The Big Four
Normal food for a Georgian suphra, which happens at any major events plus whenever they feel like drinking and eating themselves into a slight coma. Very top left: vinagretti (potato salad without the potatoes). Just to the left of the orange soda: some tomatoey meaty sauce thing served hot. Random white blocks on a plate: cheese. Triangular bread-looking thing next to the cheese: khachapuri (which means 'cheese bread'). Tan sauce stuff: satsivi with chicken meat (and by meat I mean lightly meated bones). Bread.
Papuna, my little host brother from the pits of hell, is quite a cute kid: big smile, pretty curly hair, adorable fashion habits which include bright blue tights worn with big galoshes and big, brownish green eyes. On the other hand, he has the habits of a possessed tasmanian devil with a sore tooth. The other day I went out to get my shoes and he was peeing in the front yard, then licked his hands clean and pulled all the cushions off the arm-chair to throw on the floor and jump on. He once made himself vomit because his dad didn't get him a coke in town. I'm not saying he cried so hard he vomited, which small children are sometimes wont to do, I'm saying he literally stuck a finger down his throat and vomited onto the rug next to the wood stove. If I pick him up in jest to play with him I have to avoid his teeth. Honestly, he kind of freaks me out and has been known to run screaming into my room, get frustrated when I don't understand his mile-a-minute Georgian baby talk and run screaming out of my room. My host dad was worried that he'd stolen my keys because he apparently has a bit of the klepto in him. Instead of waking up to a nice song as I did when I was a kid (thanks, mom!), I now wake up to him screaming at the top of his longs and refusing to get dressed/eat/put socks on/put shoes on/have his hair brushed/etc.
He looks so innocent, just playing with his new Hummer play thing on the floor with his grandmother watching.I could keep going, but I figure I should maybe put some effort into making him sound less like a complete insane-asylum case. So, having said all of that, he is still a decent kid. He tries to learn English and likes to make fun of me because I don't know Georgian but he can count to 10 in English (though he can never remember 5). His favorite activity is kissing everyone in the room and saying he wants to marry me and that he has three houses. My favorite memory with my family, by far, was when I was innocently sitting down to tea with him and he just said, "I want water," from the middle of nowhere then got up and got himself a glass of water. I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped. He also has the patience to talk to me even when I don't understand him and if he does get frustrated usually he's forgotten within two minutes that he was every angry with me. He always wants to help, always.
Okay, let's be honest. He really is a total nut job. I love the kid to death and am probably going to cry like a baby when I have to say goodbye, but he is insane to the max and there's no denying it. He is the oldest and only son in a Georgian family which means he has full reign of the house like a flippin' king (kid you not, he gets anything and everything he wants). This is also probably why he's a bit of a monster: spoiled rotten. However, I still changed plans to leave my friends early to come home for his birthday. He's my host brother and he's four. I would have felt like the worst person in the world to miss a four year old's birthday. So, I came home early and brought him chocolate coins, American coins and some toy cars I bought in Turkey. I was doing laundry in the yard when his other grandmother (my host mom's mother, who does not live with us) and his mom and dad came home with the second cake.
Cake number 1 with the usual candles (he's four, though the fourth candle is hidden). I'm not bitter or anything, but I didn't get dinner on my birthday.We had the usual suphra with all the usual foods (as pictured above) and I didn't get as much vinagreti as I would have liked (seriously, I love potato salad and this stuff is, if possible, as good as or better than potato salad). [Complete tangent: If I had a choice between eating nothing but khachapuri and vinagreti for the next two months or having a different meal each day involving any sort of meat, I'd pick the khachapuri and vinagreti. Even if the khachapuri were cold. Even if the vinagreti didn't have enough pepper. Before I came to Georgia I was a vegetarian for 7 years and vegan for 9 months and only started eating meat to be respectful of my host family, as most of you know. However, it was mostly because I didn't want to eat mass-produced meat and found meat kind of gross and because I just kind of love vegetables. Yeah, well, now if I become vegetarian it is from the sheer horror at the mere thought of putting a piece of meat anywhere near my face. We had a suphra the Tuesday after Easter in my honor and there was a fried piglet's head sitting on the table. I had to avoid eye contact and try not to cry as I choked down my chicken meat. Ugh. I have never been as grossed out by meat as I am, now. If I had my way I would never even look at a piece of meat again. And you know what? I won't even care if people give me crap about wanting to be vegetarian anymore. Meat makes me want to vomit. Meat makes me want to never eat again. Meat makes me want to cry and throw myself in front of a speeding train. And I've officially eaten (way too much) meat which has been farm-raised and killed by someone who I live with. I don't care. Meat is gross. You can go eat meat all you like and I won't give a rat's bum, but meat is so not my thing and never was and I can't wait for a bloody salad when I get home.)
There were two cakes. The first one, above, was just a regular old chocolate cake with the proper number of candles. The second cake I was a little confused about. Papuna was extremely excited about the lighting of the candles on the second cake, which was weird because to me they looked like foot-long tubes of rolled brown paper with a shiny bit wrapped around the outside. Why would weirdly giant flames be remotely cool? Well, turns out they weren't just paper.
Yeah, they were fireworks. That face there is the way pure joy looks. If someone put 22 of those suckers on my cake this year, I would probably look like that as well. I'd also probably lose my eyebrows, eyelashes and a good percentage of my hair.
