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.
