Love and the Bu Qtair

This blog does not get an ironic title. It is an entire story of its own, and I probably won't do it justice. But I'm not too worried about it. This is one of those stories that I will remember the rest of my life, without writing it down.

Let me start by saying I have had a celebrity crush on Anthony Bourdain since I first saw him on the television show "No Reservations". Now that I have met the man that I love more than anything else, Bourdain has taken a back burner, but I'm still a huge fan of his shows, blogs, books, wit....

Enough. I dig Anthony Bourdain, I think you get it now.

So, naturally, I watched the "No Reservations - Dubai" episode to get some inspiration for our upcoming trip. I highly recomment watching it, so that you can get a better idea of the Bu Qtair. Hubs and I were both excited after watching the episode, we had to get our hands on the fresh fish and prawns marinated for hours in something and drenched in a spicy fish curry that looked deliciously orange, if that makes any sense. We found it online and hopped in a cab, certain that we had great directions if our cab driver had been living in a hole the last twenty years and didn't know where the place was.

Apparently, cab drivers in the UAE are just as bad at getting directions as giving. Because he had no idea what we were talking about. Even when we showed him the google map of how to get there. So, we asked to be dropped off at a bus stop and hoofed it. Through the dimly lit side streets and alleys, we managed to find it. A brightly lit but small building in the middle of a suburban area. Apparently, this is a high volume fishing area, and the fish served at the restaurant is nothing but the freshest.

In true American fashion, Hubs and I divide and conquer. I'll be damned if I have to stand and eat this fish curry. I'm finding a table and reserving it until we get our food, no matter how long that may be. But I am quickly rushed off by restaurant staff. They seat you when you get your food. Hmph. I mumbled a lot about how I'd better get a table, and right then, our dining experience was off on the wrong foot.

We waited in line for close to an hour. Mainly because the family of six in front of us (this included the four small, hyperactive children) turned into a family of twenty during the course of that hour. And thats with the kids (at least 15 by now) going outside to sit in a "waiting area" (we'll get to that later...) The inside of the building was incredibly small and unairconditioned. Not the ideal place for men who have been outside all day either fishing or working construction jobs. I'm surprised I have a sense of smell at all anymore.

Conveniently, they had a hand washing station, which I thought was great! We may eat outside and on plastic tables, but no need to behave like barbarians. Hats off to the Bu Qtair's dedication to cleanliness. These thoughts were quickly reversed as we witnessed a customer blow a pretty forceful "snot-rocket" into the sink. Hello. We're surrounded by tissue boxes, dude. Why the sink? Why?

We finally get to the front, pick out a raw fish and watch the fresh prawns measured out to a manageable amount for our dinner. This is the stuff. This is what brought us here. This. Is where Anthony Bourdain ordered the exact. Same. Thing. Then the bill. 100 dirham for not that much food. Excuse me? Family of 23,974,283 just gave you 100 dirham and got change back. Ugh. Take your dirty money. Give us our prawns.

We ordered. We paid. Now we wait. Outside. For our plastic chairs around a plastic table. And we pray that the host of children (all under four) either stop screaming and running rampant between said tables, or are not sitting close to us. Hubs and I split a Coke and waited till poor Hubs could wait no more and decided to stand closer to the man calling out orders. Nothing like a 6'10 handsome man to bring a real presence to the room. So, I was able to sit and take it all in. A circle of mothers, again, all with children under four, sat with their children and visited. Maybe it was a rare night out or a regular Thursday night ritual to get together with their families. But they soaked up each other's stories and gave hearty laughs. I saw a couple show up in a cab. (how did that cab know where this place was and ours didnt?!) The girl was dressed to the nine's in a skirt, fashionable top and, of course, heels, and was not thrilled in her date's choice of venue. Especially considering that the Burj al Arab was within view and a much pricier and air-conditioned place. They left on foot after a relatively quick conversation and after giving up hope on a taxi driving by to pick them up.

When we did get our food, it was pure Heaven. (despite the fact that we had to pay another ten dirham for bread and curry sauce...) The whole fish is fried without breading, so it's crispy goodness is purely blackened in its marinade and the flavors left behind from the hundreds of fish fried in the oil before it. The prawns? Oh, delicious prawns. There's no way to describe the melt-in-your-mouth goodness that made such a silent dinner table. We were seated at a back table, essentially in the dark, so we were blindly grabbing at more fish and occasionally went too heavy on the curry which was so spicy delicious, but we didn't care.

