Best Georgian Restaurant in Batumi, Georgia

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Delia

In Georgia it would seem that very few people speak English. This is more than acceptable and is the very reason why Matty has taken one for the team and learned Russian over the last few months.

But sometimes he gets a little stage fright and the phrase book is at the bottom of a bag, underneath more useful things like tissues, kirby grips and Blistex.

So in the meantime we have a new strategy for ordering food, which basically involves the Mongoose making animal noises at bemused waiting staff.

When struggling with the word for lamb recently, the Mongoose just suddenly started bleating. Not missing a beat, the waiter ‘Mooed’ back in his face. But nevertheless, we were soon eating a bleating-no-longer lamb.

Often, the most authentic local food is found in the places that have no English menus. As was the case with the best Georgian restaurant we have found so far, in the seaside town of Batumi, which was recommended to us by the lovely owners of the small family-run hostel we are staying in.

The first challenge was finding it. We knew it was on an alleyway, off a main boulevard, but the alleyway did not have a name and the restaurant name was nothing more than a sprawl of Georgian letters (which to my untrained eye looks like a combination of Arabic and Russian). Nevertheless, after the Mongoose furiously acted out eating a big plate of food fit for the gods, and we enthusiastically showed off our piece of paper with the indistinguishable Georgian letters, somebody finally took pity on us and led us there.

This is the frontage of the inconspicuous little eatery.

Stepping in, we walked down some stairs and entered what almost felt like a hideaway den. A couple of women greeted us, chatting away in Georgian. We know one word – thank you – which we over use enthusiastically. Tomorrow I’m going to learn hello.

But for now we kind of greet people by thanking them and we try to tell people important messages by thanking them and when we actually need to thank someone for something, we feel rather pleased with ourselves for using the word in the right context.

So after ‘thanking’ our hellos, we took in our new surroundings. The walls and ceiling were decked out in a dark wooden panelling, giving the room a cosy feeling. And if you want it even more intimate than that there are two little private rooms that are curtained off from the main restaurant (this seems to be a common theme in Georgia.)

They wisely led us into one of the little hideaway dens to keep the likes of Matty out of harms way.

Then came the food-ordering challenge. No menu was presented but a cheery woman started reading out what we decided must have been food options. Our trusty hostel owner had said if we said his name they would call him so he could translate on the phone.

So we started saying his name. This caused quite the flurry of excitement and they dashed in and out of our little room, but then returned and continued reading us the menu in Georgian… With no phone.

So I just started nodding at things. There was no real rhyme or reason to what I’d nod at but I did notice sometimes she looked more excited when she read out various dishes, which in turn led to more excitable nods from me.

It was around this time that Donagh started behaving like a fish. He put the palms of his hands together and made swimming motions towards the poor woman. Just as he was about to start puckering in his cheeks and swimming in circles around the imaginary fish bowl he now believed he was in, the woman shouted what I can only presume was ‘fish’ in Georgian. I nodded enthusiastically.

And the hard work was done. We sat back on our little stools around the low table in our den and eagerly waited for the food to arrive.

Charming and well loved terracotta clay plates and bowls were placed down in front of us. A litre of red wine, served in a reassuringly robust clay jug was presented and the woman pointed at the small terracotta bowls and said ‘vino’, to avoid that awkward situation of tourists pouring food into their wine vessels.

Georgian red wine is either dry or sweet and tends to be of the two extremes, at least at the cheaper end of the market anyway. But this wine was light and fruity without being too sweet or too dry. It turned out to go very well with the food that was about to cover the table.

First up was the bread. Bread is both big and beautiful in Georgia, it is always deliciously soft and fresh and we end up eating far too much of it before the meal arrives. This time it was accompanied by a lip-smacking tangy tomato salsa that was laden with fresh coriander and chilli. The bread basket and dip were replaced so quickly we were almost embarrassed. Almost.

Allow me to introduce you to the 10 giant dumplings, (later learned to be called khinkali). Looking just like giant ravioli parcels, they were filled with a herb infused lamb mince and as we pierced the thick pasta-like skin, light but flavoursome meat juices spilled out onto the plate. A heavy sprinkling of pepper is encouraged. Delicious.

As we gobbled them down, a sizzling pan of pork was brought out to us, each little piece of juicy meat finished with its own crunchy layer of crackling.

