Are you on the hunt for a proper cup of coffee in the vibrant capital of the Caucasus? Look no further.
The Evolution of Coffee Culture in Tbilisi
Years ago, finding quality coffee in Tbilisi was a daunting task, akin to a mission impossible. When I first arrived, ordering a “cappuccino” resulted in a cup of instant coffee topped with hot milk. Thankfully, the coffee scene has transformed dramatically. With the arrival of brands like Lavazza and Illy, small corner shops began popping up, eventually leading to general acceptance in restaurants throughout the city. Today, no matter where you go, you can find at least a decent cup of coffee.
Starbucks attempted to enter the market as well, opening in the upscale Vake neighborhood. However, it was later discovered that it wasn’t an official Starbucks, leading to a decline in foot traffic.
But what about the coffee aficionados—those who crave a meticulously prepared cup, often costing five dollars or more? I’m pleased to report that Tbilisi now fully embraces the coffee revolution. From corner shops offering aeropress to a growing chain resembling the infamous mermaid-themed coffee brand, options are plentiful.
Today, you can expect to pay 9 - 12 GEL for a proper espresso, americano, or cappuccino. While that converts to just a few dollars, it’s quite a bit for locals.
Perfect Spots for Your Caffeine Fix
If you find yourself in Tbilisi, searching for your next caffeine kick, these are the places to check out. They are in no particular order since everyone’s coffee preferences differ. Note that many of the hipster drinks tend to be lighter than what you might find in Europe or the States.
I began compiling this list back in 2019. Now that I'm back in Tbilisi, I’m diligently updating it. The cafe scene has exploded, and I find myself revising this blog—and the accompanying map—almost every day.
I have personally verified all of the cafes listed below and sampled their brews. The ones on the map include those I've only discovered but haven’t yet visited. If you stumble upon a gem, don’t hesitate to send me an email or comment wherever you found a link to this blog. Likewise, please inform me if any of these places are no longer in business.
Prospero's deserves the top spot as it was the first independent coffee shop to make its mark on Tbilisi. It served as a gathering place for expats during the times when instant coffee reigned supreme. Established in 1999, they began roasting their own beans and housed one of Tbilisi’s only espresso machines for nearly a decade.
The interior is spacious, offering a mix of spots for laptop users and those wanting to relax with friends. The courtyard is unbeatable, particularly in spring and summer. They also opened a similar location in the National Archives on Pekini.
Daily Grind embodies a modern wave of coffee culture. The chic interior, friendly staff, and relaxed atmosphere make it a perfect spot for creatives. However, seating is limited, and while the croissants look appetizing, they come at a cost of 12 GEL—beyond my pastry budget.
Situated near the old Soviet Printing House, No More Mondays serves excellent coffee. The atmosphere is hip and friendly, ideal for working while sipping your brew. I highly recommend their lavender brownie; it melted in my mouth. It was worth every lari I spent.
The cafe is small, but in pleasant weather, the walls open up, creating a lovely sidewalk seating area.
Moulin Electrique was one of the earliest movers to introduce quality espresso to Tbilisi, contributing to the Lavazza movement. With a cozy, old-fashioned vibe and a hidden courtyard, it's a perfect spot to enjoy coffee away from the bustling tourist areas. Remember that they also serve food, so be mindful when working on your laptop during meal hours.
Known as the unofficial American coffee embassy, Coffee LAB is a favorite among locals and expats alike. Its spacious interior offers a pleasant workspace, and it’s surrounded by a beautiful garden. This cafe is also family-friendly, complete with a playground.
Shavi Roasters offers excellent coffee in two stellar locations. With clean, modern interiors, and welcoming service, it's an essential stop for coffee fans in Tbilisi.
Nearing the end of a pedestrian street, Stories offers a cozy atmosphere for any coffee lover. With oversized cups and a fondness for cheerful pop music, it’s perfect for a casual coffee break.
Closing Thoughts
With numerous cafes scattered throughout Tbilisi, each presenting a unique atmosphere and vibe, I've highlighted some favorites, but the list is far from exhaustive.
Have I missed any of your top picks? Feel free to share your favorite coffee spots or comment on your experiences at these establishments.
For something to read while sipping your coffee, check out my book of short stories called Hunger, available here on Amazon.
And don’t forget to explore the coffee map below to find your next caffeine fix!
