I’ve been meaning for years to visit Pirosmani, long considered one of the jewels of South Brooklyn’s Caucasian belt, ensconced in an out-of-the way corner of Gravesend that’s accessible only by car (or bus). Circumstances recently aligned to grant me the use of a vehicle for the weekend, and so I set off with a group to check out a wide assortment of Georgian feast foods. Surrounding a pivotal stretch of the Silk Road, with a spice-speckled cuisine that gloriously combines Eastern-European and Asian styles, Georgia has been getting a lot of attention lately, even expanding into Lower Manhattan via a few new venues (Oda House, Old Tblisi Garden and Tone Café). Pirosmani, on the other hand, isn’t aiming for modern bistro cool, with a truncated banquet hall full of rustic folk-art murals (reproductions of work by the restaurant's artist namesake), tulle wall draperies, thick white tablecloths and seasonal ceiling decorations. On Friday nights it also offers live music from a singing keyboardist, who backed up his spirited performance with a series of Youtube nature videos. The wide spread of kebabs, khachapuri and roasted poultry were immensely satisfying, but others have already better summed up the broad outlines of the country’s cooking. What instead caught my attention were two unusual herbal preparations, one pickled, another in soft drink form. Mountainous and lush, Georgia appears to be a land of herbs, with fenugreek and its lesser-known blue cousin appearing in dishes like lobio, the khmeli suneli spice blend adding fragrant nuttiness to others. Much of this herbal character is found in tarragon soda, the most shockingly green drink this side of Ecto Cooler, adequately described as the country’s Coca-Cola. That applies at least to the Tarhun brand, which was developed by a pharmacist in 1887, adding carbonated water to pre-existing syrup mixtures. Tarhun may be the original, but I prefer Zedazeni's elegantly designed bottle. Less eye-catching, perhaps even more interesting, is the jonjoli, a food so unassuming that I didn’t even bother to photograph it. Served as part of a tangy assortment of garlic cloves and banana peppers labeled ‘Georgian pickles,’ these berries were not specifically identified; I initially misidentified them as ordinary capers, albeit especially bulbous ones grouped into frond-like bunches. Some subsequent research determined that these were actually a different sort of pickled berry, known by the less-than-appealing name of bladdernuts. An important opening act for any Georgian feast, they share some relation to capers but seem much better suited to gobbling in large quantities, possessing an added tang and a bracing seaweed saltiness, like something pulled directly out of the ocean. Meat and cheese may be the showstoppers of the Georgian table, but the sneaky deliciousness of these two sideline items points to the importance of local herbs and vegetables, the flavors of which which differentiate Georgian from other Central Asian cuisines.
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