Call it bread, call it pita, call it dough. Or, if you are willing to embarrass yourself in front of Chef Boris Portnoy, try to call it by its real name.
If you can pronounce khachapuri.
A native of Moscow, Portnoy has pulled from his childhood influences, as well as his experiences at The Restaurant at Meadowood, to create Satellite Republic – a moped outfitted with a tandoor oven for crafting made-to-order breads for sandwiches, snacks and street food.
I had the opportunity to find him at his San Francisco debut in front of No Shop on Valencia (next to Four Barrel). Judging from the line that had formed by the time I arrived, there was no doubt in my mind that his was going to be a successful San Francisco institution.
If you can pronounce khachapuri.
A native of Moscow, Portnoy has pulled from his childhood influences, as well as his experiences at The Restaurant at Meadowood, to create Satellite Republic – a moped outfitted with a tandoor oven for crafting made-to-order breads for sandwiches, snacks and street food.
I had the opportunity to find him at his San Francisco debut in front of No Shop on Valencia (next to Four Barrel). Judging from the line that had formed by the time I arrived, there was no doubt in my mind that his was going to be a successful San Francisco institution.
Line Marveling at Chef Boris Portnoy's Satellite Republic
The oven was a sight to see. Covered with a black iron disc, the tandoor measured approximately a foot and a half in diameter, a foot deep, and reached a scorching 800˚ F. To bake the bread, Portnoy lightly stretched the dough onto the end of what looked to be a flattened cloth-covered sand bag, bravely reached his hand inside of the inferno and slapped it against the wall – removing his hand and the paddle safely out of harm’s way.
As I waited, watched, and pondered the menu, it struck me that I had no clue whatsoever what my options were. Of the eight words on the menu, I understood three: ‘lamb,’ ‘sandwich,’ and ‘with.'
As I waited, watched, and pondered the menu, it struck me that I had no clue whatsoever what my options were. Of the eight words on the menu, I understood three: ‘lamb,’ ‘sandwich,’ and ‘with.'
Menu
Luckily for me, no one else seemed to speak Russian/Georgian either, so plenty of explanation came forth as Portnoy multi-tasked from behind the cart.
The first item confirmed my best guess - an open-faced lamb sandwich. Fresh, warm, hot bread straight out of the oven served as the base, and was topped with delicious slices of fatty lamb (cooked perfectly medium-rare at the bottom of the tandoor) from Don Watson in Napa, raw onions, cilantro, and a sour plumb sauce called tkemali.
The first item confirmed my best guess - an open-faced lamb sandwich. Fresh, warm, hot bread straight out of the oven served as the base, and was topped with delicious slices of fatty lamb (cooked perfectly medium-rare at the bottom of the tandoor) from Don Watson in Napa, raw onions, cilantro, and a sour plumb sauce called tkemali.
Despite being so thin, the bread had a great crisp on the bottom where it had stuck to the inside walls of the tandoor, and a still fluffy top upon which the filling rested. The sour plumb sauce was truly unlike anything I’ve ever had – a really nice balance of sweet and tangy that complimented the lamb extremely well. My only gripe was the mound of fresh cilantro, which overpowered the other flavors. A few leaves would have done the trick – I got a small shrubbery.
That didn't stop me from scarfing it down, mind you. The melding of flavors and textures made for a perfect, elevated light lunch on the run.
Then came the menu item of which I could comprehend only a single word:
That didn't stop me from scarfing it down, mind you. The melding of flavors and textures made for a perfect, elevated light lunch on the run.
Then came the menu item of which I could comprehend only a single word:
Imereti Khachapuri: Georgian Cheesy Bread
Imereti, Portnoy educated, was the region in Georgia from which this dish originates, while khachapuri (pronounced ka-chee-poor-ee) was the bread itself. Stuffed with a thin layer of feta and mozzarella, it fell somewhere between pita and naan. Thin but chewy and surprisingly moist, it was the Georgian version of cheesy bread. Instead of warming inside of the tandoor itself, however, the cheese melted as the bread crisped atop the tandoor cover (as seen in the Menu picture as well as the final photo of this post). Over the high heat, the layers puffed away from each other, expanding like an oblong balloon before Portnoy flipped it and quelled the rebellion of tiers before the pocket burst at the seams.
But the kicker here was the final word around which I couldn’t wrap my lips. Adjkia, a deep red, mole-colored spread made from chilies, basil, garlic and marjoram, among other components, graced the top of the khachapuri. It had a smoky/sweet quality I equated to harissa, which cut through the gooey, salty, creamy cheese without dominating it.
Awesome.
This was his first day, so there was plenty of room for trial and error. The tandir bread was a little burnt, and the wait was long – really long, and for made-to-order breads I can understand some of the delay. But if this is to become a viable, long term, feed the masses type of venture, something is going to have to give.
In terms of quality, flavor, and uniqueness, there is no doubt that this can be a huge hit - and I for once sincerely hope it is. The ingredients were fresh, the tastes were different yet friendly, and the concept is one-of-a-kind. But if Satellite Republic is going to succeed, Portnoy is going to have work out some of the logistical kinks - which I have no doubt he will.
Apologizing for the wait, he explained that not only was his first trial run for the public, but that he was not used to working in such a small space. However, when I asked him if he was having fun, a wave of joy spilled over his face and smile stretched from ear to ear.
“Oh yeah! This is great!”
But the kicker here was the final word around which I couldn’t wrap my lips. Adjkia, a deep red, mole-colored spread made from chilies, basil, garlic and marjoram, among other components, graced the top of the khachapuri. It had a smoky/sweet quality I equated to harissa, which cut through the gooey, salty, creamy cheese without dominating it.
Awesome.
This was his first day, so there was plenty of room for trial and error. The tandir bread was a little burnt, and the wait was long – really long, and for made-to-order breads I can understand some of the delay. But if this is to become a viable, long term, feed the masses type of venture, something is going to have to give.
In terms of quality, flavor, and uniqueness, there is no doubt that this can be a huge hit - and I for once sincerely hope it is. The ingredients were fresh, the tastes were different yet friendly, and the concept is one-of-a-kind. But if Satellite Republic is going to succeed, Portnoy is going to have work out some of the logistical kinks - which I have no doubt he will.
Apologizing for the wait, he explained that not only was his first trial run for the public, but that he was not used to working in such a small space. However, when I asked him if he was having fun, a wave of joy spilled over his face and smile stretched from ear to ear.
“Oh yeah! This is great!”
Chef Portnoy, Hard At Work
Nosh on,
Josh
Josh