For one weekend only, from May 30th to June 1st, the monumental Cinquantenaire Park takes everyone back to the medieval times with the Marche Medieval (medieval market). Neo-folk musicians, beer stands, amusement rides, tight rope walkers, HEMA sword fights, tons of food stalls, and more fill up the park. Come to think of it, there’s actually very little historical medieval about it, except the mood and décor, but whatever. Suspend your constant overanalyzing of everything for just a second and have a nice relax.
And even despite the ridiculous amount of inaccuracies, it’s one of my favorite festivals in Brussels. It’s where my son saw his first “knight fight” and stirred his excitement to go to Carcassonne and see the mother of all castles. It’s also another reason to drink outside and kind of ushers in the season.
The tight rope walker in 2024
Usually in May, the weather is okay and for a few hours you might even get some sunshine. But also rain. So, if you’re planning a trip to Brussels in May do bring a raincoat. Especially if you’re going to an outdoor festival, as I’ve been caught in the rain every year that I went.
The festival is free and has got plenty to do for the whole family.
For the adults
There are plenty of beer stands spread throughout the festival, this is Europe after all. But the best is a hut that’s usually placed at the hypotenuse of the fountain and the music stage. They have a two different flavors of beer: the standard Le Coque Sauvage (that’s the Wild Cock for you non-Francophones), and then another infused with smoke or some bullshit like that.
And then there’s the shows on stage, which set some mood music. It seems like every “medieval” performance is a recreation of Heilung’s Viking disco beats these days, but whatever. Still sounds like it could be medieval.
"Medieval" music at the Marche
The food is… there are a lot of choices, but it ain’t cheap. It’s Brussels after all. The last time I ate there I had spent the entire day there drinking with my mates, and we went up to a stall, and in my drunken haze ordered a possibly triple serving—my French had completely abandoned me, and I was speaking a rather mixed jibber-jabber of Russian-Georgian-English so I had no idea what I was getting, but pretended to be fine with that even as I tapped out 30 euros on my phone.
That didn’t seem right.
But then my friend and I were looking at it as we sat back down with our food and beers and indeed, that did seem right. Crazy overpriced, but correctly charged.
For the kids
And I mentioned amusement rides! Which is something most people don’t think of when they think of the medieval times, unless you’re thinking of Tyrion with his hookers. But these things are like modern amusement rides that could have existed way back then (but didn’t).
For one thing, they’re giant wood contraptions and entirely powered by hand. There are a couple of varieties of carousels and a small Ferris wheel.
Let’s start with this huge spinning carousel. It takes three guys to start rotating the thing, and it winds up and up and up, with a rope winding around a pole like it’s May Day. Then they let it go and it unwinds. Simple, yet works quite well, getting quite some speed and dizziness up.
The small Ferris wheel has about six baskets with four children each. The two keepers just pull down on handles and set it spinning. Easy peasy.
See what I mean? These things could have existed in the medieval times, but they didn’t. Still, they’re fun for kids, and run 3 to 5 euro a ride each. And since it’s medieval times, they don’t take card. So parents, bring your cash.
The little man trying his skill at crossbow
They also have loads of little faire games, like crossbow shooting where you shoot dragons and ghosts, catapult launching where you try to knock down a castle with a miniature catapult, arrow shooting, rope climbing, and so on. Good times for all.
Medieval vs Renaissance Faire
The modern Renaissance/Medieval Faire in Europe has a rather circuitous route and isn’t at all original to Europe. It is, in fact, like most good things in life, an American invention.
Now I’m not saying that there aren’t festivals that have medieval styles. Not at all.
Ommegang here in Brussels has been going for half a millennium, using costumes from the original days. Rather, what I’m saying, a medieval faire for the sake of medieval faires wasn’t really a European thing.
It seems a bit silly. Especially when it’s not linked to a religious feast day, a King’s wedding, a stolen statue of Mary, or any of the other number of reasons to have festivals. It’s just literally a festival to have a festival.
World War II
A lot of things came to the United States with the GI’s coming home from World Wars, and I’m not just talking Syphilis, crappers, and Irish coffee. Our soldiers got enamored with all the burning German castles and cute French villages with the Norman and Belgian ladies tossing themselves into the arms of our heroes. And with all that, they were like, “Hey Joe, this medieval shit is cool, isn’t it?” “Oy mate, innit?” the other GI replies, trying to sound European himself.