Apologies for the terrible pictures (and lack of pictorial food porn in this post) – I had only my iPhone with me and our cosy little den was lit by a single lantern.

Rest assured though, the food was so good that Matty attempted to quieten our dramatic gasps and cooing as we chomped away.

‘The people next door are going to think there’s some kind of orgy going on in here with the amount of sex noises going on,’ he warned.

But no sooner had he said it, the waitress brought the fish out and the Mongoose made a sound that even he looked a little uncomfortable with.

Deep fried like a giant whitebait, the fish was deliciously tender and meaty.

It was, we concluded, a wonderful find and the ‘thank yous’ flowed out of us with no sign of relenting until we had finally left the building. Matty was delighted and the Mongoose ecstatic.

‘Mmmm, I wonder if we could get some squid next time,’ he suggested.

Let me assure you now, the phrase book will definitely be left behind for that occasion.

Travel Tips

We have been told that the translation for this wonderful Georgian restaurant in Batumi is ‘White Bear’.

It is on an alleyway just off Z.Gorgiladze Street, between the Art Museum and Maisi Street.

Our meal, with two litres of wine cost just 30 GEL for three people (about £10 between us).

If it’s any help at all, the alleyway entrance looks like this:

Where to stay in Batumi?

We stayed at the lovely Batumi Hostel, which is on Mazniashvilis Qucha, and run by a friendly, young couple.

A converted house, the light and airy place really feels like a second home. Being there out of season we basically had it to ourself… Perfect. They also had a living room and kitchen, which was free to use as we pleased.

The best street food in Istanbul: The Islak Hamburger

Posted on May 3, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you visit a city and need to tell the world about its crumbling city walls, stunning churches and mosaic mosques. Other times you need to eulogise about its food. Specifically a hamburger.

The Islak hamburger may only cost £1 and look like a heart-stopping combination of soggy bap and dirty meat, sold on unreliable street corners across Istanbul – but allow me to dispel such myths.

After purchasing said burger from a kind looking man at a stand on Taksim Square (where it had been sitting in a hot glass tank for longer than is probably worth thinking about), I was delighted to discover how soft the bread was. Biting into the warm, soft bap, a rich meat infused tomato sauce oozed out.

A few bites later, I was into the heart of the burger… a herby, spiced lamb mince pattie that made me make inappropriate noises and earn unfavourable looks from passer-by’s.

The Islak Burger is, my friends, the burger of kings, the king of burgers – the burger that looks down at Burger King from his hot, glass tank and mocks their dry baps and spiceless meat.

The pictures of me actually eating it are not suitable for public viewing but here’s me being all excitable by the stand.

However, if you are after something a little more fresh tasting then I can also heartily recommend making your way to the Gelata Bridge (that crosses over the Golden Horn) to one of the stalls where the fish is grilled fresh from the fishermen’s net. Meaty mackerel (or whatever the catch of the day is) is thrown into a crunchy baguette, drizzled in fresh lemon juice and topped with giant rocket leaves and crunchy onion slices, with a slight sprinkle of salt and paprika.

This will set you back just £2 – which means you can definitely go back for seconds.

Istanbul is a street food lover’s haven… We drank the juice of three freshly squeezed oranges (costing 50p) every day and munched on giant sesame seed sprinkled pretzels, costing about the same.

But it is the rows of dirty looking burgers that is the real secret gem in the city’s street food scene. Trust me*.

PS If you want to know more about the highlights of the city then take a look at my picture-led post from when Matty and I first visited Istanbul a couple of years ago.

*The hamburger was tried and tested after about four pints of Turkey’s finest Efes lager.

Getting cosy Under the Stairs, Edinburgh

Posted on April 1, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you just have to eat somewhere that has a fish tank built into its fireplace.

It was a cold, sorry – I mean a BITTERLY cold day in Edinburgh – when I found myself desperately googling ‘warmest pub in Edinburgh’ and ‘warmest place to eat in Edinburgh ever’ and ‘make me warm in Edinburgh NOW’, when I realised I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore and Google hadn’t provided. So I did what we used to do a few years back and looked around frantically for somewhere to hibernate.

