Batumi's molten cheese vessel, winter comfort that sticks to your ribs and your fingers
This is the khachapuri that made Batumi famous — a boat of yeasted dough cradling two cheeses that blister and bubble until they're molten enough to warrant a spoon. Winter in Adjara means suluguni from the high pastures, imeruli brined and waiting, and the kind of hunger that only carbs and cheese can answer. You'll burn your mouth. You'll come back for more.
Mix warm water, yeast, and a pinch of sugar in a bowl. Wait five minutes until it foams — if it doesn't, your yeast is dead and you've got a problem. Tip in the flour and salt, mix until shaggy.
Work the dough for eight minutes — hard, rhythmic, no mercy. It'll go from sticky to silky. Your shoulders will thank you later. Oil a bowl lightly and plop the dough in, cover with a cloth.
Leave it for 90 minutes in a warm corner of your kitchen — not hot, just warm. It should roughly double. In winter in Adjara, this takes patience. Poke it; if it springs back slowly, you're there.
Divide dough in half. Roll each into a rough oval, about 20cm long. Pinch the short ends up into points — they're your boat's prow and stern. The middle stays flatter, a shallow well. Lay them on parchment, let them proof for 20 minutes while the oven heats to 220°C.
Tear suluguni and imeruli into rough chunks — don't grate, you want irregular melts and soft spots. Fill the well of each boat generously, pile it in. Slide onto a hot tray and bake for 12–15 minutes until the bread is golden and the cheese is bubbling at the edges like it might escape.
Pull from the oven — it'll be molten and hissing. Quickly crack an egg into the centre of each boat, add a knob of cold butter on top of the yolk. The residual heat will cook the white and warm the yolk without setting it hard. Let it sit 90 seconds.
Hand each person a fork. Stir the warm yolk through the cheese — it becomes your sauce. Tear off the bread corners, dip them into the pool of melted cheese and egg. Eat with your hands, burn your mouth, laugh about it.
“No plating here — it comes to the table in the boat it was baked in, still hissing, cheese bubbling, egg intact. Set it on a warm plate if you're fancy, or just slide it onto the table and let people go at it. Have napkins ready. The mess is half the charm.”
First bite: the bread is tender and yielding, warm yeast backbone; the cheese hits next — salty, funky, hot enough to stick to the roof of your mouth. The yolk runs through it all, rich and unctuous, tempering the salt. By the last corner, you're chasing that perfect three-way marriage of bread, cheese, and egg, and wondering if you can justify making another one.
Replace suluguni and imeruli with 200g cashew cheese (soaked cashews blended with nutritional yeast, lemon, salt) and 150g firm tofu pressed and pan-fried until golden, then crumbled. Skip the egg; instead, make a rich tahini-turmeric drizzle (tahini, water, turmeric, lemon, salt) and swirl it into the cheese well after baking, finishing with a knob of vegan butter. The result is creamy, earthy, and satisfyingly rich without the animal products — and you'll still burn your mouth, which is the whole point.
Georgia's own: dry, tannic enough to cut through the cheese and butter, earthy undertones match the bread. Batumi wineries do brilliant versions.
Cold and clean, cuts the richness of the melted cheese without overwhelming the bread. Local Caucasus breweries make decent ones.
Black Sea mineral water if you can find it; the bubbles scrub your palate between bites, the acid balances the fat.
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