The table was so loaded with food that I could not see the surface. There were plates of khachapuri, the cheese bread that is Georgia's national dish, in three different styles. There were mounds of badrijani, eggplant rolls stuffed with walnut paste and pomegranate seeds. There were bowls of lobio, red bean stew seasoned with fenugreek and cilantro. There was an entire roasted pig, its skin crackling and golden, placed at the center like a trophy. And there was wine. Not glasses of wine. Jugs of wine, made from grapes grown in the family vineyard, poured into shallow bowls and passed around the table. This was a supra, a Georgian feast, and I had been invited by a family I had met two hours earlier.
What a Supra Actually Is
A supra is more than a meal. It is a structured ritual, led by a tamada, a toastmaster, who proposes toasts throughout the evening to God, to ancestors, to women, to children, to peace, and to friendship. Each toast is accompanied by a speech, and each speech must be sincere. The tamada for this supra was a man named Giorgi, the uncle of the family, who had served as a tamada for thirty years. He explained that the role requires eloquence, memory, and the ability to drink wine continuously without becoming drunk. 'A drunk tamada is a disgrace,' he said. 'You must drink, but you must also think.' I watched him deliver a fifteen-minute toast to his mother, who had died the previous year, without notes and without repetition. The entire table was silent.
The Food of the Supra
Georgian cuisine is one of the most underrated in the world. The khinkali, soup dumplings the size of a fist, are eaten with the hands, and the juice inside is so hot that beginners burn their fingers. I ate twelve of them, which the family considered a respectable but not impressive number. The mtsvadi, grilled pork skewers marinated in pomegranate juice, were cooked over grapevines, which gave the meat a sweet, smoky flavor. The pkhali, vegetable pates made from spinach, beetroot, and beans, were shaped into perfect spheres and decorated with pomegranate seeds. And the churchkhela, walnuts threaded on strings and dipped into thickened grape must, were offered as dessert. They looked like candles and tasted like energy bars made by angels.
The Wine Tradition
Georgia claims to be the birthplace of wine, with evidence of viticulture dating back eight thousand years. The traditional method uses qvevri, large clay vessels buried underground, where the grapes are fermented with their skins, stems, and seeds. This method produces orange wine, a style that is amber in color, tannic in texture, and unlike any white wine made with modern techniques. I tasted qvevri wine at the supra, made from the rkatsiteli grape. It was funky, complex, and challenging. Giorgi explained that the family had been making wine this way for seven generations, and they had no intention of changing. 'Why would we?' he asked. 'We were doing this before France existed.'
How to Experience a Supra
It is not easy for a foreigner to attend an authentic supra. They are family events, not tourist performances. I was invited because I had spent two days in the village of Sighnaghi, drinking coffee at the same cafe every morning and talking to the owner about his vineyard. He invited me to his brother's birthday supra as a friend, not as a customer. If you want to experience a supra, I recommend staying in a family guesthouse in Kakheti, the wine region, and building a relationship with your hosts. Some guesthouses offer supra experiences for tourists, but these are abbreviated versions. The real thing lasts six to eight hours, involves twenty or more dishes, and ends with everyone singing polyphonic songs that echo across the valley.
