My host father in Moscow, a self-described “independent contractor,” had a lot of business in the South. He’d go on extended trips to the Ukraine and Georgia, often not returning for weeks. When finally he did return, he’d have fruit baskets in hand, and our apartment would be covered in dozens of persimmons, plums or pomegranates. He’d walk into my bedroom with a wide smile, borscht-red in the face, and hand me a basket.

“These,” he’d say in slow English, “are from Georgia. They are best in all the world.” Then he’d look at the basket for a moment, leave the room in a hurry, return with a Russian-English dictionary and note: “These persimmons.” Weeks later, when we ran out of fruit, he’d leave again for a month, leaving me to wonder if he didn’t have a job at all, if he just really really loved fruit.

Whether or not those Georgian persimmons were the best in all the world, I’m not sure; I haven’t had many persimmons in my life, but they were quite delicious, and I was happy the next time he beamed with pride and handed me a basket: “These plums are from Ukraine. They are best in all the world.” Again, the plums, while probably not gold medal winners, were delicious. Then came the time he came back from Kazakhstan with more persimmons, preemptive Russian-English dictionary in hand, and said, “These persimmons are best in all the world.”

The first time I came to uptown San Diego, Mele took me to Pomegranate Russian-Georgian Restaurant. We gorged ourselves on various salads, shashlik, khachapuri and semi-sweet Georgian red wine until our stomachs, brains and wallets couldn’t take it anymore. The food was great, but a great meal isn’t the only thing offered, because a meal at Pomegranate is a dinner and a show, an experience engendered by an oddity-laden atmosphere and the even odder cast of characters that make up Pomegranate’s staff and ownership. It’s an experience that makes me feel a little less heartache for Moscow, Russian penchant for hyperbole included – read this hilarious menu to see what I mean.

Pomegranate’s restaurant opens at five, but its bar opens earlier for the staff. The man sitting behind the counter proves this as he offers heavily accented drunken wit to newcomers and barks orders in Russian to the waiter, Dima, a younger man with charm and a knack for salesmanship. In back, on Fridays and Saturdays, a tall man in a fur hat mans the barbecue, coming inside only to scrape meat off skewers and onto customers’ plates, then apply the coveted pomegranate molasses that gives the place its name. A bigger man, a cross between Papa Hemingway and Bluto of Popeye fame (complete with sailor cap), makes the rounds between grill and customer, beaming with a businessman’s pride. All of them retain enthusiasm on a daily basis in a way that reminds me of the heralded hospitality that amazed me every week when I was living in Russia.

Pomegranate’s atmosphere falls into much different territory. While I can picture Dima and the rest of Pomegranate’s staff sharing vodka and sandwiches at my apartment in Moscow, I can’t picture my modest Moscow host father at the North Park restaurant, where customers write all over the walls and ceilings, lamps are fashioned out of samovars, tree branches are tied to candlelit tables, and a half-statue/half-lamp in the corner proudly spells out the Russian curse-word suka in black letters. Pomegranate is small, quaint, ironic and carefully decorated; I can better picture the place in San Francisco’s Castro district than in San Diego, let alone Moscow. Yet, despite its hip interior and open policy to non-Russians, Pomegranate retains authenticity, and while stepping into Pomegranate is nothing like stepping into a Russian cafe, eating the food brings you pretty darn close.

I think my favorite thing about Pomegranate’s menu is that it successfully reflects my gastronomical experiences in Russia. There’s always been a discrepancy between what people know of Russian food and what I actually ate there on a daily basis, a misunderstanding that hangs awkwardly in the air whenever someone makes a joke about potatoes. Little known is the influence of Georgian and other southern cuisines on the Russian palate, how I probably consumed more lamb and rice soup than borscht in Moscow and my favorite afternoon snack was rotisserie chicken. Pomegranate’s menu offers a wide variety of Russian and Georgian dishes that don’t limit you to Russian-American clichés. Unless, of course, that cliché is dill.

Smoked fish is one of the lesser known Russian mainstays that I love. The last time I went to Pomegranate, Dima sold me on the special: smoked barracuda and beer. Given the spectrum of Baltika available, I opted for #7 (the pilsner) and thoroughly enjoyed its pairing with the barracuda, which tasted like a less fishy version of deli smoked white fish garnished with tomatoes, cucumbers and pomegranate seeds. Another of my favorite items is the salad sample platter, a half-dozen different kinds of Russian and Georgian salads that run the gamut in ingredients and spices. Everything I’ve had here has been delicious, from khachapuri to vegan borscht, and I vehemently recommend the restaurant to anyone in the San Diego area with a couple bucks to spare on a little Russian gastronomical pampering. Go on a Friday or Saturday. Order the shashlik.

Maybe it’s because I arrived in Moscow in the summer, when the streets and parks of the city were covered in tented seating areas serving draft beer and grilling skewered meats on a near 24/7 basis. I ate shashlik, the Russian-Georgian version of souvlaki, religiously until winter arrived to end outdoor dining, and shashlik has since seemed to me an inseparable aspect of Russian cuisine. Pomegranate Russian-Georgian Restaurant’s skewered fare is amazing, on par with some of the best tent food I had in Russia, and my favorite part of the restaurant. I’ll always think of Russia when I encounter enthusiastic hospitality and I’ll always remember my host father when I eat a persimmon, but nothing has captured my Moscow experience as well as Pomegranate’s shashlik- hyperboles be damned.

Unfortunately, low light, an old camera and my shaky hands have failed to capture any good photos of Pomegranate’s food. Fortunately, Natalia is back to the rescue, as she has offered to share some photos of shashlik she’s been lucky enough to experience in the motherland. Enjoy, and as always, check out some more of Natalia’s work in her online portfolio.

Pomegranate Russian-Georgian Restaurant
2302 El Cajon Blvd
San Diego, CA 92104
619.297.4007

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This entry was posted on Friday, November 27th, 2009 at 1:06 am and is filed under Moscow, San Diego, travel.