For those of you in Northern Europe who are currently suffering a similar fate – how are you coping and what survival strategies are you employing? For those of you elsewhere or reading this in the future I am writing during the period of time that I am sure will be known as The Great Easter Freeze of 2013… I mean, let’s be honest there is no way Jesus would have risen 2013 years ago if the weather had been like this.

Anyhow, I digress. So with numb fingers and a distant memory of feeling my toes, I headed down Merchant Street in Edinburgh (just behind the lovely statue of Bobby, the bonniest dog of Scotland who sat on his master’s grave for 14 years after he died…. Ahhhh!) And it was down that little road that I spied some railings with a sign reading ‘Under the Stairs’ and in the window below, a big comfy looking chair.

I shuffled my frozen feet down the stairs and tentatively pushed open the door. Immediately I was greeted by array of retro sink-into-me armchairs and the fire place/fish tank feature. I knew I had struck gold.

Glancing around, I realised this was one of those rare places that doesn’t really have a ‘bad table’ in the house. Table picking can be a tough gig. Too often when walking into a restaurant you immediately spy the two good tables – perhaps by the fire, with the comfiest seats etc – which are always taken, leaving you with the remainder of the room and its cold, drafts tables packed too closely together, by the door – the loo – the mad woman muttering to herself.

Under the Stairs offered no such predicament. The large cosy room, with its thick and battered wooden floor boards, offered a plethora of mismatched, cobbled together tables and chairs – each as lovely as the next.

The man behind the bar greeted me in a warm, Scottish drawl and told me to sit wherever. I immediately wanted to try out a few tables before settling on one – they all looked so good.

In the end I settled for one that boasted both a fabulous old armchair (they just don’t make them like they used to, do they?), and an old lampshade that gave off a warm, orange glow. Feeling very pleased with myself I perused the menu.

This is where Under the Stairs gains a few more brownie points. It has a fabulous selection of sharing plates… Anti pasti, cheese boards, breads and dipping oils etc that can be ordered until midnight. I am constantly seeking establishments that will cater to both my food and wine needs at all hours, if only I lived a little closer.

The rest of the menu also appealed – from the imaginative twist on a veggie burger (black bean, spring onion an mushroom burger), to the venison casserole and salmon and cous cous fish cakes, I was torn.

With most dishes costing about £8.95 it’s definitely a cheap lunch option in Edinburgh.

But it was this sign that caught my attention:

And this one:

Two things. One, they had my sandwich and soup and I needed them back and two, red wine must always be pondered.

So I pondered and I ordered and I sat in my Grandad’s chair, listening to David Bowie, plotting how to steal the Scottish Crown Jewels over a large glass of Rioja. I’m joking, I’m joking… I was drinking Cabernet Sauvignon.

The food arrived and I decided it was definitely the best use of £5.95 that I have put the pound to for some time. Ladies and gents, allow me to introduce you to my soup and sandwich.

Aren’t they lovely? Divine? As soon as we were ‘reunited’ I realised I had unknowingly missed them my whole life.

The soup, a spicy parsnip and puy lentil number, was delightfully coarse and rich with a heart-warming chilli kick to it. Meanwhile, the sandwich was door stopping – huge slices of granary bread were filled with Cajun marinaded chunks of chicken breast, accompanied by a sweet, caramelised onion garnish and garlic mayonnaise. There was no corner cutting.

As I finished my lunch, the tank cleaning man came in to tend to the fish. As I watched him remove water, add water, and do his thing, I couldn’t help but feel they definitely have the best spot in town. If I was a fish I would want to be by the fire, swimming around Under the Stairs.

Food Facts

My soup, sarnie, and large glass of Rioja came to £12.80.

If you want to get involved you’ll find Under the Stairs at 3a Merchant Street. Bell them on 0131 466 8550.

Gili Trawangan Night Market: Tasty, Budget Food with No Frills (literally)

Posted on October 12, 2012 by Delia

I would like to discuss a theory I have about restaurants with you. It’s a philosophy that Matty and I carry, perhaps controversially, across the world on our travels. It’s not about what warrants chefs to throw toenails into stews, nor is it about judging a waitress by the number of wine glasses she can carry in one hand (I can carry five since your asking) – or even a conclusive theory about tipping. Although I admit all of those would be helpful. No, no, I believe you can judge a restaurant by its tablecloths alone.

