Supra: A Georgian Feast of Love
Our vehicle bounced over and around deep potholes in the rutted one-lane dirt road, deep into the countryside of the Republic of Georgia. There were 20 of us. Pilgrims, we called ourselves, traveling through Georgia for two weeks, taking in the country’s ancient traditions and current-day customs. Today our driver was taking us to a vineyard called Ateni Old Wine Cellar in the village of Ateni, near the town of Gori.
Two-story cement homes with tin roofs lined both sides of the road, most with a second-story balcony. Lush grapevines wound their way around the railings.
Around a turn, in the middle of the road, stood our host, Temur, signaling that we had arrived. He proudly showed us his 70-year-old vines. He explained that his vineyard was injecting life back into traditional winemaking, and that he was producing wine from grape varietals, Atenuri and Tavkveri, once feared extinct.
Temur waved his arms to invite us into his home.
A long table was loaded with salads, bread, appetizers of various types, numerous decanters of white and red wine, and pitchers of chacha, which is a strong spirit similar to vodka or brandy that some refer to as wine vodka or Georgian grappa.
From a large portrait, a Joseph Stalin look-alike stared down at us. (Numerous photos of Stalin, their hero, were prominently displayed in Temur’s home.)
After we were seated, our host — the Tamada or toastmaster — began with the first toast. He raised his glass to thank God for this land.
According to ancient tradition, when God was giving land to the peoples of the world, the Georgians were busy eating, drinking and feasting, and when they arrived there was no land left because they were too late. The Georgians told God that they had been toasting to his health and invited him to join them. God, pleased with this toast in his honor, replied, “If that’s the case, then I will give you the best piece of land, the one I was reserving for myself.” And that region was Georgia.” That’s why Georgians believe that theirs is God’s own country.
Then looking each of us around the table in the eye, Tamada blessed the day we were each born. We all raised our glasses and drank.Then we pilgrims stood, and raised toasts to Georgia, to our host, to his wines. I began taking sips that were smaller and smaller with each toast. More toasts, to our families, to friendship, to love. We drank.
And the Stalin eyes continued to stare at us.
Mushrooms, potatoes, cheese bread and long skewers of grilled pork arrived at the table, the fat still dripping off the sides.
As the Tamada, Temur enacted a Georgian tradition for us that makes drinking and eating an almost sacred act. This type of meal is called a supra, which most closely translates to “feast.” While the exact history of the supra is unknown, a version of it has been happening as long as wine has been available in the country, which is at least 8,000 years. It’s a tradition of eating, drinking and saying thanks to things communally, and of giving people an opportunity to be loving and grateful in a public way.
The most important word at the supra is “Gaumarjos,” which is the Georgian word for cheers. But rather than just yelling out a mindless “cheers,” as we might in the U.S., supras are celebratory and communal reflections on a long list of people and things for which we are grateful.
By the final toast, I was barely sipping, although I raised my glass high in the air with each “Gaumarjos.” It’s a very good thing I paced myself, because after hours of eating, drinking and toasting, the Tamada invited me to a final toast by locking arms with me and inviting me to drink the last glass of wine with him to bottoms-up.
It was a feast of gratitude and love none of us is likely to forget. Ever.
If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, please visit me at marlenafiol.com.
