The New Adventures of Amy and Tom

Mike, thanks so much for the note. A friend actually saw Lake County on the 'EuroNews' last night at their host family, this had us even more worried. It's good to know that everyone is safe. From the pictures, the damage looks incredible.

On a lighter note, Amy prepared this blog entry before she left for Kutaisi. I've been lax in getting it posted:

Making Khinkali

A note to the linguists out there: Technically, it's Making Khinkals, as "To Make" is a V-system verb and all objects of said verbs must be in the dative noun case. I'll get this language yet.

This weekend, while Tom was away at his Supervisors Conference, our host family taught me how to make a Georgian traditional specialty called Khinkali.

The only way I can think to decribe Kinkhali is this: Think of a Perogi with ground meat and spices inside, but instead of folded over, sort of wrapped up in such a way that there remains a "belly button" of sorts at the top where all the dough is gathered. Then, inject it with grease, and serve at the temperature of the surface of the sun.

I've eaten Kinkhali in restaraunts but was never quite sure how this greasy dumpling came about. So, one evening, I asked my host mother where Kinkhali comes from. She told me to ask my host father. He promised to tell me all about it when I was a little older. (actually, what he said was when I got over my cold, we'd make them)

So, this weekend was it. Here is my first attempt at making Kinkhali!

First, make the dough. It ends up being rather noodle - like, so I imagine it's something like how you would start making noodles. I actually wasn't around for this part, I was taking a nap.

Then, make the meat. My host family buys whole meat and grinds it at home. After grinding, we added salt, pepper,onion, cilantro, dill, some hot pepper-y looking spices, butter, pork fat and water. Lots and lots of water. About four cups of water to about 1 pound of meat. It's really watery. Oh, and then more salt.

To make the dough there were two schools of thought in the kitchen that day. My host father (who had been previously dubbed resident kinkhali maker, while my host mother claimed to simply be a kinkhali eater) wanted to cut the dough into squares and then work it into circles. Host mother overrode him and we eventually rolled out the dough and then used a glass to cut circles. (It reminded me alot of making my American dad's favorite cherry cookies with my American Mom)

The next step is to then put some of your watery meat in the middle of the circle of dough.

So, now you have to find some way of enclosing the watery meat inside the dough. Starting with a small part of the outer edge in between your left thumb and forefinger, take the next centimeter of dough in between your right thumb and forefinger. Fold the dough in your right hand behind the dough in your left hand. Pinch the new dough together with the original dough in your left hand, creating a sort of pleat in the dough. Repeat this until you have the meat enclosed. My host father measures the kinkhali maker's skill by the number of pleats you manage to fold into your dough. My highest was 13. My host mother got 17 once. You should end up with the above mentioned "belly button" of dough where all the pleats meet. Give a little twist to this belly button and squish the pleats together so that it won't fall apart.

During the last part you should have started boiling water. Now that you have probably 15 - 20 little dumplings and boiling water it's time to put them together. But you can't simply dump a plate of kinkhali into the water, you have to take each, turn it upside down (as in belly button side down) and slip them gently into the water. I did not manage to actually get one of mine in belly button first and the result was quite a mess. The belly button gave way and all the meat came spilling out into the boiling water. Oops.

They boil for a few minutes until, just like perogies, they float to the top.

I'm sure that a Georgian could write an entire essay on how to properly eat Kinkhali, but I'll do my best. You eat it by hand. You cannot use a fork. My host father seemed to think this summed it all up, "It's Kinkhali, not Cutleti!" (which is a sort of ground meat patti you eat with a fork and wild plum sauce) The problem with this is that #1, it's just come out of boiling water. #2, you just spent a good amount of time sealing in alot of greasy water, which will take the first opportunity it sees for freedom from it's watery hell. I've yet to master the art without burning my fingers, mouth, or sloshing grease everywhere. My host mother offered me a fork after my second unsucessfull attempt, but I decided to try again lest I admit utter defeat. I finally got one down without dropping it on the floor, squirting grease on my shirt, burning myself or poking myself in the eye (all of which I had previously done, much to the amusement of my family). Below is a picture of my kinkhali's "belly buttons" which you don't eat for some reason I may never understand. I like to think of the uneaten "belly buttons" as "kinkhali bones", a disant cousin to the "pizza bones" of my youth.

And, speaking of pizza (the kind without mayonaise) I think I put Tom on the kitchen schedule for next weekend while I'm gone :)

I think a little belly button piercing would look nice. Looks like it was fun. Love, Mom