Every birthday, my great-aunt would always surprise me with imeruli khachapuri and other Georgian foods like khinkali and mchadi. These foods became so routine in my life that I just couldn’t imagine people growing up without them. It wasn’t until I was older and began “eating out” with my friends that I noticed just how sparse Eastern European food was. Even in New York, one of the most diverse cities in the world, I found myself resorting to saying that I was Russian, not Georgian, in an attempt not to confuse people into thinking that I was from the U.S. State of Georgia. As a student in a high school of six thousand people, I only knew one other Georgian, who still wasn’t exactly like me... who still wasn’t a Georgian Jew.

In Georgia, it’s common to find pork mixed with cheese, which in Judaism translates to approximately ten thousand different sins at once. Consequently, there is naturally quite a distinction between being Georgian and being Georgian Jewish. It was hard to find that intersectionality between staying true to my religion and staying true to my culture. Throughout my childhood, I was told to embrace my culture, but as a Georgian Jew, it was often easier to assume a different culture than try to explain my own. Going out to eat with my friends always meant either Chinese, Indian, K-BBQ, or something mainstream. But there finally came a time when it was my turn to offer a suggestion. The first time I introduced my friends to a little Georgian restaurant in the West Village neighborhood of Manhattan, they all asked me what the name of the “cheese pizza” that they were trying was.

But then, a local restaurant was slated to open in my neighborhood, one of the most densely Georgian Jewish neighborhoods in America, called Marani, Georgian for winery. It wasn’t until it opened that I realized that it said “Glatt Kosher,” making it as kosher as a restaurant could be. From that moment on, my family had a place to order our khachapuri from, my friends had a place to share my khachapuri with me, and I found a place where I wouldn’t have to compromise my values; neither as a Jew nor as a Georgian, where I could follow my religion but embrace my culture. Not just embrace it - I could share it. I could take my friends there while having them excidely attempt to butcher the pronuncuation of adjaruli Khachapuri and introduce them to Georgian culture, with a tangy hint of Judaism.