TBILISI

By Helena Bedwell

“Children, how many times have I told you to put the book back at its place, on that shelf – and where is its cover?”

This is a familiar refrain from my childhood. My Aunty Medea, an insistent blonde with blue eyes, would rush into our rustic kitchen, pick up the ancient book from the pile of scattered white flour and eggshells. Butter smears would be carefully wiped off. To make sure they were all gone,  she’d uses her sleeve and blow several times, as though to dry the pages.

As children in a western Georgian town, we spent our summer holidays visiting our aunt and grandmother. Sometimes, bored with outdoor play and trips to the river, curiosity would lead us to Aunty Medea’s kitchen, home of her cookbooks, equipment and ideas.

It was pristine, books wrapped in coloured newspapers, shelves organised in an orderly manner, everything in its place. Only the cooker was messy, dusted with flour, smelling of boiling confiteors, corn flour patties and cheese bread baked on clay stones. She was a busy woman, a kindergarten teacher who never had children, pouring all her love instead into us and her charges. Her scoldings never lasted long.

That day, we’d decided to make Qadas, a Georgian sweet bread with eggs and sugar. I’d lifted the cookbook off its shelf. It was old and well worn; the recipe I found there is still my go-to for Qadas, made with dripping or oil. The smell of them cooking brings me straight back to that favourite sweet treat of childhood.

The cookbook’s author, Barbare Eristavi-Jorjadze, who lived in 19th century Georgia, was, like Aunty Medea, a formidable woman, renowned for publicly speaking her mind, frequently arguing with men and doing whatever she thought was right for the moment. She was a prominent playwright and publicist but it was cooking that brought her fame. Unusually for her time, she taught cookery to all who would learn, rich or poor, novice or proficient.

Barbare’s cookbook Georgian Cuisine: Tried and True Family Methods was printed in 1874. It is a classic that bears comparison with Marcella Hazan’s The Classic Italian Cookbook by Marcella Hazan, Le Guide Culinaire by Auguste Escoffier or works by Mrs. (Isabella) Beeton. Barbare, who did not like restrictions of any kind, included both Georgian and European dishes.

Her book, Medea’s pride and joy, was lost to me for many decades.

In 2015, an advert on social media caught my eye, for a restaurant called “Barbare.” It couldn’t be a coincidence, I thought, and lost no time in making a booking, keen to discover whether those childhood memories in my aunt’s kitchen could be brought back to life.

Its owner, Zviad Qurasbediani, is a tall, simply dressed man with a face etched with worry. He worries about his restaurant, about his suppliers, about quality and service. As well as a busy restaurant which he runs with his childhood sweetheart Maka, they are parents to 11 children.

Zviad is a man on a mission: for Georgians to rediscover Barbare Eristavi-Jorjadze, and revive the culinary tradition she once so successfully established.

Most people thought he was crazy.

But Zviad and Maka pushed on with their dream. Their two eldest sons gave up their high-paid jobs at banks and in marketing to join the business. Starting with family savings, motivation and great enterprise in their hearts, “Barbare” was born, with help from the branding company Gastronaut.

This “crazy” plan is now a thriving restaurant, with a handmade interior and a specially picked wine list, serving the exact same menu, made by the same methods as the book’s recipes.

The restrictions imposed to fight the spread of COVID-19 hit the restaurant trade hard, but the Qurasbediani family carried on, undeterred. As the pandemic forced restaurants to close, they switched to a delivery service, offering gourmet cuisine delivered to people’s doors.

Like Zviad and Maka, Barbare was called  “crazy” in her time. Born into an aristocratic family who left work to domestic staff, she decided that any woman should know how to run things herself in her own house, making her own ink and clothes dye for wool and cotton, to inventing stain removal methods. Like Mrs Beeton, cooking was just one of her many skills. But she was an early feminist, who dared to make a loud entrance to a very patriarchal society.

And though she dressed in the traditional attire of velvet dresses and Tiflis headgear, Barbare’s cookbook is uniquely modern for its time for catering to both the rich and the poor. Her recipes feature tips for those women for whom meat was a luxury, teaching them to cook with it sparingly for their whole family.

“Unbelievable and ground-breaking for those days,” is how Zviad excitedly sums her up, and Maka agrees.

For Zviad, Barbare holds the key to authentic, forgotten Georgian cuisine, which had been battered by the Ottoman and Russian empire occupation and 70 years of Soviet dictatorship. For me, her allure is that while highlighting the best of Georgian culinary tradition, she was not afraid of pushing boundaries.

The cookbook’s simple language still sounds fresh and modern. She was particular about measurements, including not just well-known ounces, lots, tumbler cups (about 250 grams) but also Iranian and European methods, such as a pinch, dash or Batmani. Her regard for hygienic skills, such as tricks for keeping meat fresh and her way of telling which products were going bad would still impress experts today.

Her range of desserts is substantial, from solid cakes and pies to something similar to rice pudding. She advises that such dishes be accompanied by liquors and sherry.

She suggested that farmers give chicken drops of vinegar to assure the softness of the poultry. Her list of mouth-watering poultry recipes includes Chicken Chikhirtma, goose in Cornelian cherry and turkey boiled with wheat and spices.

I have now found my own copy of Barbare’s cookbook. Every time I open it, I think of Aunty Medea, how generations of Georgian women, while keeping traditions alive, found time to innovate and improve them.

Helena Bedwell, a food writer and a veteran journalist of 25 years’ experience, is the author of three cookbooks. Her second, “Eat Georgian Feel Good: Vegan and Vegetarian Food from Helena”,  is available on amazon.com. Her latest “Gluten-Free and Lacto-Free Recipes from Helena” will be published this summer.

Helena has kindly shared two recipes, one adapted from Barbare’s original book, and one from her latest book, with the Tribune readers:

Duck Breasts with Cornelian Cherry, Blackberries and Anise Flower

It’s a simple, yet very glamorous dish from Barbare’s 19th-century book, made with tender duck breasts. I added blackberries, which I found enhanced the flavour of the duck.

Ingredients:

1 duck breast

Anise flower

1 kg of blackberries and cornelian cherries

Butter or ghee

Salt and pepper

I did not marinate the breasts, as the dish itself is quite juicy. There are a few ways to fry the perfect duck, and I chose the frying pan, which melts the fat and helps the skin to crisp up without it burning. 

Fry the breasts, letting the fat melt out and the skin crisp. This can take up to 15 minutes.

Make the sauce by mixing all the berries together. Sauté with anise flour, salt and pepper, and pour the mixture over the duck breast.

You’re done. Enjoy!

Phelamushi Cups

This is a wonderful and quick dessert, traditionally made during the grape harvest season but you may enjoy it all year-round with the help of the gluten-free fruit juice alternatives.

Ingredients:

3 litres sugar-free grape juice or gluten-free fresh juice cinnamon to taste

4 cups gluten-free flour

Take a large saucepan and pour the juice in with the flour. Stir well. Heat the mix, stirring well, and let it simmer for 20 minutes. Stir regularly, so it doesn’t stick to the pan.

 You can use honey or agave syrup (or neither) and cinnamon to balance the taste. When the flour aroma disappears, consider the dessert done!

As an alternative to grape juice, high-concentrate dark berry juices would do just fine.