And when I say a restaurant, I really mean the price of its menu. It’s a simple theory really – the skankier and more threadbare the cloth; the cheaper the bill. Here’s a quick guide to restaurant prices based on this scientifically proven (well I have eaten a lot) theory.

White linen tablecloths – Woah there Billy Big Bollocks, you are going to be flashing your cash. Just how much will depend on the quality of that linen, if it’s matched with big heavy, sparkling silverware you could be paying in excess of £10 for a cocktail. And that’s just my aperitif…

‘Funky’ wooden tables with no cloth – You could be in a bistro, a gastropub, a carpenter’s studio. But either way you’ll be paying a fair whack… It’s all about the girth ladies, the chunkier the wood the more you’re paying. Fact.

Dark coloured cotton – You’re probably in an Indian restaurant. It disguises the curry you see. But it’s a popular choice in other cuisines too and a reliable sign of a low-mid price restaurant. Be prepared to pay anything from £8-15 for your main course.

The patterned tablecloth – It’s very likely you’re either in a vegetarian art-covered cafe or a tea shop. Either way the price is coming down and you can potentially enjoy an afternoon tea or falafel burger for about £5.

The plastic tablecloth – If you don’t leave your elbows on the table too long you’ll be fine, especially if you’re on a first date. There’s something decisively awkward about the sound of skin ripping off a plastic-covered table, ‘She had heavy arms,’ he’ll tell his mates. But hell, he’ll get a cheap bill.

No tablecloth – And we’re talking about revealing a naked, ugly table underneath; possibly something resembling a decorator’s table, a plastic table or some scratchy metal surface. We’re entering serious no frills here. If you’ve got less than £5 in your pocket and need a feast this is the place to pull up a pew.

Matty and I have walked streets across the world, from Ibiza to Lebanon, exclaiming, ‘Oh no, look at the tablecloth on that, we can’t afford to eat there.’ You actually don’t need to look at the menu after a while, a quick glance at the tables is all you need.

I would like to add that we have often had some of our best food on plastic tablecloths and at bare, naked plastic tables, so I’m afraid this chart is not much use in judging the quality of food. However, it can be a lifesaver when backpacking on a shoestring.

On our recent trip to Gili Trawangan we found the perfect spot for these special tablecloth free evenings, and I’m not talking about girth now. The Gili T food market is a brilliant find if you’re looking for cheap grub. I say ‘find’ but you can’t really miss it; a huge square, which stands empty by day, turns into a hive of plastic tables, bucket chairs, wooden benches and hungry tourists by nightfall. Big simmering cauldrons of soups sit on hob rings on food carts while fish lay in ice ready to be barbecued and traditional Balinese black rice pudding is whipped up for afters. There is barely a tablecloth in sight – and the ones that are present are both plastic and stapled to the table.

Our favourite stall was one that belonged to a woman who had trays of marinated fish and meats next to a huge barbecue.

Here she is, the woman in green.

This, my friends, is where you can pick up five skewers of barbecued chicken, beef or prawns with an assortment of delicious salads and a side portion of rice for just 25,000 Indonesian Rupiahs, which is about £1.70. What a bargain! The chicken was succulent and the salads were delicious, my favourite being a fresh green bean number, dressed in a soy sauce based dressing.

And the stall behind her, with the yellow and red lettering, prepares what might just be the best pancakes in the Southern Hemisphere. These little beauties really put the cake in pancake. Huge folds of fried batter came drizzled in melted chocolate, bananas and condensed milk. Served in a cardboard box it was like a huge chunk of sweet, pancake flavoured cake, costing just 15,000 Rupiahs (about £1). It was beautiful. I queued for about half an hour, much to Matty’s disgust, but it was worth every minute. And I’m a bad blogger because I just inhaled it, without even taking a picture.

We actually couldn’t finish it between us. It was that big. But I do hate to see good food go to waste so we offered to another couple on our table, who turned out to be from Lincolnshire.

Fortunately they didn’t think we were crazy (or at least not at that stage anyway) and the pancake sharing soon turned into Bintang drinking with our newfound friends Jane and Simon. And as we sat there exchanging tales and drinking the chilled beers (available from ice boxes at all good food carts) I couldn’t help but think it would have all turned out differently if there had been white linen tablecloths involved.

