Eating Georgia: Khachapuri, Wine, and a Toast to Life

Georgia isn’t just a country tucked between Europe and Asia. It’s a place where food is the national language and hospitality is practically a sport. Nestled in the Caucasus Mountains, this small nation has spent centuries at the crossroads of empires, from Persians to Ottomans to Russians, absorbing influences and turning them into something entirely its own. Here, food isn’t just about sustenance. It is a living archive of history, religion, and resilience. Even the simplest dish feels like it has a story to tell, whether it is a peasant recipe passed down for generations or a feast dish reserved for holy days. Every meal feels like an intimate glimpse into Georgia’s past, a taste of its landscape, and an expression of the generosity embedded in its culture.

Spend a week in Georgia and it begins to reveal itself slowly, like unfolding a map filled with secrets. There are snow-dusted peaks that look like something out of a fairy tale and villages perched on mountainsides where time seems to have stopped. Then there is Tbilisi, the capital, with its narrow cobblestone streets, balconies draped with flowers, and a constant hum of art, music, and the smell of fresh bread. The food alone has the power to slow you down, to make you forget schedules, to make you forget rushing, and to make you focus on the meal in front of you. It is not just the flavors. It is the ritual, the rhythm, and the stories behind every dish that make eating in Georgia feel like stepping into another world.

To truly understand Georgia, you have to sit at a supra, the traditional Georgian feast. The supra is not just a meal. It is a full cultural ritual, almost like theater performed around a table. The table itself becomes a stage, and the dishes keep arriving in waves as though the kitchen is connected to some magical portal. You will start with pkhali, jewel-toned vegetable purées made with spinach, beets, or beans, blended with walnuts, garlic, and herbs until smooth and spreadable. Then come bright, herb-filled salads that taste as though the vegetables were picked just minutes ago. Mountains of khachapuri, platters of grilled meats and dumplings, and steaming pots of hearty stews arrive one after another, accompanied by breads baked in clay ovens whose aroma wraps around the table like a warm embrace.

At the center of it all is the tamada, the toastmaster. The tamada is much more than someone who raises a glass. They are a conductor of emotions, a storyteller, and a poet. Every toast is carefully crafted, sometimes funny, sometimes serious, sometimes heartbreakingly beautiful. One moment, you are laughing at tales of a mischievous uncle or a village prank. The next, you are honoring ancestors who defended the country centuries ago. The tamada guides the evening, setting the mood and keeping everyone at the table connected to the shared experience. The supra is not only about filling your stomach. It is about weaving everyone into the same story, even if only for a few hours, and allowing each participant to feel part of Georgia’s larger culture.

Khachapuri, Georgia’s iconic cheese bread, can change the way you think about comfort food. There are several regional styles, each with its own personality, but the most dramatic is Adjarian khachapuri, shaped like a little boat. It arrives at the table bubbling hot, cheese spilling over the sides. A raw egg yolk is cracked into the center along with a knob of butter. The ritual is to mix it all together into a golden, silky mass and tear off pieces of bread to scoop up the molten mixture. The first bite is almost overwhelming. Stretchy, salty cheese, soft bread, and rich egg and butter come together in perfect harmony. It feels indulgent yet ceremonial, a warm hug in edible form. There are subtler variations too. Imeretian khachapuri is round and filled with cheese, while Mingrelian khachapuri doubles the cheese content inside and on top. Locals debate endlessly over which version is the best. But no matter where you eat it, khachapuri is Georgia’s most welcoming handshake.

Then there are khinkali, the soul of Georgian cuisine. These dumplings are massive, hand-pleated, and carefully constructed, each one a tiny piece of edible sculpture. Inside is a juicy filling of spiced beef, pork, or lamb mixed with onions, herbs, and just enough broth to make the dumpling dangerously succulent. Eating khinkali is a skill. You hold it by the twisted top, bite into the side, and quickly slurp the broth before it escapes. The remaining dough is eaten slowly, leaving the top knot behind as a sort of edible scorecard. Sharing a plate of khinkali becomes a communal ritual, full of laughter and conversation. After a long day exploring mountain villages or wandering Tbilisi’s winding streets, khinkali is the perfect combination of nourishment and entertainment.

Walnuts appear everywhere in Georgian food, more than just a garnish or a snack. They are the backbone of many classic dishes. Satsivi, for instance, is a cold chicken dish covered in a velvety walnut-garlic sauce, especially popular in winter. Eggplant rolls are often stuffed with walnut paste and sprinkled with pomegranate seeds, creating a taste that is earthy, nutty, and bright all at once. Walnuts are not just an ingredient. They are a symbol of Georgia’s culinary philosophy: simple, natural, deeply flavorful, and connected to the land. They remind you that food should nourish both body and soul and that ingredients should speak for themselves.

Georgia is also the birthplace of wine. The country has been making it for over 8,000 years, and they do it in a way that is completely unique. Instead of fermenting wine in barrels, they use qvevri, massive clay vessels buried underground. The wines are cloudy, unfiltered, and often amber in color, with a wild, lively taste. Wine is sacred here. At a supra, every toast is accompanied by a glass, and it is considered bad form to leave your glass empty. Drinking qvevri wine while listening to the tamada is a meditative experience. It connects you to thousands of years of tradition, a chain of people who have been doing the same thing for millennia. The wine itself is alive with the sun, soil, and devotion of the Georgian people.

For a true sense of Georgia, start in Tbilisi’s Dezerter Bazaar. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming in the best way. Pyramids of spices in jewel colors, barrels of pickled vegetables, and churchkhela, strings of nuts dipped in thickened grape juice that hang like edible candles, create a riot of color and texture. The air smells of fresh bread, dried herbs, and wood smoke. This market exists not just to sell food, but to transmit culture, energy, and history. Vendors call out prices and jokes, exchanging recipes with customers as if every interaction were part of the entertainment.

Outside the city, winding mountain roads lead to villages where traditions are still alive. Families bake bread in clay ovens called tone, crush grapes for wine in their backyards, and preserve fruits and vegetables the same way their ancestors did. If you linger, it’s not unusual to be invited into a home for tea or wine. A short stop can quickly turn into an impromptu feast, complete with stories, laughter, and another round of khachapuri and khinkali. These invitations show how inseparable food and hospitality are in Georgia. They are a way of building trust, community, and memory.

Georgian cuisine is not just about the dishes themselves. Each region adds its own flavor. The mountains favor hearty stews and dumplings. The valleys grow vibrant vegetables. The coasts offer fresh fish and seafood. Herbs and spices are often wild-harvested and enhance flavors naturally without overpowering them. The balance of flavors is born from centuries of observation and adaptation. Every meal is a lesson in geography, history, and human creativity, teaching that the best flavors emerge when tradition meets the table.

By the end of your trip, Georgia reveals itself quietly. It doesn’t try to impress. Its food mirrors the country itself: warm, soulful, deeply rooted in tradition, and best enjoyed slowly, with good company. Every supra, every glass of wine, every dumpling, and every shared loaf of bread becomes a memory that lingers long after you leave. Georgia teaches that food is more than something to eat. It is a language, a connector, a way of belonging. It links you to the land, to strangers who become friends, and to a culture that has been celebrating life at the table for centuries. It is the beating heart of the nation, and to partake in it is to understand Georgia itself.