We talked about that meal the rest of our trip in Dubai and even now that we're back in Moscow. We love to brag on how we found the local hideout and what good foodies we are for following the trail of Anthony Bourdain. Sometimes, we even include these horrible facts about our night, but we mainly save that for our private memories and teasing.

I love this story because it's another moment where our world became a little bit smaller. We have such specific memories to be cherished and this indeed made a top ten. It has a healthy dose of good and bad, loud and silent, dirty and clean. (albeit, mostly dirty, though...)

Cheers to the stories we cherish. Dirty, hot, stinky, delicious stories.

Love and a Side Note

I've been "out of the office" for the last month. It started when we arrived in Dubai, fresh with stories and hilarity, as most travel induces for us. But, when I sat down at my computer, I was shocked to see that the UAE had blocked my blog. Deemed it "innapropriate content" even. My first reaction? I'm on a censorship list because, obviously, the powers that be in this country have read my blog and don't want my crazy ideas getting into the heads of locals, or it would create a serious revolution. A revolution of what, I wasn't sure of. But I'm going to assume it would be a revolution of goodwill and good food. Because that's the kind of revolution I would want to start. Whether it's reflected in the blog thus far has yet to be determined.

I don't take the power of words lightly, and I do hope that anyone who reads mine create a place where we can all see the universality of life. It's by far the greatest lesson I've had the priviledge of learning while living abroad and that fact that it makes us laugh in the process is a bonus. And while I do dream of the day my words (from this blog or elsewhere) will someday be published and reach people (adding "bestselling author" to a resume would'nt be awful, either...), I use this time and these entries for my family.

I imagine a time in the future, when we're all gone, and a new form of archaeology exists. Where people carefully dust off and dig through ancient http:// addresses and the archaic art of email writing. I createimaginary conversations in my head that they talk to each other about what it must have been like to type an email that would take as long as five seconds to get to its recipient. Or the facination with someone like me, who wrote a blog with no video. (hey, it's not for lack of trying...) What will they find? Deep in our facebook pages, twitter posts, flicker albums, how do we hold up in history? Hopefully these researchers don't stop with all the "duck-face" pictures and Justin Beiber, and maybe they'll see me.

Even moreso, I want our future children to be able to see these and think that we were pretty cool before we got to be weird parents. And I want them to learn from twenty-something me (soon to be thirty-something me...), because if my mom continues to pray the way she does, I'm certain they will be able to relate and hopefully learn a little.

It also doesn't help that I'm reading a book right now by one of my very favorite authors, Anne Lamott, about writing. Only I've just gotten as far as the part where she talks about how hard it is for her to sit and write. And if it's difficult for my favorite best-selling author to sit and write, how on earth am I supposed to get these words out of my head and into a story?

So, I do apologize for taking a leave of absence, but the blog is for me. Well, 90% for me. Probably 9% so that my mother doesn't spend thousands of dollars on daily international phone calls (your welcome, Dad...) and 1% major publishing companies.

Cheers to your words. However carefully chosen and stored.

Love and Moving

 Hubs won the "keep your cool" award yesterday.

But, I do think that after reading the story of why I lost my cool, you'll all understand. And, spoiler alert: everything is all worked out and fine now. As per usual.

So, yesterday was moving day. Again. It's strange, I've had some big moves, in fact, I think I've moved every year for the past six years. All were miserable, as anyone who has ever moved knows, and this one turned out to be no exception, despite the fact that we only have four duffle bags to move. We were told by our temporary apartment people that we would have to be out by noon on Tuesday and when we asked if someone would be waiting for us at our new apartment, we were assured there would be. At noon. So, we made the necessary taxi arrangements, packed our bags and thought everything would be taken care of. Easy peasy.

Our taxi driver was so wonderful. Probably because he didn't speak English, so we couldn't understand snarky comments, even if he tried, but thats ok with me. There aren't many perks to not knowing the language in the country you are living, this is one of my favorites. And he was very gracious considering that the main road that our new apartment was on was completely blocked off due to holiday. (another blog entirely about how I don't understand Russian holidays...) We found the apartment and waited for someone to meet us. The phone number Hubs had been given for our apartment was no longer in service and we had no one to contact.

