The restaurant does not look like much from the street level. With a little "restaurant" sign pointing at a dimly lit set of stairs leading down to a basement of a otherwise commercial building filled with fashion shops. But as soon as the set of glass doors dividing the stairs from the streets were opened, the loud sounds from down below were inescapable. Simultaneously, almost disco-like lights from the basement give off the impression that one is entering a nightclub rather than a restaurant.
Downstairs, it was certainly LOUD. Amidst tables were guests sit and dined is a central stage where the restaurant based "performer" belched out one Georgian karaoke hit after another, with such a sense of routine that he does not even bother to smile or nod in the process. Interestingly, the guests also seem completely unperturbed, casually going about their conversations over food and smokes despite the fact that the loud music makes any conversation nearly inaudible.
For the lone diner, the situation is quite awkward. To comfortably ignore the karaoke Belcher, guests show up in big crowds, constantly talking about their meals in order to make the occasion more bearable. Indeed, the staff at the restaurant felt awkward having to deal with a lone diner. The restaurant was designed with crowds in mind, with tables semi-separated to provide different groups of diners with some semblance of privacy. The darkness of the place (aside from strobe lights) helps.
The place the author found himself for dinner was certainly not unique. All over the neighborhood that the author stays in there are similar restaurants, always situated in basements in order not to disturb others with their loud music and gaudy lights. Any aboveground establishments (with no loud music or colorful lights) can only be called "cafes" where loners can grab a quick sandwich or shawarma roll. Similar arrangement can be found in Azerbaijan, where restaurants have no music but only individual rooms.
It is as if the very concept of the "restaurant" means something else here in the Caucasus. They are essentially event halls where people gather for special occasions. Every restaurant here, in reality, is like the "special" seafood restaurants Chinese people go to to celebrate marriage anniversaries, important birthdays, and other significant achievements in life. There are no "regular" restaurants where people can just simply grab a regular sit-down meal with no particular reason other than wanting good food.
The phenomenon makes one wonder exactly why restaurants came to be so "special" to locals here. Are people simply too poor to afford eating at restaurants that every outing has to be for something special? That is possible considering that a full on feast can be as much as 4 usd per person, a rather large amount for even the regular elementary school teacher here making 200 usd a month. Eating out is proportionally expensive so it ought to be for something special.
But at the same time, it says much about the central place food holds in the local culture here. After all, there are plenty of places in the world where restaurant meal can cost 4 usd for someone with a 200 usd salary but restaurant does not become a location for celebrations (Africa, for instance, at least in the experience of the author himself). People of the Caucasus inevitably choose to celebrate over food rather than spending money to celebrate in other ways.
It is an eye opener for people who are used to eating more as a means of survival and sustenance rather than festivity. It certainly helps that locals have perfected the art of cooking over a long proud history (as Georgians certainly have), but more importantly, it is about the importance people give to bounding physically with people that they care about, over shared goodness of food. In many cultures, food no longer play that role, usurped by drinking, clubbing, or coffee.
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