More Georgian Food at Mtskheta Cafe

Once again I've found myself overly complacent. Mtskheta Cafe, a new Georgian restaurant near the end of the D train in South Brooklyn (in what may or may not be Bensonhurst) blasted onto my radar with a review in New York Magazine of all places. A scouting trip with Jared Cohee of Eating the World in NYC that same day confirmed that I should probably return.

That Friday, we showed up with a large group for a birthday party where we ordered much of the menu (and also had much to drink). Then, I sat on my post. Subsequent write-ups by Jared, Wilfrid of At the Sign of the Pink Pig and Dave Cook at Eaten in Translation showed that I really had a lot to add to the conversation.... Regardless (I've sold this quite well, I'm sure), I'll add what I can (having been to a lot of Georgian restaurants in the city, I believe my self-proclaimed expertise means my voice should be heard).

At the first meal with Jared, we decided to keep our order lean and mean with kupati, khachapouri and a Georgian salad. Also, the all-Russian menu was daunting, so we just named a few dishes to try. Our young, English-speaking waiter pushed the garlic chicken, but we'd already ordered too much. This type of food requires alcohol. I was unprepared, but ran to the Rite Aid down the street, where the best of a bad selection was Heineken tall boys. Those would do.

I returned to chewy lavash bread and soon our khachapouri arrived. It was buttery, almost like movie theater popcorn and overflowing with cheese, but otherwise unremarkable. Stick with Pirosmani or Georgian Bread for khachapouri.

Blurry Georgian Nights at Tbilisi Cafe & Bakery

A train ride into Bensonhurst led us to the narrow and unassuming Tbilisi Cafe & Bakery where my friend Liz had arranged for a massive Georgian dinner (also known as a Supra) with some of her friends from the Peace Corps. Liz knows how much I love khachapouri, and this is just another step in my plan to eat at every Georgian place in the city (and an excuse to drink).

What follows is an illustration of a proper Supra. 

Initially, I'd like to note that these meals are fueled by alcohol, and due to my inebriation stemming from a strict compliance with the rules of a Supra, my pictures suck (and to be honest, my memory of this dinner is hazy, at best). Shaky, grease-slicked hands make for blurry photos, so I'll use them sparingly. 

Along with multiple shots of honey pepper vodka, we (or, I) alternated between overly sweet Georgian wine, vodka and beer. It's all about variety in consumption. Oh, before I go any further I should note that the two rules for drinking at a Supra are: (1) everyone drinks at the same time; and (2) everyone must finish what's in their glass. I'm proud of myself for not throwing in a Fight Club reference right there. I think it's a sign of maturity. 

A Supra also requires a Tamada, or toastmaster. Liz claims she was the Tamada. Since I don't have the energy to argue with her, I guess I'll let it slide.

We began the meal with a simple salad and badrijani. The thin slices of eggplant stuffed with walnut paste went down well on top of an incendiary shot of honey pepper vodka.