The stairs of most Soviet-era apartment buildings we encountered were dark, making them hard to navigate for unaccustomed Americans. But as soon as our hosts would open the door, we’d forget about feeling lost and enter a welcoming space centered around a table filled with food. While the rest of the meal was being prepared—Summer Tolma (page 178) when the weather was hot, Khashlama (page 208) when it was colder–we passed the time by snacking on salt-brined pickles and eating salty cheese wrapped in lavash with cilantro, dill, and skinny green onions.

We encountered this scene over and over again in Armenia, and each meal contributed recipes that we sought to re-create in this chapter, which begins with Khash (page 156), a type of bone broth that is legendary on its own, not necessarily for its flavor but for the ritual behind eating it. A khash party is a category all its own, an all-day affair that starts in the morning with bowls of the hot, rich broth and vodka to help with digestion—or so we’re told.

After that, we move on to one of the most enjoyable ways to celebrate good weather and friendship—khorovats. The Armenian answer to grilling is familiar but also has a few twists, such as using long, sturdy skewers instead of grill grates to cook meat and vegetables. When making khorovats, the method is more important than any single recipe, so we provide an overview of the process and an all-purpose seasoning rub to make it easier to mix and match.

The remainder of the chapter digs deeper into feasting options, from the aforementioned stuffed vegetable tolma to Lavash-Wrapped Trout baked until crisp (page 183), a different form of kufta baked in lavash (page 189), and comforting porridges and stews. Every dish in this chapter is at its best when served with an herb and cheese plate (see page 35), a side of bread, and a salad or side (or both) from the previous chapter.

There is also an important part of feasting that goes beyond food. The Caucasus are famous for their long history of toasting rituals, and it’s possible that these rituals go back more than 6,000 years, when the world’s first-known wineries appeared. In the past two centuries, Russian influences replaced wine with vodka and brandy, but the desire to commemorate a gathering with a series of toasts continued.

Often, a toastmaster—a tamadan—leads the toast. If you’re at someone’s home, this is typically the master of the house, nearly always a man. While the tamadan is toasting, it’s rude to interrupt or eat. After the toast is made, everyone clinks glasses and downs the vodka, and then the tamadan refills the glasses so guests will be ready for the next toast.

Glasses of Kompot (page 221) may also be filled to sip after the vodka.

One of the most important ritualized toasts happens while eating khash. The toasts may go something like this:

The inaugural toast: “Good morning!” (A khash party starts well before lunch.)

The second toast: “So we don’t forget the first toast.”

The third toast: “To the maker of the khash.”

The fourth toast: “To the eaters of the khash.”

The final toast: “To the next khash.“

But toasting can also take place at a gathering of khorovats, a meal shared over harissa, or any time a group of people have come together to share a meal. One of our favorite toasts on our research trips was “to new friends,” because we met so many on the road.

Not every toasting opportunity needs to be structured, however, and nowadays guests may simply clink glasses and say “kenats” (“to life”), just as if they were to say “cheers.”

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