This is when I start to get a little nervous. (and by nervous, I mean furious) Hubs has taken care of everything and done all that he could, but I still couldn't help but want to ask more about what we could do, or what we could have missed or where else we could be or WHY ISN'T ANYONE HERE TO MEET US WHEN THEY SAY THEY WILL?!?!?!!?! After an hour of saying not kind things about everyone involved in our entire move to Moscow, Hubs suggested I go across the street to Starbucks and see about finding a phone number. He didn't specify who I should try to find to remedy the situation, I think he may have just wanted me out of the picture, because I was probably making him and the taxi driver nervous with my pacing, mumbling, and sometimes outright yelling. Not sure going to my favorite coffee shop would be a good idea, especially since I don't know how to order skinny drinks in Russian yet, therefore getting loaded on caffeine AND sugar, but like I said, it was probably better that I was out of the picture.

Once I got online, I did find a number to the main office and with all the sweetness I could muster (had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel...) I explained to my new friend what had happened. I believe that no matter how angry you are, you should always be nice until you get what you want. I waited tables, so I know this to be a good rule. So, the guy is shocked, or as shocked as a Russian can be (which isn't very) and says he will call the manager, and he will be there in ten minutes.

You know how when something makes you mad, then the solution turns out to be really easy, so you just get more mad?

So, I walk back, tell Dan that someone will be here in ten minutes, and we wait. For another half hour.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I call back. Front desk dude is shocked (again) and says he will call the manager. Again. Twenty minutes later, I call again. Turns out, dude had just walked past us while talking on the phone and headed up to the apartment without noticing the two very tall, very out of place, VERY disgruntled Americans next to the taxi outside the apartment building and went straight up to the apartment.

So now, two hours later, we're all settled in to our new apartment, which we love and that makes up for some of the days events. That, and the fact that Hubs let me fly off the handle. (within reason, of course) and didn't get mad, didn't get stressed and just let me have my moment. In a way, it was probably a big combination of all the stressful things that are new and different that we're getting used to and I just needed to get it all out. Journaling, blogging and talking to my mom are all great ways to cope with some of the stuff, but sometimes you just need to wave your arms wildly, use some descriptive words you wouldn't normally and stomp off in public.

Anyway. I couldn't get to crazy, because this is yet another temporary apartment and we may have to do this exact same thing on June 1st. *sigh*
Cheers to those tantrums we throw, whether they get results of just feel good.

Love and Theraflu

I'm siiiiiiiiiiiick.

It's miserable business this getting sick in a foreign country. I wouldn't recommend it. Particularly not if you already don't handle being sick like this girl. But I'm a pro at having a sinus infection. First, I call my mom and I wine and complain and get real sad when she tells me that no, she cannot make the seven-hour trip to my house to take care of me. Then, I muster all the courage I possibly can and I go to the grocery stores where I pick up the essential "get-well" items - tissues, orange juice, theraflu, mucinex, and cookie dough. Nothing beats a sinus infection like warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. It's my own secret home remedy  that really does work wonders. Then I wallow in my bed, throwing dirty tissues on the floor and eating cookies straight out of the oven. I'm usually 100% in a day or two. 

So, despite the fact that Hubs and I have been taking vitamin C every day since getting here, have been getting a full amount of sleep and have been eating very healthy, I was hit pretty hard by this sinus infection thing. Not only did I get sick during the one week that Hubs and I have been apart in four months, but I am completely lost in a foreign country where I don't speak the language. Not a good time to have a fuzzy, cold head. 

Luckily for me, a new friend of mine swooped down and saved the day! Not only did she offer to take me to the pharmacy, but she later called when she had errands to run in my area and forced me out of bed and into the pharmacy with her. How did she know that I just needed a good shove to get out the door? I am eternally grateful, and thanks to her, I was set up with some Russian theraflu and tissues. 

My mom's first question was, of course, "can you go to the doctor?" Not, "how are you feeling" or "I'm so sorry, I'll be right there"... No, she has her own routine when I get sick too and nothing has changed about that. We do have medical coverage here in Russia, but I have no idea how it works. Or, I do know how it works, but not how it works for us. Another friend of mine tried to visit a doctor at the European Clinic and was charged close to $300 when she had been told that it would be covered under insurance. And she's Canadian, so she was real not happy. Turns out, she's only covered at the American Clinic, but she still had to pay for her $300+ visit. I wasn't so sick that I wanted that on our bank statement, so we're on standby for which clinic is covered by our insurance. 

I've been thinking about why I got sick because at first, I was really at a loss. We did everything right! We worked so hard to avoid this and I can't even get through the first month and it hits?! There has to be a reason, and here is my comprehensive list of possibilities...'

1. The plane. Twelve hours in a cesspool of germs circulating and re-circulating in one enclosed space. Reference back to those dirty hockey kids and grandma in my first blog and you'll see why this is a viable option.

