It’s strange that Georgia isn’t better known for its wine. Wine is central to Georgian culture, and those who claim Georgians invented it might be correct. Archaeologists have found evidence of viticulture in the region from early as the fourth millennium BC, according to The Georgian Feast by Darra Goldstein. (Other fun facts from Goldstein: scientists believe the original wine grape was native to the Caucasus; some linguists consider the Georgian word for wine, ghvino, to be the prototype for the words vino, vin and wine; and early Georgians actually worshipped the grape with sacred back garden wine storage sheds.)

Tbilisi celebrates this with a long list of authentic Georgian wines, and through a few decor nods—shelves displaying spot-lit wine bottles hang on the wine-red walls of the modern-looking space. (The restaurant is a warm, cosy place despite the contemporary look, though, with a menu full of charming spelling mistakes like “crashed walnuts” and “vanilla ace-cream”.)

Kvanchkara, at £18.99, was the priciest Georgian wine on the list, but we couldn’t resist; it came recommended by our waiter, and by the menu, which calls it “most favoured” by Georgians “with a rich sweetness of fruit and oak tones”. The sweet red was unusual but more than drinkable, with a honey aftertaste. Our second bottle was a dry red made from the saperavi grape, still boasting a hint of sweetness; its name, Tamada, so the label said, is the Georgian word for a host or toastmaster charged with creating a social, celebratory atmosphere during meals.

The arrival of our starter, khachapuri–cheese bread–was enough to create a celebratory atmosphere at our table. Like hot, fluffy pizza dough with a moist, mildly cheesy centre, it was delicious on its own, and even better with two accompanying toppings: a spicy salad of cooked carrot, coriander, cumin, crushed walnut and pomegranate seeds, and, the surprise favourite, salty, spicy chunks of liver adorned with onion, parsley and more pomegranate. (Surprising because some of us, like me, who had been disgusted by liver as children, couldn’t get enough.)

The spicy theme continued into the mains. My khinkali, dumplings resembling a larger version of the Chinese steamed sort (in texture, not shape), were topped in fiery black pepper that added an edge to the ground beef/pork and vegetable broth filling. Those dining on chanaki, “spicy lamb and aubergine”, called it a cross between rogan josh and goulash—the perfect description.

Walnuts were back again too, in vegetarian dishes like aubergine with walnut sauce. (This was surprisingly un-walnuty, more like a Moroccan aubergine/tomato combo with a jalfrazi spiciness.) Walnut sauce can also come atop tabaka, traditional Georgian chicken grilled on the bone, but our table chose a sweet and sour plum sauce for the dish.

The desserts arrived full of yet more walnuts—a baked green apple filled with a very Greek mixture of yogurt, honey and crushed walnut, and a jelly-like concoction made from grape juice and corn flour, and topped with whole walnut pieces. (Georgian chacha—grappa—was also consumed.)

Tbilisi’s food isn’t the most mind-blowingly delicious we’ve tried, but it’s exciting, reliable and filling. We’d love to see Georgian cuisine increase its presence around London, but for now, Tbilisi makes an excellent North London hub for those wanting to discover it. Here’s hoping the near-empty dining room we witnessed isn’t threatening this restaurant’s survival, because I want to go back.

In summary

Tbilisi
91 Holloway Road, Holloway, London, N7 8LT
020 7607 2536
Open daily, 6:30pm to 11pm

More Georgian

My friend Emily, who made a point of seeking out the most exotic restaurants she could find while visiting London a few months back, drooled over her cheese bread, khinkali, and trout at Mimino.