James’ last day of school was not to be without a celebration. In what appeared to be a kindergarten classroom was a low-lying table surrounded by chairs built for five year olds and a feast; from corner-to-corner were dumplings, cheese, salads and soda. This was James’ going away supra.
Georgians are known for their social gregariousness. Every stranger is a friend and every friend is family. The supra embodies this trait in Georgian culture. Filled with food, drinking and a joviality, the supra acts as a time where a nation that has so little is able to share so much.
A few nights earlier, James’ host father reminisced about the Soviet Era when Georgians were able to travel easier and had more to offer their guests. Now, he laments the fact that the reform era has diminished the average Georgian’s ability to truly host a guest.
While Mako may have a point and Georgians still struggle to reach the per capita income they enjoyed 25 years ago, I never saw an absence of food or drink at a supra. And I certainly never witnessed anyone having a bad time.
James’ supra was a time for celebration. After only a few short months in Samtredia, he had won over his colleagues and students. This was a meal to say thanks.
James sat at the head of the table and I to his right. To James’ left sat a man neither of us had met before in a vest clearly marked “Police.” It wasn’t clear to us if he was a police officer or just a genial husband of one of the teachers that happened to have a police vest and a bottle of chacha. At a minimum he was the latter; we never found out about the former.
Like other instances with chacha, it came in a reused mineral water bottle and dutifully stung my throat and stomach. What I learned from this and subsequent supras was that in a nation that is drastically under regulated, there are rules to supras and more specifically to the drinking. Here are a few rules I picked up:
1. It’s Toasted. At a Supra, before every drink there is a toast. The toast is made by the host; that host is always a man. He may allow others to join or add something to a toast, but at the end of the day, he runs the show. The toasts can be to anything. To those gathered. To children. To our nations. To the ladies. To the fallen and to the future. It's this whole traditional process that is fun the first time, but then becomes redundant the second and third times, because all of the toasts inevitably revolve around the same things. If you toasted to your grandparents on Tuesday, you likely feel the same on Friday, right?
2. No Ladies Allowed. They don't join. I've never seen it. Female parity is nonexistent in this realm of Georgian society—along with many others for that matter. They rarely smoke cigarettes and they certainly don’t drink chacha. While Victorian England would remind us only a lady of loose morals would walk on the grass; in Georgia, only a lady of ill repute would toast with chacha in her glass.
3. No Beer Allowed. Kinda. About a year ago, the Georgian Orthodox Church’s patriarch, Illia II, relaxed the rules regarding beer and toasting. Now, Orthodox Georgians may toast with beer. While this might be the new rule, it is certainly not the custom. You’ll see chacha, vodka and wine, but leave the beer at home.
4. Grazing Required. Georgian supras last for epic sessions, putting any frat to shame. You are expected to be eating the entire time. Breads, cheeses, meats and other snacks that cover the table are a crucial part to keep up with the Georgians that have brought you in and can drink you under. There is inevitably a point where the chacha, in its war of attrition against your body, over-powers the amount you can eat; however, without all of that bread the chacha would have certainly won a lot sooner.
5. Empty Your Glass. Not that they aren’t optimists, but a glass half full is offensive to a Georgian. When it comes to alcohol you are meant to drink everything in one gulp. At James' supra, I was given chacha in an espresso mug and a small glass of wine. Dutifully drowning the chacha with every toast, I wanted to savor the delicious black wine—in actuality it’s red wine. All of the teachers began to ask James why I hated the wine. My savoring to them was an insult and left them dumbfounded. So, I cleared the glass and we all uncomfortably moved on.
Come to find out later, every drop of alcohol you leave in your glass is an enemy that you will have. Terrible at self-defense, I had a newfound appreciation for Georgian drinking rules. For the women playing at home: to not finish your glass is to become immediately impregnated, which is also something to avoid.
6. One Bottle Begets Another. Sweet lord. At James' supra four of us drank the half liter bottle of cha-cha. I was happy that it was gone; I had held myself together and knew everything was going to be alright. But then, the host—in this case, that random guy in a “Police” vest—literally out of thin air presented a half liter bottle of vodka. First, I hate vodka. Second, how in the hell did he do that? Third, I was told it had to be drunk. Cleverly, or maliciously, half liter bottles of store bought vodka are not resealable. So, we went down that road. This happened a few nights previously with James' host father as well. One bottle magically became two. While the Georgians struggle to create jobs, they are able to bring about bottles of booze in mysterious ways.
7. Last Call? Think Again. During my time in Georgia I deferred most judgment to James. Like after we had a half-liter of chacha and it burnt like paint thinner, he would tell the host we only wished to have one more drink and then we must be done. The host will smile and agree and then toast to the dead. This is a trick, a subtle and dirty trick. In Georgia, it is bad luck to end a round of toasts to the dead. So, the last becomes by default two more. Lest we wish ourselves toasting induced bad luck, you have to soldier on. But by the time that second toast has happened, the host has forgotten the wishes of his guests and he pushes on.
When the vodka at James' supra was finally gone, my primer in Georgian drinking, James' supra and my afternoon were finished. James would undoubtedly be missed by his school and the toasts to him and his teaching prowess illustrated as much. As the teachers wrapped up the extra food and the "police officer" took photos with us, I was astonished that I could experience so much hospitality in just a few days. While my stomach is likely forever damaged from the chacha, my opinion of Georgian hospitality remains pristine—if not a little hazy.
