Let's begin with a disclaimer: I didn't know the wedding would be outside in a tent and that weather would come into my wardrobe consideration. Thus, I was woefully unprepared in terms of clothing and I ended up borrowing an electrically-red blazer from my neighbor to complement my navy blue pants and black boots, all topped off with purple-tinted lipstick. It turned out okay, considering. It went well with my host cousin's bright red turtleneck, denim jacket, and mullet.
The tent was made of tarp, but the inside was ornately decorated for something so temporary. To my non-layer-wearing relief, it was quite a bit warmer inside than out. Unlike at the last wedding I attended, I actually got to sit close to the tamada, seen here standing with a microphone. His toasts were either eloquent or full of crap, depending on if you asked the women or the men. All I picked up on is that they were very long and full of words I didn't know, even the toast where he brought me to the front of the room and toasted my presence-- specifically, the opportunity for me to witness such a great example of Georgian tradition and hospitality and to take it back to the US with me... which is what I'm doing RIGHT NOW!
Of course the toast to the wedded couple called for the big guns. He's holding a kantsi, which is an animal horn. Yes, it's full of wine. Yes, you're required to drink every last drop of it all at once. No, I didn't drink it because I'm a woman and they would have been more scandalized than impressed. Well, maybe more impressed, but still scandalized. All the men in the room passed the kantsi around, toasting the bride and groom and then dumping another liter inside between toasts.
My host mother says there were about two hundred people at the wedding, which is average. There were three long tables set up with piles and piles of plates as far as the eye could see. Having assisted my host family in making a taxi-load of food for the wedding the day before, I was uneasy to notice upon our arrival that while the plates were stacks three-high, our family's food had yet to be served. Every half hour or so, a new culinary delight would pop out of the kitchen and sit untouched because everyone had been eating for the last three hours straight.
Examine this diagram of the table in front of you at a sample moment in the supra. Here's a helpful list of labels so you know what to try and what to avoid: 1) atchma (cheese and noodles and butter), 2) khachapuri (bread and cheese), 3) tolma (cabbage and ground pork), 4) pig (pork and faaaat), 5) tongue salad (no thanks), 6) mtsvadi (grilled meat), and 7) cake.
Just so you get confused, that cake in front of you was not the wedding cake. It was merely a sampling of the many non-wedding cakes people made and brought. You'll have to save room for the immaculate wedding cake, which features creamy white icing and kiwis inside. It won't come to your table until you've been eating for about five hours, so don't let it slip your mind...
You can always dance off the calories. The keyboardist and singer alternate between traditional music and modern. During the traditional songs, the dance floor becomes a battlefield, and men and women compete to stay the center of attention. It's like "Save the Last Dance," but 500 years ago. If I've uploaded the video, then here we have a woman who's dancing away with a series of men who keep getting shoved aside by increasingly smaller and smaller competitors.
The wedding dresses here are similar to western ones, and after staying pretty all day, the bride too must uphold her fair portion of dancing antics. However, check the Benjaminshvili in her hand: she gets paid to swirl around on the dance floor by random onlookers and guests.
Other than that, there were even more hours of eating, drinking and dancing. The bride threw the bouquet and I didn't catch it, but having decided recently that my ideal age for marriage is approximately 50, I wasn't too broken up about that loss. Side note-- single women at the wedding greeted each other with the phrase "And may yours be soon." Nobody said that to me.
Two last entries in the category of wedding chefs doing some showboating. They serve mtsvadi, this pictured roast meat, at many supras, but only at weddings have I ever seen it in standing skewers over a live flame. For even more effect, they cut the lights before a train of young girls trotted in bearing the firy dishes. If there's something that was lacking at every American wedding I've been to, it's fire.
Lastly, this poultry testament to everlasting love. It's a roast rooster and a roast hen, adorned in leaves and stretching toward each other for all deep-fried eternity. It's a beautiful thing, with the added bonus that there's one less rooster in the world crowing as a result. Thirty years from now, I think I'll have one of these at my wedding, too...
1 comment:
And another fine Georgian culture blog . I do hope to visit one day soon. Just make sure I am not eating "tongue" anything.
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