So there’s my secret, what’s yours? If you have any tips about finding good budget eats when travelling, or any restaurant recommendations, please share!

Where to eat in Denpasar? Everywhere.

Posted on September 28, 2012 by Delia

I often wish I was a cow. More specifically, a cow with four stomachs. Can you imagine going off to have lunch somewhere and filling one stomach, while deliberating over your next few restaurants for the remaining three stomachs? In fact, by the time the fourth one was full, the first stomach would probably be ready for its next fill. You could literally eat all day.

The irony, of course, is that while we have so many different flavours and cuisines with which to fill our one stomach, cows only have grass. Life’s a bitch.

Denpasar, the capital of Bali, is definitely a cow’s haven. If I could be a cow for one day, I think I would be one in Denpasar. Admittedly, the city’s busy, traffic-choked streets are a bit of a shock to the system after so much horizontal time around the island’s coastline, but it has hundreds of little warungs, in which to seek refuge.

We travelled to Denpasar from Bali’s infamous town Kuta, purely for lunch. We had a wonderful taxi driver who regaled tales of life in his village and was seemingly bemused by our desire to travel to Denpasar (more than an hour in hideous traffic) just for lunch. We explained we had heard the food was very good and very cheap.

‘But after the taxi price, it is the same price in Kuta,’ he said, chuckling to himself. He had a point there, but Kuta is where food goes to die (there will be a blog on this to follow).

With dozens and dozens of shack-like warungs, lining the city’s roads, heaving with locals, it was tricky to know which one to go for. We had been recommended a little place called Cak Asm and as we only had one chance to get it right, unlike cows, we headed straight there.

I was delighted to find we were the only tourists there, always a good sign.

There’s Matty sticking out like a sore thumb.

Nevertheless, the menu was largely translated into English and we were given our own little waitress’ notepad to jot down our order. The food was seriously cheap. The Indonesian classic dish of Nasi Goreng (delicious fried rice with an egg on top) was a mere 9,000 Rupiahs (50p), about three times cheaper than we’d found it elsewhere. And the calamari was a mere 21,000 Rupiahs (£1.40). They were basically giving it away. We ordered more dishes than two people really should.

Our food arrived and adequately covered the table. We’d ordered a chicken in chilli sauce, which was served in a tasty chilli infused oyster sauce, providing a delightful spice kick and tasty contrast to the other dishes. The vegetable stir fry was light and crunchy and the Nasi Goreng tasted more like a Chinese stir fried rice than the Balinese dish, but was good nevertheless.

However, it was the calamari that really stole the show.

I’m quite fussy when it comes to fried calamari. I like the squid to be soft and not rubbery, and I like the batter to be crispy – not wet – a nice, firm crispy crust, thank you very much. But not too thick or heavy. Oh, and ideally some fresh lemon to squeeze and coarse black pepper to grind, while it’s all still hot from the fryer.

This was better than any of that. The crisp, firm batter, which we were told is a mix of eggs and garlic, was so heavenly it needed no accompaniment. The calamari alone was worth the taxi ride. It was beautiful.

To complete our food odyssey, we headed to the local market. We’d read that it was worth exploring and were not disappointed. Almost like an old multi-storey car park, the market is absolutely rammed full of every fruit, vegetable and spice that you can think of. Few tourists seem to make it to Denpasar so as we weaved our way through the gritty, warehouse-like nooks and crannies of the market, we were very much a spectacle. There was a lot of oohing, ahhhhing and shrieking from old woman. One asked for a kiss from me, while another shoved flowers up Matt’s nose. We think they were all gestures of love.

Food in Bali: Curries, Seafood and Noodles, Oh My.

Posted on September 19, 2012 by Delia

I have been known to pick places to travel purely because of their cuisine. When my dear friend Carly and I planned our post-university trip around the world we decided, as a starting point, to shout out the countries we’d always wanted to visit. From what I recall Carly threw Australia, Thailand and Mexico into the mix, and I added India and Vietnam.

As a history graduate, I had long been fascinated by the latter after studying the Vietnam war. India, on the other hand, stemmed from a burning desire to eat curry on a daily basis and see how it varied region by region. By the end of that trip we were eating three curries between us at dinner, just to make the most of it. I even kept a curry diary… if only I had this blog then.