Georgians are known for their social gregariousness. Every stranger is a friend and every friend is family. The supra embodies this trait in Georgian culture. Filled with food, drinking and a joviality, the supra acts as a time where a nation that has so little is able to share so much.
A few nights earlier, James’ host father reminisced about the Soviet Era when Georgians were able to travel easier and had more to offer their guests. Now, he laments the fact that the reform era has diminished the average Georgian’s ability to truly host a guest.
While Mako may have a point and Georgians still struggle to reach the per capita income they enjoyed 25 years ago, I never saw an absence of food or drink at a supra. And I certainly never witnessed anyone having a bad time.
James’ supra was a time for celebration. After only a few short months in Samtredia, he had won over his colleagues and students. This was a meal to say thanks.
James sat at the head of the table and I to his right. To James’ left sat a man neither of us had met before in a vest clearly marked “Police.” It wasn’t clear to us if he was a police officer or just a genial husband of one of the teachers that happened to have a police vest and a bottle of chacha. At a minimum he was the latter; we never found out about the former.
Like other instances with chacha, it came in a reused mineral water bottle and dutifully stung my throat and stomach. What I learned from this and subsequent supras was that in a nation that is drastically under regulated, there are rules to supras and more specifically to the drinking. Here are a few rules I picked up:
1. It’s Toasted. At a Supra, before every drink there is a toast. The toast is made by the host; that host is always a man. He may allow others to join or add something to a toast, but at the end of the day, he runs the show. The toasts can be to anything. To those gathered. To children. To our nations. To the ladies. To the fallen and to the future. It's this whole traditional process that is fun the first time, but then becomes redundant the second and third times, because all of the toasts inevitably revolve around the same things. If you toasted to your grandparents on Tuesday, you likely feel the same on Friday, right?
2. No Ladies Allowed. They don't join. I've never seen it. Female parity is nonexistent in this realm of Georgian society—along with many others for that matter. They rarely smoke cigarettes and they certainly don’t drink chacha. While Victorian England would remind us only a lady of loose morals would walk on the grass; in Georgia, only a lady of ill repute would toast with chacha in her glass.
3. No Beer Allowed. Kinda. About a year ago, the Georgian Orthodox Church’s patriarch, Illia II, relaxed the rules regarding beer and toasting. Now, Orthodox Georgians may toast with beer. While this might be the new rule, it is certainly not the custom. You’ll see chacha, vodka and wine, but leave the beer at home.
4. Grazing Required. Georgian supras last for epic sessions, putting any frat to shame. You are expected to be eating the entire time. Breads, cheeses, meats and other snacks that cover the table are a crucial part to keep up with the Georgians that have brought you in and can drink you under. There is inevitably a point where the chacha, in its war of attrition against your body, over-powers the amount you can eat; however, without all of that bread the chacha would have certainly won a lot sooner.
5. Empty Your Glass. Not that they aren’t optimists, but a glass half full is offensive to a Georgian. When it comes to alcohol you are meant to drink everything in one gulp. At James' supra, I was given chacha in an espresso mug and a small glass of wine. Dutifully drowning the chacha with every toast, I wanted to savor the delicious black wine—in actuality it’s red wine. All of the teachers began to ask James why I hated the wine. My savoring to them was an insult and left them dumbfounded. So, I cleared the glass and we all uncomfortably moved on.
Come to find out later, every drop of alcohol you leave in your glass is an enemy that you will have. Terrible at self-defense, I had a newfound appreciation for Georgian drinking rules. For the women playing at home: to not finish your glass is to become immediately impregnated, which is also something to avoid.
6. One Bottle Begets Another. Sweet lord. At James' supra four of us drank the half liter bottle of cha-cha. I was happy that it was gone; I had held myself together and knew everything was going to be alright. But then, the host—in this case, that random guy in a “Police” vest—literally out of thin air presented a half liter bottle of vodka. First, I hate vodka. Second, how in the hell did he do that? Third, I was told it had to be drunk. Cleverly, or maliciously, half liter bottles of store bought vodka are not resealable. So, we went down that road. This happened a few nights previously with James' host father as well. One bottle magically became two. While the Georgians struggle to create jobs, they are able to bring about bottles of booze in mysterious ways.
7. Last Call? Think Again. During my time in Georgia I deferred most judgment to James. Like after we had a half-liter of chacha and it burnt like paint thinner, he would tell the host we only wished to have one more drink and then we must be done. The host will smile and agree and then toast to the dead. This is a trick, a subtle and dirty trick. In Georgia, it is bad luck to end a round of toasts to the dead. So, the last becomes by default two more. Lest we wish ourselves toasting induced bad luck, you have to soldier on. But by the time that second toast has happened, the host has forgotten the wishes of his guests and he pushes on.
When the vodka at James' supra was finally gone, my primer in Georgian drinking, James' supra and my afternoon were finished. James would undoubtedly be missed by his school and the toasts to him and his teaching prowess illustrated as much. As the teachers wrapped up the extra food and the "police officer" took photos with us, I was astonished that I could experience so much hospitality in just a few days. While my stomach is likely forever damaged from the chacha, my opinion of Georgian hospitality remains pristine—if not a little hazy.