2. Timing. All events leading up to moving to Moscow were pretty stressful, but swept under the rug for the most part. Straight from the time Hubs told me where he was being transferred to, the engagement, wedding, second wedding, garage sale, car selling, moving, downsizing, passport/visa experience. So, basically, this is my post-Bonnaroo camping sinus infection that my stress wouldn't let me have.

3. No chocolate chip cookies. Laugh if you want, but I swear on my life that this is the world's greatest sickness remedy. And there is no place in Moscow that sells chocolate chips, much less the Pilsbury pre-packaged cookie dough. 

4. Weather. It's cold. It's hot. It's cold. I grew up in Texas and I understand days that jump 30 degrees in one day, but this place can be ridiculous in the spring. I have no idea what the weather is and where its going. And I had to download three different weather apps for my iPad and average the weather forecast in each of them. And its still usually wrong. 

5. Humidity. God bless Texas. We complain about it, but it does wonders for keeping my sinuses in check. And being inside with the heater on could be a possible culprit in my sickness. I don't think we turned the heater on once this winter in Corpus Christi...

6. KGB. No explanation necessary.

7. Mulligans Pub. As dirty as that place is, more booze gets thrown around there than any other place I know, therefore making it squeaky clean and germ free. Also, my good friends and their affection for Barenjager may have been keeping my throat/sinus issues in check.

8. Spice. We're from South Texas and we like spicy. And I really think that has kept our sinuses healthy with a regular cleaning. We don't have that luxury anymore. We have dill. And don't get me wrong, I love dill. It's just not clearing out my sinuses very well.

I've thought of a lot more, but these are the serious ones. I'm over the worst right now, but still blowing my nose constantly (and also very loud, even in public) and coughing. Blah. Hopefully the rest will blow over soon or I'll find a pharmacy that sells antibiotics to anyone without a prescription. (I've heard they're here somewhere...) Green tea and frequent napping will have to do for now. 

Cheers to home remedies that take care of the things that make us sick. 

Love and the Metro

This is actually a part two of the previous blog. Monday was very, very busy. Which, again, is so surprising. Anyone who knows me, knows that I would much rather hide away when I'm lonely than go out and get not lonely anymore. I was determined.

So, after our long, muddy hike during the day, I really wanted to catch up with Phoebe, the book author at her official launch party. Two reasons. A launch party? With a British author? Could this BE any more "Bridget Jone's Diary"?!?!?! *ahem* Sorry, got a little bit carried away there. What I meant to say was that book launch parties are very distinguished and high society. And they were serving pastries.

Really, I wanted to go to buy the other two Moscow Walks books and also Phoebe's husband's book. Yes, her husband is an author, too, and has written a fascinating book about his experience as a British reporter in Moscow while he covered Russian politics. That kind of intro is just enough to capture your attention, right? Well, here's the thing. His experience was mainly a lot of very strange events like windows open in their apartment that they didn't leave open. Random items moved around that they wouldn't move around. And a bunch of other things that would point to the KGB invading their house and using these crazy intimidation tactics to people they want out. So, surrounded by my friends in the comfort of a real cute coffee shop, this sounds like such a good read, right?

I didn't even need to read it to start losing sleep in our lonely apartment immediately.

The worst part is that I misplace things all the time. And things end up in places not because the KGB broke into our home, but because I'm a dingbat and forget where I leave them. But now. Now, there may be other reasons my sunglasses are on my head instead of where I usually leave them on the counter.

But, first, I had to go get the book. I've mentioned before at how awesome I am with the subway, now right? I can switch lines, pick the best route, you name it, I got it. This is what I was thinking in my head as I switched off the brown line to the light blue line. Not to be confused with the dark blue line which is right next to it. I'm jammin to "The Head and The Heart" one of my favorite bands, setting the best soundtrack for my evening out with the Moscow Monday Night Social Club that I'm certain is waiting for me. I get on the train, following the arrows to my stop, but it's a weird one because it forks from the normal route. No. Big. Deal. I'm a pro.

I make it all the way to the end of the blue line, about eight stops and the whole thing empties. My album has just restarted. And I start to get a little nervous. But, not to worry, we'll hit my stop on the way back. Still, I'm gonna need some "Needtobreathe" half rock-out and half-calm yourself music. It's the perfect soundtrack for my "I'm starting to worry, but I'm sure there's nothing to worry about" attitude.

