CULTURE

Fat fest

Khayat // Liteiny Prospekt 53, Tel: 275 5117 // Open noon till the last customer // Menu in Russian // Dinner for two: 1,790 rubles ($56)

By Shura Collinson

Staff Writer

Nutritionists and dieticians, beware: This review contains scenes of a calorific, waistband-stretching nature that health-conscious readers may find distressing.

It all started so innocently, with a visit to Khayat, a cheap-and-cheerful new Caucasian caf? located on Liteiny Prospekt next door to the entrance to the Anna Akhmatova Museum.

Nothing in the basement caf?’s interior betrayed any sign of the gluttony that was to follow: the innocuous tiled floor, green wooden paneling up to waist-height topped by yellow painted walls, cheery yellow tablecloths and leather chairs and booths, along with a mangal (an open grill commonly used in Caucasian cooking) near a brightly-lit corner bar, shelves bearing the obligatory jars of unidentified pickled objects, and some run-of-the-mill RnB music.

The range of Azerbaijani, Armenian, Georgian and Russian dishes on the menu is not the only potential treat in store at Khayat. The menu itself boasts some masterpieces of the Google Translate genre, including the appetizing “Salad from the Hen,” the tongue-twisting “Mutton and Beef Language with Horse Radish” and the imperiously named “Salmon the Chief Salt.”

The less outlandish-sounding cream of lentil soup (90 rubles, $2.80) — not a dish frequently encountered on the menu at Caucasian eateries — was rich, hearty and very heavy. The fresh lemon with which it arrived added some welcome zest and much-needed buoyancy to a dish that proved to be just the beginning of an exercise in stuffing.

The exception to that rule was the Mangal salad (150 rubles, $4.70), which was an unexpected delight. The combination of onion, eggplant and bell peppers served on a large lettuce leaf in fact bore more resemblance to salsa than to a salad. In keeping with the salad’s name, the vegetables had seemingly been barbequed, giving them a highly unusual smoky flavor.

Khayat passed the real test of every Caucasian restaurant — the khachapuri (240 rubles, $7.50) — with flying colors. On disappointing occasions, the Georgian cheesy dough classic ends up resembling a supermarket-bought pizza, with a covering of dry, crispy cheese. This, however, was the real deal — a moist, press-with-fork-and-watch-rivulets-of-cheese-and-butter-ooze-out WeightWatcher’s b?te noir.

Possibly the only dish more decadent and fattening than khachapuri is another Georgian cheese extravaganza: Fried suluguni cheese (180 rubles, $5.70), a side dish which probably contains twice the recommended daily fat intake levels in just one portion, and which we proceeded to order in a risky, cholesterol-beckoning culinary game. It sadly failed to live up to the high standards set by the khachapuri. It was not just fried; but deep fried, as well as being bland, heavy and chewy, and therefore only really recommended for dedicated actors who need to put on weight for a new role — and fast.

Continuing the trend of hearty, decadent dishes, the mutton soyutma soup (250 rubles, $8) was a rich concoction of fresh meat in fatty, flavorsome bouillon.

The meal’s finale and house specialty, Khayat kebab (280 rubles, $9), in keeping with the rest of the dishes, far surpassed expectations and almost appetites. The veal kebab was served on a bed of dranniki (potato pancakes) under a blanket of more cheese, which at this point seemed almost a little excessive.

If the calmly cool, obliging waiter was impressed by the amount of food devoured, he did not show it. Nor did he open the bottle of dry red Matrasa wine (600 rubles, $19) at the table or offer the opportunity to taste it, which, along with the fact that it was served in an earthenware bottle, gave rise to suspicions that some domashnoye vino had simply been siphoned into the bottle. Even if it had, the Soviet-style wine was pleasant enough, and was certainly sufficient to wash down the cheese orgy and cement the impression that while Khayat may not warrant trekking from far afield to get to, growling stomachs finding themselves in the vicinity could do far worse than enter its den of temptation.

More stories by this section:

To see Picasso and die | Word’s worth | Best of the festival favorites

Or take part in the discussion below.