Anyway, we did suphra and presents and drinking and then I had my coffee grounds read by my host mom's mom who is a very touchy, friendly old lady and she told me basically the exact same thing that everyone gets when they have their coffee grounds read: you will be happy, you will be married, someone misses you, you're wonderful, everything is awesome forever. (The first time was cool and mysterious, but not so much the 10th time when you get told the exact same happy happy stuff.) Through all of it Papuna was just as insane and ridiculous as he always is. For the rest of the week people came bearing gifts including: a full set of little army men, a giant spiderman toy, the hummer pictured above, my gift of hot wheels and American money (he loves money, by the way) and his cakes of course. Spoiled to the core, this boy.
This was a very rant-y and slightly pointless entry, much more so than I've been doing recently. If I'd just waited until after I'd eaten to start it I might have been more organized, but I started it on a very, very empty stomach.
And now, to completely make this more about food than my host brother: What Helen Is Craving.
I miss a lot of food from America, but right now (and always) what I miss the most is: sandwiches. Avocado, blue cheese, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, salt, pepper, toasted wheat roll. Hummus, spinach leaves, red onion, sauteed mushrooms, salt, pepper, feta, ciabatta bread. Hell, peanut butter and effing jelly. You know what? I love peanut butter. I have always loved peanut butter. I don't even remember the last time I had peanut butter. You know what I love more than peanut butter? Very little. In fact, I'm going to go crazy and say I like peanut butter more than I like Nutella. ("No. WAY!" "Way.") If I had a choice between being able to eat peanut butter here and having water every single day, I'd pick peanut butter (because let's be honest, sometimes I don't shower even when I have the chance because I'm so used to not showering but twice a week). If I had a choice between eating only peanut butter (literally, only peanut butter) and having different meals every day but that involved meat I would pick peanut butter. Can you tell that I love peanut butter? Can you also tell that I haven't been eating enough lately because I began this entry with the idea that I would talk about my host brother's birthday and I have somehow gotten a food reference into every paragraph? (No, really, every paragraph. Even if it's just the word food. And these days tea counts as a food to me, because I have it as two of my 'meals' usually. When we have actual tea.)
And now: Things You Should Not Do In Georgia (1 of 1 [so far])
1) Look at food blogs. Ever. If you aren't completely in love with Georgian food, do not look at food blogs. Ever. Just don't do it. And if you've only eaten: stale Easter cake, bread, tea, an orange slice, one crepe with banana, an apple slice, some dried apricots, a handful of nuts and a crap ton of vodka in the past 48 hours, then you REALLY should not look at food blogs. Especially ones that are done by professional photographers. Le sigh. Someday I'll once again have my own kitchen. I don't know when that will be, but hopefully in the very very near future.
There were two cakes. The first one, above, was just a regular old chocolate cake with the proper number of candles. The second cake I was a little confused about. Papuna was extremely excited about the lighting of the candles on the second cake, which was weird because to me they looked like foot-long tubes of rolled brown paper with a shiny bit wrapped around the outside. Why would weirdly giant flames be remotely cool? Well, turns out they weren't just paper.
Yeah, they were fireworks. That face there is the way pure joy looks. If someone put 22 of those suckers on my cake this year, I would probably look like that as well. I'd also probably lose my eyebrows, eyelashes and a good percentage of my hair.Anyway, we did suphra and presents and drinking and then I had my coffee grounds read by my host mom's mom who is a very touchy, friendly old lady and she told me basically the exact same thing that everyone gets when they have their coffee grounds read: you will be happy, you will be married, someone misses you, you're wonderful, everything is awesome forever. (The first time was cool and mysterious, but not so much the 10th time when you get told the exact same happy happy stuff.) Through all of it Papuna was just as insane and ridiculous as he always is. For the rest of the week people came bearing gifts including: a full set of little army men, a giant spiderman toy, the hummer pictured above, my gift of hot wheels and American money (he loves money, by the way) and his cakes of course. Spoiled to the core, this boy.
This was a very rant-y and slightly pointless entry, much more so than I've been doing recently. If I'd just waited until after I'd eaten to start it I might have been more organized, but I started it on a very, very empty stomach.
And now, to completely make this more about food than my host brother: What Helen Is Craving.
I miss a lot of food from America, but right now (and always) what I miss the most is: sandwiches. Avocado, blue cheese, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, salt, pepper, toasted wheat roll. Hummus, spinach leaves, red onion, sauteed mushrooms, salt, pepper, feta, ciabatta bread. Hell, peanut butter and effing jelly. You know what? I love peanut butter. I have always loved peanut butter. I don't even remember the last time I had peanut butter. You know what I love more than peanut butter? Very little. In fact, I'm going to go crazy and say I like peanut butter more than I like Nutella. ("No. WAY!" "Way.") If I had a choice between being able to eat peanut butter here and having water every single day, I'd pick peanut butter (because let's be honest, sometimes I don't shower even when I have the chance because I'm so used to not showering but twice a week). If I had a choice between eating only peanut butter (literally, only peanut butter) and having different meals every day but that involved meat I would pick peanut butter. Can you tell that I love peanut butter? Can you also tell that I haven't been eating enough lately because I began this entry with the idea that I would talk about my host brother's birthday and I have somehow gotten a food reference into every paragraph? (No, really, every paragraph. Even if it's just the word food. And these days tea counts as a food to me, because I have it as two of my 'meals' usually. When we have actual tea.)
And now: Things You Should Not Do In Georgia (1 of 1 [so far])
1) Look at food blogs. Ever. If you aren't completely in love with Georgian food, do not look at food blogs. Ever. Just don't do it. And if you've only eaten: stale Easter cake, bread, tea, an orange slice, one crepe with banana, an apple slice, some dried apricots, a handful of nuts and a crap ton of vodka in the past 48 hours, then you REALLY should not look at food blogs. Especially ones that are done by professional photographers. Le sigh. Someday I'll once again have my own kitchen. I don't know when that will be, but hopefully in the very very near future.
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