The soldiers brought back this love of medieval stuff, exchanging their cowboy hats for coifs, that the Renaissance picked up. An LA history teacher, Phyllis Patterson, decided to hold one in her backyard, and this soon transformed into the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. Her idea was to stress some level of “authenticity”; everyone would have to wear beltless trousers, speak in British accents, and drink wine with their pinkies up, as they did.
The thing is though, before the age of the Internet, Americans didn’t really have an effing clue what was going on in medieval times in Europe. We basically only knew about knights, princesses, castles, dragons, elves, fairies, and all that other wild, crazy stuff going on in Europe. And so, that’s what our Renaissance faires looked like (most of us didn’t really realize “Renaissance” was well out of “Medieval Times” anyway, but we’d still have a restaurant chain happily blending the eras).
I grew up in love with the medieval world, going to every Renaissance Faire that I could (my favorite was just south of Denver, where they had built a fairly decent-looking and legit castle—I say legit because it’s just as legit as something like Neuschwanstein, which was wholly built to cater to Ludwig II’s gay orgies; I’m not sure what the difference is here, except I guess his parties were more fun).
A quest for identity
And now we come back to the Brussels Medieval Market. This isn’t your old-fashioned feast day faire or flea market (Brussels has plenty of those too). This is all the stereotype and virtuosity and suspense of belief as the medieval Americaine has, full of wizards, elves, and burly Germans showing off their man-tits.
For me though, having grown up in a world pre-Internet, where even the prospect of watching a jousting match in friggin’ Tulsa, Oklahoma was a mind-blowing explosion of awesome, it was interesting to see the European versions of medieval festivals. Even the fighting, HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts), found a rebirth in the US before being re-imported back into Europe. John Clements was an American pioneer in reconstructing medieval and Renaissance fighting techniques.
Before HEMA was reimported, most “traditional” styles revolved around foil fighting in sports clubs. This of course, looks legit, but when it comes down to it, fighting with a foil and a rope tied to your back is a far cry from half-swording and jabbing blades between armor gaps.
Guys anachronistically bashing each other
But it makes sense that these things were American. You have lots of Americans who know they generally come from Europe, might only have a vague idea of which country, certainly not know the language, and are mostly just gravy-fed history about it. And so there are questions. “Where are we from?” “What should my traditions be?” and so on.
The quest for Black identity, which asks those same questions, but for the reason of them being ripped from their roots, is very much mirrored by White identity, since most Whites don’t know where the heck they came from either (and for the last time, you’re not from Ireland, even if you are drinking a Guinness on St. Patty’s).
So with this struggle to find who they are, the thirst to really dig into history and "identity" is much stronger for Americans, I think. Europeans, by and large, know who they are and where they stand. They’ve known that for centuries.
Strolling, drinking, eating...
So is it a real surprise that we’re all excited about Tolkien and elves and knights and that kind of thing? And since that stuff is actually all good fun, is it any surprise that Euros were like, “Well, why not have an elf join us for a beer?”
Cinquantenaire Fun
This weekend will mark the 30th anniversary of the Etterbeek Medieval Marche, which is why, I suppose, they made it a bit later in the month. 30th anniversary on the 30th day, something like that. Or maybe they figured it was less likely to rain, who knows?
But the Cinquantenaire Park was made for festivals like this. And those big, Roman-looking arches really set the atmosphere for medieval fun.
At the end of the day, everyone is looking to find out who they are, where they belong, and what makes them who they are. And this is all just a part of that. So enjoy a Savage Cock and give me a toast.
Some millennium-and-a-half ago, the mountain peak where the Jvari Monastery of Mtskheta now stands was bald. Until a woman, St. Nino, stuck a cross at its highest point, drawing in questioning pagans en masse for conversions via her ministry. Today, the monastery stands resilient, still serving the same function, but swap pagans for tourists—bus loads of mostly Russians and Chinese these days, curious at the ancient Orthodox monument.
Light shines through the window openings inside, illuminating the drifting dust particles; one monk-priest chants while another sits quietly, observing people dropping coins into a small box and taking candles for their own prayers. It’s the standard gentle chaos of a Georgian church, and in a place where the age itself makes for the mysticism, as the murals have long faded and the outer walls long crumbled.
Down below, you can see the holy city of Mtskheta parked between the tight confluence of the Aragvi and Mtvari rivers. The Aragvi coming from the highlands, something pure and unblemished, crystalline waters that are perfect for the breweries further up north. The Mtkvari, muddy, polluted with the rubbish of dozens of towns and villages across Georgia and Türkiye, and with the runoff from the manganese mines of Chiatura and its black Kvirila River.
