorite Georgian restaurant in St. Petersburg. Like many Russian establishments, it was bland as a cement bunker from the outside. But we walked in, and individual booths were separated by curtains with lithographs of old Georgian war veterans. Waiters dashed around wearing the native garb of black trousers and gold tunics that looked like bad Nehru jackets from the ’60s.
Over a CD of boisterous Georgian folk music, I asked the waiter if the recent war with Georgia has caused a drop in business. I asked because I remember when then-French President Jacques Chirac denounced the United States’ invasion of Iraq, Americans boycotted French wine. One time Denver rednecks in a passing car heckled my friend and his wife as they left Le Central on East Eighth Avenue.
Not a bit, the waiter said through my friend, Alexei Arnt, a 31-year-old designer of railway cars. The war is a touchy subject here. Russians are upset many Americans blame them for the war. For the record, they say, the Georgian army attacked its separatist region, South Ossetia, before Russia got involved.
“We were one country for a long time,” Arnt told me. “They are like our brothers. We are family. We are friends. If you ask most Russians about war, they pay attention but won’t change their attitude toward Georgians.”
Or Georgian cuisine. Both sides will break bread together, particularly if it’s over the rabidly popular Georgian cheese bread called khachapuri. Calling this “cheese bread” is like calling chateaubriand a “piece of meat.” It usually resembles a round, deep-dish cheese pizza, but one you’d find in Italy, not at Pizza Hut.
Khachapuri is the appetizer. Main Georgian dishes are a tantalizing array of meats grilled on an open flame with influences from the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Grapes. Pomegranates. Ground walnuts. Coriander. Saffron. Many homemade cheeses. They’re all thrown in various national dishes such as basturma (grilled meat), khinkali (stuffed dumplings) and chikhirtma (lemony chicken soup).
I ordered the abkhazury, three juicy chunks of tangy, lean veal served like sausages.
Georgia was known as the Tuscany of the Soviet Union, as its wines were among the best in the world. However, so many fakes have infiltrated the Russian market that the waiter said Georgian wine has been banned. We drank something called Gorgoba, a sweet red wine produced like Georgian wine but in Greece.
It was the only disappointment in an evening of toasts, music and great, exotic food. And peace.
The Post’s John Henderson writes about food he encounters on the road while covering sports and food: 303-954-1299 or jhenderson@denverpost.com.
If you go
Tbiliso, Sytninskaya ul. 10, 7-812-232-9391, www.tbiliso.su