We pass the stop again and now we're going to the end of the line the opposite way and, again, everyone gets off. Nothing to worry about. I've been on the same train for an hour, it HAS to go to my stop sometime. Still, we're focusing solely on "Needtobreathe" save your soul tunes and visualizing myself, a lonely passenger on the Moscow subway, as the main character of that music video.

I finally give up. After an hour and a half on the same train that still shows no indication that they're going to my stop (other than the signs with arrows that lie, of course.) I'm ready to be home. And even though the train has cleared out twice or three times completely, no chance of anyone following me, it's dark out now and I can only think of that book and the KGB. Which is where the melancholy Ingrid Michaelson comes in to save the day with her slow, sweet songs.

I made it home and luckily for me, I couldn't remember if I left any windows open or closed, so if the KGB is in fact trying to bully me, it will be to no avail. My horrible short term memory turns out to be good for something. Jokes on you guys.

Cheers to the soundtracks that we create, that create us and help us get home.

Love and Long Walks

This is, unfortunately, the first of many solo Moscow experience blogs for me. Hubs is out in Siberia this week. Honeymoon's over, I guess, and after four months of not leaving each other's sight, I thought the best approach would be to cram that first day full of activity.

Hubs and I had a great weekend! Met a ton of expats and even experienced some nightlife with a short pub crawl Saturday night. The purpose of all the festivities was to celebrate the book launch for Phoebe Taplin, who writes a series of books called "Moscow Walks". She has routed some of the most magnificent places in the City, through woods, churches, and urban locations, most beginning and ending at the cafe, which is my favorite part of the walk.

So, for the first time in my life, I was sad and lonely, and actually did something to remedy this instead of sit around the apartment with a bucket of fried chicken or something. (don't think it wasn't a hard decision, we do have a KFC right up the road...) I signed up for the walk on Monday, brave as brave can be.

By now, the Metro is way too easy. I mastered that, like, yesterday, but it feels like longer. I'll post a picture of the Metro map and y'all can see how difficult it can be, but to give you an idea, all of the stops are written in cyrillic, the Russian alphabet. No english. None. I got the the stop, easy peasy, and was even on time. Very impressive for me. We started off around 10:30am and headed west through a very large park.

Here's the thing. The snow is just now starting to melt. Which means, it's really wet outside. Which means there is mud EVERYWHERE. And it's pretty hard to maneuver around, especially a group of a dozen or so ladies of all ages, shapes and sizes. I'll definitely have to walk this trail again considering my eyes never left a foot or so ahead of my feet...

But I finally got to walk into a church (a few actually)and it is amazing. It literally takes your breath away, not only for its beauty but you actually feel the profound respect that the people inside have for their religion. It's pretty unnerving, really. I'm a good person, but if ever I felt like lightning would strike me dead somewhere, it would be there. I still probably wouldn't want to walk in with certain people... Women must cover their head, usually with a scarf (I only had a trendy cap, but it apparently works too, because no babushkas chased me out) and usually they must wear long skirts or dresses as well, but most churches are pretty relaxed these days. Beautiful icon paintings cover every inch of the wall, all the way up to the top of the cathedral and bells rang frequently from the tower for Easter Week. (bells are not rung by machines, either, creating a beautiful though slightly off-rhythm sound) One church we went to, we were met at the entrance gate by a passionate babushka, so proud of her church, and sharing with us all the details of their fine gold and icon paintings.

We continued our treck through the wilderness, or, from my view, the mudland, and it was a little rough. By the time we ended the first leg of our hike, it was 1:00pm, almost three hours of hiking through mud and fancy cathedrals. Quite a combo. I was in good spirits, and was getting to know my travel partners much better. They way "out-story" me, but in a good way. And no one is snobby. I don't know why, but I kind of expected people to be. But we're all just us. Real people who are really far away from family, friends and a good margarita. (although, I'm sure my new friends could find a good margarita, even here in Moscow...)

And I got to eat some street food! Anthony Bourdain has made me always want to try street food in any foreign country, so I was ecstatic to finally try it! It was almost like a burrito and it was so good! Some kind of meat, with sour cream, dill (weird), raw shredded cabbage, an unknown red sauce that wasn't ketchup or anything spicy all wrapped in a tortilla! A tortilla!! Home, sweet home!

Thank God for the quick nourishment because we had another two hours of heavy hiking through the mud and slush to get through. I thought my boots had done alright the first leg of the trip, but by the time we were halfway through the second, I was just happy they were on my feet. For the record, Uggs can be rinsed off and will survive. But every muddy, sticky, and yes, even hot moment was totally worth it. To see the city that we now call home, to meet and really get to know some fantastic women here and the sweet, sweet americana coffee I got as soon as we were out of the forest were just priceless.