The confluence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari
The hills here are carved in steep trenches, with narrow ridges making the upper reliefs. I looked across the valley and saw a small wedding on one such ridge, daring the wind not to make off with a hat or veil. The wedding arch made an Insta-perfect view of Svetitskhoveli Cathedral far down below.
A wedding on the ridge
Jvari is part of the holy trinity of tourist destinations that every Tbiliseli Georgian will take a foreign guest on if given the chance. The other two places are Svetitskhoveli in the center of Mtskheta and Salobie, just outside of town. All three holy places in their own right.
As such, let’s take a quick tour of Mtskheta and the cathedral too. Though last weekend I only managed to squeeze in Jvari and Salobie, but c’est la vie, mes amis.
Mtskheta
It was one of the first capitals of Kartli and one of the oldest, continuously occupied cities in the world, with a founding date of sometime in the 2nd millennium BC. So old that the pagans (you know, the ones that were gathering around in interest at that strange lady on the hill propping up a cross) attributed its founding to the legendary founder of their people, Kartlos.
That’s, of course, the Netflix version, while historians generally just attribute the city to the Meskhian Georgians, since their name sounds like the city. And if that were the case, the city would be much younger, having been founded with their migration at around 500 BC. Either way, it’s pretty friggin’ old.
There’s not much to do in town other than the trinity of tourism that I mentioned (there is also the Samtavro Convent and part of an old bridge they say was built by a time traveling Pompeius Magnus, since the bridge is likely only 200 years or so old). Much of the center has been redone in “Georgian old town style”, with some newly cobbled streets lined with arts, crafts, and cheap plastic Chinese toys, making a kind of pilgrims’ walk to the cathedral.
Given the nice Georgian Old Town Style reconstruction, it also rivals Sighnaghi, City of Love, for wedding destinations, where a wedding signing building was constructed just for that purpose on the square outside Svetitskhoveli.
Svetitskhoveli Cathedral
Svetitskhoveli (Svet-its-throatclearing-o-vell-ee) is the big thing in Mtskheta. Literally. It towers over the entire town and is visible from all around, even the highway where the cars whizz by up the hill across the river.
The story goes that back in the time of Jesus, there was a Georgian in the crowd of His admirers. This man, named Elias, ended up with Jesus’s robe after the crucifixion (not His shroud, mind you, that’s an entirely different thing). He brought it back home to his sister Sidonia, who was so overwhelmed by its holiness that she naturally drops dead while clutching it. As nobody could pry it from her dead hands, she was buried with it.
And like with so many good religious stories, a tree grew at that place.
A few centuries later, St. Nino, who I mentioned above, came around, and decided that this tree marked the spot to build a church to Our Lord. They chopped it down and, from the wood, built six pillars, while the seventh they had meant to place hung in the air. It soon came down, with myrrh oozing out, and became known as the “Life-Giving Pillar” (which is what the name of the church translates to).
The current construction
The wood church was short-lived though and was soon replaced in the 5th century with a stone structure and then was greatly expanded in the 11th century in a story you can read about by Konstantin Gamsakhurdia, called The Right Hand of the Master.
Konstantin was out pondering why there was a big right hand carved into a stone block near the top of the church. And whether he gathered local legend or came up with it himself, it follows the tragic story of most famous architects of the past.
See the hand on the left under the arch?
The legend goes like this: After Arsukidze, the Grandmaster mason, finished his masterpiece, King Giorgi I was so impressed he had Arsukidze’s hand chopped off so he couldn’t build anything so magnificent.
Konstantin’s version, which is a little more believable, is that King Giorgi was so impressed about Arsukidze’s boldness in sleeping with the local hottie, that the king had his main man’s hand chopped off.
And to add an additional layer of meaning, both the Life-Giving Pillar and the church it was named for, represents a single, united Georgia, and as such is one of the holiest places in the country. Giorgi I didn’t have much left to unite, since his father King Bagrat III did most of the heavy lifting on that by 1008. But at least he was able to build the primary symbol of the nation’s unity. And just as he built upon a pre-existing foundation with the church, so did he with the nation in solidifying the dynastic rule.
