Food fight.

My time spent in Russia and especially in Belarus necessitated that I develop a defense mechanism against all the hospitality (i.e. force-feeding) that I have encountered along the way.  While I love the chance to try new things, and I do love eating (like, a lot), I'm just a little girl, and I have my limits.  While initially I obliged eating far past my point of fullness for the sake of politeness, I quickly learned that was a very poor long-term plan.  So I developed strategies to deal with the massive amounts of food forced at me: I quit eating when I've had about half of what I intend to eat, knowing that I will inevitably be given more.  I make sure that I am the only one who touches my plate; it's a lot harder to refuse when it's already on your plate, and no amount of begging will stop the heavy hand of your host mother/sister/babushka from serving you a portion 3x the size of her own.  Go light on the bread and heavy on the juice/broth/sauce/tomatoes/cucumbers/pickles; make it look like you're eating more than you really are.  Eat slowly enough that you are not immediately offered seconds but not so slow that it is noticeable.  Make sure someone is watching what you're eating; if they don't see it, it didn't happen, and you will have to make up for all that you "didn't eat."  Blame the fact that you are a weak American; they're already doing it, so you might as well use it to your advantage.

Georgia has a reputation for amazing food, drink, and hospitality.  I knew that I would have some great culinary experiences here and probably more of them than I would like.  All the same, I arrived with my eating strategies in tow thinking that I was ready to beat my host family and their hospitality (or at least hold my own).  Seven weeks into this little adventure I am here to shamelessly say that Georgian hospitality is kicking my butt.  I am no match for the endless amount of food that winds up on my plate night after night.  I cannot compete with four full meals in four hours (which happens surprisingly frequently) or the full coffee setup (complete with chocolate, fruit, nuts, cookies, etc) upwards of five times a day.  I am officially and publicly conceding defeat in this food fight, but unfortunately that doesn't mean that the battle is over.  It will continue until the day I die or explode from fullness and my host family serves lobio (beans––a traditional Georgian dish) and toasts my memory with tchtcha (Georgian moonshine) at my funeral.

So, a message to Georgia from one of its loving visitors:  Georgia, you are awesome.  You live up to your reputation of being hospitable in every sense of the word.  I've never met people so warm and giving.  Your food is amazing.  I would gladly eat my weight in fried potatoes if it was physically possible, and I will forever sing the praises of khachapuri, your fabled cheesy bread, BUT please look kindly on your weak American visitor, who loves to eat but doesn't want to go back to America weighing 1,000 pounds, and give me a break.  Every meal does not need to be a full-out supra.  I may not really know your language yet, but don't worry, the word 'Tchame!' (Eat!) will never be forgotten. You don't have to remind me of it 100x every day.  I know you love having visitors and you're really good at it, but would you mind loving me just a tiny bit less?  I will forever be grateful.  And full.

All my love,
Lizikho