I first tasted lavash in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, at a restaurant named after the flatbread. Bakers rolled out huge ovals of thin dough, slapped them against the wall of a clay oven called a tonir, and, after leaving them inside for a minute, pulled out delightfully blistered bread. Pliable and paper-thin, lavash in Armenia is ubiquitous and versatile: For lunch, it can be stuffed with cheese and pickled vegetables; for dinner, it is often served with a barbecued meat called khorovats, the smell of which perfumes almost every street corner in Yerevan. Mine came with an omelet topped with blades of tarragon—an ideal summer brunch.
Though lavash was added to UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage List a decade ago, Armenian food has yet to break onto the global scene in the same way as the cuisine of neighboring Georgia. There are similarities, but Armenian fare is distinctly its own, combining the flavors of the South Caucasus (think heady wines, preserved local fruits, and exceptional dairy) with recipes from Armenians who have long resided in nearby Iran, Syria, and Lebanon.
To taste this heritage, stroll through Yerevan to find cafés with herb-filled flatbreads called jingalov hats (“bread” in Armenian, pronounced “hots”); bakeries with gata, a cake that pairs well with afternoon coffee; and bars with complex red wines from the nearby Ararat Valley. And on every table, always fresh lavash.
“Making lavash is a form of worship, a spiritual experience,” says Artak Zargaryan, whom I meet at a restaurant called Tsaghkunk in a village of the same name. He developed the place as part of The Cradle, an NGO that restores ancient Armenian sites. A few years ago nearby excavations uncovered a small stone-built home from the 18th century with two original tonir ovens, now kept behind glass for protection. There is a sense of sanctity to the dark, quiet space. “When women baked here so many years ago, they would have also been praying,” Zargaryan says. “Now, guests can come and see this place to sit in silence and feel the history.”
History and food are entwined, too, at Zanazan, near Lake Sevan, where chefs are bringing back dishes that were lost during the 1915 Armenian genocide across the border in Turkey. These include lentil kufta; bulgur with local spices; and spas, a soup made with shelled wheat, onion, and mint. There are also dishes that recall Persian cooking, like pumpkin borani. To feast here—sitting outdoors and watching the vineyards turn amber as the sun sets—is a divine experience, made even more so by the scent of lake-caught trout cooking over charcoal.
Armenia’s food scene has grown more diverse in recent years thanks to chefs and restaurateurs from Lebanon and Syria. Many Lebanese Christians, linked to Armenia by ethnicity, religion, and language, have come to Yerevan (some say “returned” to the homeland) to flee Lebanon’s economic collapse. They’re joined by Armenian Syrians who have fled the war in Syria. Together, these groups have been opening kitchens and cafés that celebrate their heritage on the plate.