The architecture
The cathedral is a classic Georgian cross-dome and has through history been plagued by fires, invaders, earthquakes, and more. Little of Arsukidze’s creation still exists, as much has been repaired over the years, hence the spotty carvings and mismatched bricks (the same violent and tragic story told on many churches across Georgia).
The gatehouse
The interior
The ground is paved with the graves of fallen kings and heroes of Georgian history, and this was the place most were crowned during their lives long before. On the rare occasion that the place is empty of tourists (good luck with that), you can almost feel the mysticism dripping form the ghost of the bleeding pillar.
The Life-Giving Pillar on the right
And that place is marked too: there’s another mini-chapel, house right, that stands over the place where they cut down the tree in St. Nino’s time, and thus also marks the spot of Christ’s garment.
The walls are somewhat of a patchwork.
Throughout the ages, the interiors of Georgian churches were covered in beautiful and colorful frescoes from floor to ceiling. But this was not in the Russian fashion, and all people whom the Russians love must of course follow their fashion. So, when Tsar Nicolas I decided to visit the holiest place of Georgia in the 1830s, they decided to spruce the place up to not offend his holiness and painted everything white.
Unfortunately, the Holy Tsar never showed up and they painted it all for nothing. But in later restorations, they managed to uncover some fragments.
You can see various Biblical scenes up to 400 years old, towards the dome you can see Christ Pantokrator (i.e., the Almighty), and to the back right, a 13th century “Beast of the Apocalypse” which features zodiac signs.
Christ Pantokrator, Christ Almighty
Jvari Monastery of Mtskheta
Another legend has it that from the royal palace, they had dug a tunnel under the river and up the hill, so that the royal family could escape in case of invaders. That tunnel exited at Jvari Monastery, a place nearly as holy as Svetitskhoveli. There is no evidence of the tunnel though, and no cool climb downs (I did climb through a tunnel nearly as crazy as that sounds at a Crusader castle in Israel).
Jvari is where we started the trip last weekend, with that grand view down.
The story goes that St. Nino (the one who had the original Svetitskhoveli built), had become good friends with King Mirian III, whom she was teaching about Christianity. And after his conversion, she set up a big wooden cross at the top of this hill declaring the victory of Christ over paganism.
A small church was built around the cross in the 6th century, and then the larger church of today in the 7th century. Jvari is a “four-apsed church with four-niches” and resembles something more like a Byzantine Church than other churches you might see in Georgia today. But for some time, Georgian churches did copy Jvari, and you see the style pop up in a few other places (e.g., Dzveli Shuamta and Manglisi Sioni).
Jvari Monastery
The strangest thing about the architecture of Jvari is the interior, where you can find a large, earthen mound filling the center. This marks the exact spot where St. Nino placed her cross and is still adorned with a wooden cross (a fancy new one, not the original).
That’s where the name comes from too, “Jvari”, which means “cross” in Georgian.
Salobie
Depending on who you’re with, it’s hard to tell which of the trinity is most beloved on the trip. Where Jvari and Svetitskhoveli are 80 percent packed with foreign tourists and 20 percent packed with Georgian ones, the former are largely disseminated by the various overpriced fares placed around town while the Georgians all split to hit Salobie.
“Salobie” (sa-lobe-ee-eh) in Georgian means, “place of beans”, or perhaps, “Bean House”. As such, beans must be ordered. And its fitting, because beans are a holy meal, becoming the main staple during the long haul that is the Great Fast before Easter. But at Salobie, they don’t only serve beans, as they also serve all the classic Georgian peasant food, at prices that can hardly be beat anywhere in the country.
Back to the translation. It’s specifically the “place of lobio”, and lobio can be described, as one American I was with put it, “like something almost like Mexican refried beans”. It’s long stewed beans, served here in the traditional clay pot. Properly you should order it with the mchadi on top of it like a cap. As hungry as I was, I failed to take a picture of it, so here I’ll post an after pic where you can see empty clay pots. And also to be honest, usually I'm out with friends and not so concerned about the blog. And then when I finally think about, shemogvichame (or something that I think means "we accidentally ate it all").
Empty clay pots that were once full of lobio
The place has been around for ages, perhaps even predating the Soviet era. Who knows. The place is huge, has tons of outdoor seating, and the indoor seating is very “ethnic chic”.
So, if you’re in Mtskheta making the pilgrimage to St. Nino’s cross, or paying your respects to Georgian heritage—whatever be your wiles—and you get hungry, then ditch the tourist fare and go where the locals go: the Bean House.
