Great Boats of Cheese

It was late in the year 2016, high in the Caucasus Mountains on the Eastern frontier of Europe, teetering between Christian Europe to the West, and Islamic Central Asia to the East. This is the ancient land of Colchis where Jason and his Argonauts came in search of the Golden Fleece. This land goes by many names. It's current native citizens call it Sakartvelo, meaning "land of the Kartvelians". Slavic language speakers of Eastern Europe call it Gruzia. It's Muslim neighbors call it Gurjistan. And English speakers call it the Nation of Georgia.

On that particular day in 2016 a train, seemingly ancient as the land itself, was straining its way through mountain passes and across spreading valleys. Like much of the other infrastructure in Georgia, the train was a relic of the country's Soviet past. Well-built—fifty years in the past—but long-since past its prime. Yet, despite its swaying and creaking and the general sense that it could fall to pieces at any moment, I slept soundly on the top bunk of a sleeper car.

What brought about my torpid state? Food. Specifically Georgian food. But careful, you will not find peach pies, pecans, and fried chicken here. No, you will be fed a waist-expanding diet of bread, cheese, red wine, and some of the best roasted meats you will find anywhere in the world. Georgia is technically located in Europe, but its cuisine is solidly Middle-Eastern, influenced by neighboring Iran and Turkey, with strong Greek overtones.

Of all the international cuisines I experienced on my travels through Europe and Asia, there is no competition. The winner, according to my tastebuds, is the national cuisine of the Land of the Kartvelians. And the crown jewel and national dish of this country is Khachapuri. The name stems from two Georgian words: "Khacho" meaning "Cheese curd," and "Puri" meaning "bread."

Each region of Georgia has its own take on this dish. There is Imeretian Khachapuri, Megrelian, Ossetian... But the most popular and iconic variety is Adjarian, hailing from the Southwestern corner of the country on the Black Sea. And just like the craft that brought the Greek heroes of the mythical Argo to these shores, this Khachapuri takes the form of a great ship...a great ship of luscious dough filled with copious amounts of melted cheese, specifically the local cheese Sulguni, a sour, brined, salty cheese that melts beautifully. Since returning to the USA after just short of a decade living abroad in various countries around the world and indulging in countless native cuisines, this dish was one of the first that I made a staple of my kitchen craft.

(a tantalizing teaser gallery is provided below to wet the appetite...)

Now that I have your attention, begin by making a nice, pliable yeast dough, similar to a pizza crust but with the addition of milk and butter to give it a little more richness and chewiness, and a bit higher yeast to flour ratio and some sugar for the yeast for feed on to boost the yeastiness. The dough is left to rise at room temperature for an afternoon, then divided into portions for individual khachapuris. I typically then let these dough lumps cold-proof in the fridge for a day or so to give the resulting crust a rich fermented flavor.

Next, each lump of dough is flattened and stretched into an oval about a quarter-inch thick. You can use a rolling pin but I typically flatten with my palms and then sling and stretch it in pizza-crust fashion.

Then, as the dough is left to rest a bit, herbs (dill, tarragon, and marjoram), butter, and cheese...lots and lots of cheese, many types of cheese...are prepared. I also occasionally add some sun-dried tomato pesto to mix things up a little but this is most definitely NOT traditional.

Herbs are sprinkled over the rolled-out dough, and cheese is heaped in the center. DO NOT be stingy with the cheese! Remember, we're aiming for an epic, heart-stopping boat filled with cheese. This is NOT a pizza with a thin layer of cheese on top. This is a mythical vessel FILLED with melted cheese. Enough to dip in...like a primitive fondue pot made of chewy dough.

The the edges of the dough are folded up around the cheese mountain and the ends are twisted to secure the cheesy craft. A few slabs of butter are placed on top, egg yolk is brushed over the outside of the dough, and some additional herbs are sprinkled over top (my years living in Ukraine gave me a natural love for dill, but other herbs can be used).

This is then placed in a hot oven for about twenty minutes. I prefer to use a pre-heated pizza stone and a temperature of 450 degrees fahrenheit.

After twenty minutes an egg is cracked in the center and it is left to bake a few more minutes until the egg reaches a sunny-side-up stage. It is important that it is still very runny.

The egg and melted cheese are then blended into a lush, creamy mixture with a fork. Finally, wads of bread are torn off and dipped in the cheese-egg mixture. This is finger food. You rip, you tear, and you dip. Do not touch this with a knife or pizza cutter. The ripping, tearing, and dipping are part of the delightful social event of an Adjarian Khachapuri.

If I am making several of these to set aside for days to come, I will not put the egg on but rather add it during the reheating later on. This is a dish that must be eaten fresh, ideally straight from oven to table. But it can be saved and eaten later if handled correctly.