We were having a year of good wine. In February, we went to Italy, where apart from drinking copious amounts of splendid wine, we went on a winery tour in Tuscany and left the country with bottles of our favorite reds and whites. Then we went to Georgia, a country that has grabbed the world’s attention for its unique wine making traditions said to date back 8,000 years. Along with couple of bottles of wine, we brought back a bottle of strong Georgian pomace brandy, called chacha. Unlike wine, which is a sophisticated drink, chacha lurks around in the background, shying away from the spotlight.
It was during our lunch in a small wooden cabin by the stream in the picturesque Kazbegi region that we had our first tryst with chacha. After numerous stops, including two for my friend’s daughter who had gotten sick, thanks to the mountainous roads and dodgy driving, we were ravenous and tired. As we ordered almost the entire menu at Cozy Corner, a place our driver had recommended, his friend and owner of the restaurant insisted we try chacha, a strong pomace brandy. Served like a shot, the light pink liquid looked pretty harmless until I brought it closer to my mouth. The sharp smell foretold that this was no mild drink. As I downed it, a burning sensation went right to my stomach.
Later, as our 4X4 maneuvered the mud roads up to the Gergeti Trinity Church, we chatted with the driver, a local resident of Kazbegi, to find out where we could buy wine and which one we should get. Burly and bearded George turned around, one hand firmly on the steering wheel and with a glint in his eye, and said he doesn’t drink wine, but chacha. We should have guessed!
Over the next few days, every time we sat down for a meal in a restaurant in Tbilisi, along with wine, chacha shots always made an appearance. On our last day there I had booked myself a private bath at Gulo’s, one of Tbilisi’s many bath houses in the Abanotubani district. I emerged clean and scrubbed from my soak in the natural hot sulphur springs that the city is known for and met two old men, who turned out to be brothers. We got to talking as I waited for my bill. One of them had represented his country (presumably USSR back in the day) in weightlifting in the Olympics and claimed to have won a gold medal. He offered to carry me to prove his point, but I politely declined. It was barely 9:00 a.m. and they seemed very jolly. As we stood around chatting, I wondered if it had anything to do with a bottle of chacha that I spotted on a table close by and the used glasses lying next to it. Then again, it’s never too early to drink chacha in Georgia!