Cheers to the things and people who feel like home and, of course, to those who truly are, near and far.

Love and Georgia

My apologies for neglecting the blog for a bit. Between spotty internet this week, new food discoveries, english-speaking channels on cable and the thousand books I downloaded to my kindle, I've taken a short leave. But I have got to catch everyone up on our recent restaurant find...

Last weekend, as all weekends are designated to be "tourist days", we attempted to conquer the Arbat, which is a strip in Moscow close to our apartment full of souvenier shops, restaurants and cafes. It makes for good strolling with Hubs as long as we avoid the tourist traps. Its like anywhere you go, struggling artists showing off their grand paintings of the countryside mixed with other masterpieces like what Michael Jackson would look like as a chihuahua. And did you know that people walking around with boards on either side of their bodies advertising a business around the corner is not just something Furniture Warehouse does when it's going out of business for the millionth time? Caricatures, nesting dolls, furr Russian hats (that I haven't seen ANYONE wearing yet...), you name it, they've got it here. Its an excellent mix of those in a hurry to get where they're going and those who aren't quite sure where they are.

They have a pub here. A few of them, actually. A couple were full, some looked stuffy, but we knew we found our place when we checked our coat at the door, went down some very narrow stairs, through a busy lounge area, were kicked out of the lounge area (how did they know we weren't there for the swanky private party?) and finally made it to the basement dark smoky corner of an authentic Irish pub. How do we know its authentic? We don't. But they had Guinness and we obviously looked very Irish because the bartender immediately set us up with two pints which we enjoyed to the beat of Blink-182 and soccer in the background. Legit.

After our pints, we had to come up for air and dinner. Yana, who had been showing us apartments had recommended a Georgian restaurant in the area and we were dying to try it. She told us that most Russian food isn't actually Russian. Heavy Georgian and Ukrainian influences make up the "authentic" Russian cuisine. Even borscht isn't Russian, but hails from the Ukraine. As Yana put it, "We just like it." That's enough for me.

The restaurant looks amazing. It's designed to have the appearance of dining in the Mountains of Georgia. I actually am not certain if they are mountains or hills, but being from South Texas, I think they're all mountains, so I can get away with it without double-checking my facts with google. Every table is very private and tucked away, ours was over a bridge with a small pond below. Just beautiful!

The menu is half Russian/half English, which is almost worse than all Russian. And, there were no pictures. So we really didn't know what we were getting ourselves into most of the time. We just knew the meat that we would be served. We're getting really good at this game we like to call, "guess whats for dinner..." Our server didn't know a lick of english, but he was a real lifesaver when he recommended this Georgian bread dish that was significantly more expensive than the pita we had ordered with our pickle platter. Totally worth it, though. I love bread anyway, but this melt-in-your-mouth, cheese-filled, flaky piece of heaven took my love affair with bread to a whole new level.

From there, we just used a simple formula that we've created factoring price, page on the menu and meat to decide on a dish that we could only half understand. You don't want anything too expensive, but anything too cheap probably has extra small portions. Anything too early or too late on the menu could be an appetizer, dessert or glass of carrot juice. And meat is just important.

I don't know if I can properly describe this food as they are meant to be described. Dan ordered a sampler of mutton, veal and pork and the meat tasted smooth. Less is more in the spice category in Georgia, but they know how to work it and it maintains the greatest flavor. My dish was veal sauteed with potatoes and onions. Rich, smooth goodness. You'll notice from the pictures that there's dill everywhere. I don't know what dish here doesn't get a healthy dose of fresh dill and thankfully, we're not sick of it yet. Just a heads up, though, I will probably not want anything dill in any welcome home meal. Unless its homeade pickle juice. Then it'll be ok. And even then, only if its preceeded with Jameson.

We had a great experience, and not only was the food delicious, but the entertainment as well. What can best be described as "Georgian Mariachi Band" wandered through the place, and occassionally a dancing ninja appeared a song or two in. Yes, dancing ninja. These men were dressed in all black and I'm pretty sure you would be unrecognizable if you challenged them to a dance off. I wish I could upload the video here, but I am not blog saavy enough yet. Or I'm just not patient enough to wait for the thing to load and it was taking forever. For now, a picture will have to do...

Cheers to our different Georgian neighbors. They may not have fried green tomatoes and Braves baseball, but they sure know how to get down.