Cook khinkali with a Sololaki family

You arrive at the gate just after noon, and Tamar is already at the table with her sleeves rolled up. The flour is out, the meat is minced with onion, coriander and a pinch of cumin, and a pot of water is warming on the stove. Within ten minutes you have an apron on and a ball of dough in your hands.

The rule in this kitchen is nineteen folds. Fewer and the khinkali falls apart in the pot; more and you are showing off. Tamar laughs at your first attempts, then takes your hands and folds the next one with you, slowly, until the little crown at the top holds.

My grandmother never measured anything. I measure with my hands, and now so will you.— Tamar, your host

While the first batch boils, her husband brings up a bottle from the cellar under the stairs. Neighbours drift in from the courtyard. Someone starts a toast, someone else corrects it, and by the time the khinkali reach the table nobody is a guest anymore.

What to expect

The afternoon lasts about three hours and is held for up to six guests. You cook everything you eat, with a vegetarian filling on request. Wear something you don’t mind dusting with flour, and come hungry. You leave with Tamar’s recipe, written by hand.