On the Trail of Adjika, Abkhazia's "Sauce of Glory"

Tbilisi-based tipster E.O recently sent me a link to a wonderful piece about adjika, a red pepper based hot sauce that is the pride of Abkhazia and an essential part of the region's cuisine. The piece, by Oliver Bullough, a former Reuters correspondent based in Moscow, tells the story of how he first discovered adjika, got hooked on it, and then ended up having numerous conversations about the sauce whenever he went on reporting trips to Abkhazia after the Russian-Georgian war of 2008. From his article:

After the war, Russia recognised Abkhazian independence, and the territory became something of a pawn in the struggle between Washington and Moscow. This was always the nominal topic during interviews with politicians but, quite often, we ended up talking instead about adjika. Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Chirikba, for example, strongly recommended buying some from a woman called Seda in the market in Sukhum, the capital. “Everyone knows her, she makes the best adjika,” he said, with a degree of passion that had been missing from much of our previous discussion of Abkhazia’s strained foreign relations. “Just ask when you get into the market and they’ll tell you how you find Seda who sells adjika.”

That was a controversial viewpoint, however. Ruben Migranyan, spokesman for the prime minister, did not think much of Seda’s adjika at all.

“Seda’s neighbour in the market has much better adjika. Look out for her, she has blonde hair, though I can’t remember her name,” he said, as we waited for his boss to turn up. He pointed out that, as an ethnic Armenian, he was neutral in the Abkhaz adjika dispute, so his viewpoint was one you could rely on.

“Seda is a brand name. Buy it from Seda by all means, maybe it’s good, but you can find any other person who makes it better.”

The next morning I had a couple of hours to kill before seeing the president, so I took Chirikba’s advice. The market was a chaotic noisy place full of vegetables and bread and furniture and clothes and hustlers. I smiled at the thought of Chirikba, careful and precise in his beautiful suit, walking through here.

But he was right: everyone knew Seda, who was pleasingly nonchalant about having her produce recommended by the country’s top foreign policy official.

“Of course, mine is the best,” she said, pulling out a jar from under a counter covered in vegetables. “It is the purest so it is the best.”

She opened the jar and offered me a spoonful to try. More coriander in this one, I thought, as I waited for the garlic and chilli explosion at the back of my mouth. And something else in there too: dill seeds? Cumin? It was indeed wonderful.

Meanwhile, tipster E.O. has a suggestion for the next time Bullough makes it to Abkhazia in search of adjika. "I'd say that the outdoor bazaar in the town of Gali, the mostly ethnic Georgian part of Abkhazia, has the best adjika I've ever had, whether in Georgian-controlled or Abkhaz-controlled territory -- the green variety, particularly," the tipster wrote via email. "You can eat it by itself. Truly addictive."