"Every Georgian dish is a poem."—Alexander Pushkin
According to Georgian legend, God took a supper break while creating the world. He became so involved with his meal that he inadvertently tripped over the high peaks of the Caucasus, spilling his food onto the land below. The land blessed by Heaven's table scraps was Georgia.
Feel free to bring your own alcohol
kreatorka, podróżniczka, aktywistka, absurdystka, poszukiwaczka i zdobywczyni
I was raised by chickens in the heart of a cabbage-land. Since an early age I was exploring my creative side using any materials I could find in the hen-house with little enthusiasm from the chickens. When I reached adolescence I realized that my wings are strong enough to take me anywhere I wished so I flew to an island across the sea. There I learned about the cynicism of the business world. I came back and I learned about the cynicism of the academia. Years of university and corporation have almost completely wrecked my creative soul. Thus I took the little bit that was left of my soul and flew across the ocean to do something good. There I have learnt about the cynicism of the humanitarian world. I buried the ashes of my soul and I couldn't be more surprised when one day I saw it sprouting in a barren soil. Bashfully I started doing this and that. Now I'm back in the cabbage-land and I keep doing creative stuff including cooking.