This is me, trying to gather up the words on the morning after our two different doughs made by two different amazing guests. Manana and Yael worked at our kitchen island, Manana with an old-school bowl and spoon for her dumplings, and Yael at the Kitchen-Aide for her yeasted roll.
(I’m posting this now to share even a BIT before the long editing and scriptwriting for its future episode on our Tokyo Shishi Podcast. These little glimpses will come first before I lose any of the taste or excitement).
Both women are here from Israel.
On second thought, I’ll make a separate post on Yael and her chocolate rugalah. There is just too much delicious description to cram them both in now.
When I first met Manana, she came over with a salt and pepper set that I thought were large garlic bulbs. No, she said, this is khinkali, the most famous food of Georgia. (The country, not the state). They look bulbous at the base but become stretched handles, long and slender, at the top. Not unlike wild garlic. Last night, I learned khnikali, though. Her dough seemed tough, but it rolled out into sturdy, thin sheets that held up, and they needed to! Manana added what seemed like an overly confident amount of beef, onion, and garlic stuffing. She is a pro, though. She then pleated the dumpling, moving her thumb and index finger: lift, fold, pinch, lift, fold, pinch, securing the whole skirt of pleats and flattening on top. The ruffles were so pretty that when it was my turn to try, I did not want to squash them down. But this is the khinkali—a flat-on-top dumpling with a doughy handle (kudi) for chucking in hot, bubbling water and picking up to eat.
The magical thing about khinkali, besides seeing our friend making her favorite Georgian dish here in my Tokyo kitchen, is how they are cooked just so to create a broth-filled package that you first bite to slurp and then continue to enjoy dough and meat. The meat filling is the main character, says Manana; the dough is just a supporting role. Boy, does it.
The other thing is that Manana’s knack for flavoring is so keen. The salt, coarse-ground pepper, all of the ratios with garlic, onion, and beef are just phenomenal (chef’s kiss in freak-out mode). Get this—-Manana and her family—maybe all Georgians, taste the filling before it is cooked, raw. Then she adjusts. This speaks to how pristine and sparkling everything from Georgian land has been. There is lure that G-d created Georgia from His own, that it is a fourth of Heaven.
I use a very special, multi-generational butcher shop here in my part of Tokyo. This was 400 grams of super fresh, high-grade beef.
Manana was happy with the mixture so she crafted the first dumpling, pulled it from the water, and tasted that first khinkali to adjust the batch. Tasting as you go is the method.
I’ll be researching more and sharing our recordings—the laughter, the simmering, chopping, the story of Manana’s family and an overall history of Georgia in an upcoming episode of Tokyo Shishi! For now, feast your eyes on this and imagine the trip I want to book to Georgia immediately. As if the khinkali and the famously eggy, cheesy Georgian bread boat called khachapuri aren’t enough to make me save up for a trip, Georgia is famous for its wine. They were perhaps the very first place to make wine. This gorgeous food and wine culture has ancient roots. Imagine the Tokyo Shishi episode we’ll make there, in Manana’s other homeland, Georgia.
I’ve just sautéed up last night’s khinkali as Manana instructed. This is the day-after treat as if you need reminding about last night’s feast.
Keep watch for this upcoming episode of Tokyo Shishi Podcast! Did you hear our last episode, “The Sparrow in a Dark Forest”? Catch it here on Spotify!
We’ve also got upcoming stories and feasts from so many more of my amazing Israeli guests sharing their roots from places such as Hungary, Bukharia, Egypt, and Latvia!
Here’s the Linktree to listen and share via Spotify, iTunes, Amazon, and probably wherever else you listen to audio or podcasts. I appreciate your listenership and this community!