Carly, it transpired, picked Mexico because of her love of burritos. Unsurprisingly we made very good travelling buddies, although we never did make it to Mexico so I still owe her some fajitas there.

Now I find myself in Bali, and while it was not the food that brought me here, it is certainly one of the many reasons why I am falling head over heels in love with this little island. So if I may, I’d now like to eulogise about Balinese/Indonesian food.

The one dish that you can find almost everywhere here is Mie Goreng. This is a delicious fried noodle dish, which can be found mixed with with seafood, vegetables or meat, and there is also a very similar dish, Nasi Goreng, that uses fried rice instead of noodles. These simple stir-fries are juicy and rich in flavour and the key ingredient seems to be ‘sweet soy sauce’, which is almost like a sweet, plum sauce take on soy sauce. It is very good. Such dishes often cost as little as 20,000 Indonesian Rupiahs (about £1.30 at the time of writing) so make the ideal dinner for backpackers in Bali.

But most menus do not stop there. There is often a dazzling array of fresh fish with Balinese spiced sauces, creamy curries, shredded coconut infused dishes and satay delights. Some of the best food we’ve had on this trip so far has been in Ubud, and of all the places we’ve sampled (of which there were many) my favourite remains the tiny little warung beside our guest house – Wena Homestay.

Easy to miss, Warung Saya is tucked down Jalan Goutama and has just three small tables inside and a little table on a platform on the street where you can watch Balinese life walk on by. A ‘warung’ is traditionally a small kiosk-like cafe that sells cheap every-day food. But the take on Balinese street food here is really quite unique.

We ordered Fried Tempe Mendoan, having no idea what it was but we had spied someone else eating it and it looked delicious. As her plates were cleared I heard her ask the chef-cum-owner Amier if he ran cookery classes, high praise indeed. As we placed our order, Amier also recommended the Pad Thai so we went for that too. There are a lot of similarities between Balinese food and Thai food so the latter is often found on the menu.

Tempe, we soon learnt, is actually deep-fried soya bean. Similar I suppose to tofu, but much less watery. It came with a crisp golden coating, which gave way to the juicy but firm texture inside. However it was the rich, sweet sauce that really brought this simple dish to life, a blend of sweet sauce, with shallots and mini kaffir limes, to drizzle all over the tempeh. It was delightful.

Next up was the Pad Thai. I’ve always been a Pad Thai fan and regularly ate it from street vendors across Thailand a few years ago, but this was quite different to the traditionally dry noodle dish. Mixed with chicken tofu and egg, the dish was much juicer than I’ve had it before, with lime and fish flavours coming through. It was topped with peanuts to give a lovely crunchy finish.

We polished the dishes off in no time, Matty even smiled at the camera for once.

In Ubud you’re spoilt for choice when it comes to restaurants but another favourite of ours was Biah Biah, which is in the same road. A very cute little open air restaurant with funky wooden tables and benches, it serves a variety of tasty rice and noodle dishes on banana leaves but has a fantastic selection of tapas sized side dishes, which were really different to anything we’ve found in Bali so far.

It was too dark to get any decent pictures, so sadly I have no food porn to offer you from this lovely little establishment. But one dish which I must tell you about is Urutan. Urutan is a type of pork sausage which is served as a delicacy at festivals and ceremonies. And let me tell you, the Balinese love their ceremonies.

Back to the sausage. It was described as being a blend of meat, seasoning and intestines, but that didn’t put us off. The truth of the matter is that when it comes to sausages, intestines give a lot of flavour. The Urutan arrived. Served small and chunky, there were about six sausages on the plate. They were fried so had a nice, crispy skin while the meat inside was spicy, bursting with flavour, and was reassuringly coarse in texture. All the other dishes we ordered were just as good.

In fact the food has been so tasty here that I felt compelled to sign up to a cookery class to better understand the local spices and tricks of the trade. But that’s another story for another time, it is after all, dinner time and I have new menus to explore!

I shall leave you with a picture of Amier’s dog Precious Lady Salsa. Yes that’s her name. Amier designs all her clothes and there is a whole album of her dressed up that you can flick through while you wait for your food. Her nails are often painted to match.

Need I give you more reasons to visit?

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