A Night Where Cultures Collide: Bridging Tables Brings Baku to Tirana
The invitation arrived like a whisper of possibility: pomegranate illustrations across its surface, promising something far beyond the ordinary Tuesday evening ahead. “Bridging Tables,” it proclaimed, “a Cultural Exchange Series,” and though I wasn’t sure what to expect, I had been selected.
When Bufe Wine Bar’s message arrived in my inbox, I wasn’t aware I was about to join the first event of Tirana’s most intimate new cultural supper club. As it drew closer, the anticipation began building like layers of phyllo dough, each day adding another delicate stratum of excitement. I found myself biking by early in the day, trying to catch a glimpse of the preparation. This felt like an invitation to step through a portal, to taste memories that weren’t mine, to bridge continents through the ancient language of food. Having never visited Azerbaijan, this was my chance to taste an unfamiliar cuisine.
The Stage is Set
September 13th arrived draped in the kind of amber evening light that makes Tirana glow like aged cognac. The venue—Bufe’s intimate dining room—had been transformed into something that pulsed with warmth and mystery. Twenty-some chairs arranged around tables adorned with flickering candles that cast dancing shadows on exposed brick walls, while soft vintage bulbs created pools of golden intimacy.
The attention to detail was lovely. Family photographs from Baku lined the area like silent witnesses to the evening’s cultural handshakes, while the scent of basil water & eggplant (see below) began weaving its way through the air, announcing that we were about to embark on something extraordinary. This was archaeology of the palate, an excavation of identity through cuisine. (And small world, there happened to be an archeologist in attendance.)
The guest list was a diverse roster: representatives from the Azerbaijani and UK embassies, educators from Tirana International School, waste management innovators, and curious souls like myself who had answered the call to cultural adventure. Strangers were deliberately seated beside strangers, a masterstroke that ensured conversations would bloom like saffron in warm water.
Enter the Architect of Memory and Zing&Zest Founder
Katayun (Keti) appeared before us like a character from a novel: Baku-born, Italy-trained, Tirana-tested. The creator of Zing&Zest carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who understands that food is biography, that every dish tells a story worth preserving. Six years in Tirana had given her perspective; her recent Italian culinary trainings had sharpened her technique. Tonight, she would serve as our cultural translator, converting childhood memories into a language we could all understand: flavor.
As she welcomed us, her voice carried the confidence of someone equally at home in multiple worlds. (By my count, 5 languages?) This wasn’t just a chef introducing her menu…this was a daughter sharing her heritage, a storyteller about to unfold chapters of Azerbaijani history through carefully curated tastes and aromas, and a friend welcoming us to explore a new world.
First Movement: The Whisper
Sablé with Ləvəngi arrived like a quiet overture, each small disc resting on individual fig leaves as if nature herself had designed the plate.
The first bite was revelation. The buttery cracker, so French in technique yet decidedly Azerbaijani in soul, crumbled against my teeth before releasing its cargo: a tangy, herbaceous topping that spoke of ancient walnut groves and pomegranate-stained fingers. Atop each morsel, a whisper of pickled cabbage provided the acidic counterpoint that made everything sing.
The fig leaf was aromatherapy, releasing an earthy, almost mystical fragrance that transported me instantly to orchards I’d never visited. I also found that I wasn’t supposed to eat the fig leaf, in another cultural surprise, I found not everything is to ssam (쌈).
Second Movement: The Awakening
Kükü was next, and materialised before us like compressed spring itself.
I confess: this dish vanished from my plate with embarrassing speed. I ate it so quickly I missed the chance to grab a photo. The texture was unlike anything in my culinary vocabulary: simultaneously substantial and ethereal, like eating a cloud that had been blessed by every herb garden in Azerbaijan.
Each forkful delivered a symphony of green: dill, parsley, cilantro, and scallions all singing in harmony, bound together by eggs that had been coaxed into silk. This wasn’t merely food—it was chlorophyll poetry, a dish that made you understand why Azerbaijanis refer to herbs as the “green pharmacy” of their cuisine.
The herbs weren’t simply present; they were the protagonists, each one contributing its distinctive voice to a chorus that crescendoed on the palate. The dill provided earthy depth, the parsley offered bright clarity, the cilantro added citrusy complexity, and the scallions delivered their subtle onion bite—all unified in a texture so perfectly balanced between firm and yielding that it seemed to melt even as it offered gentle resistance.
Third Movement: The Eggplant Chronicles
The appetizers arrived in waves, designed for communal exploration—a brilliant stroke that forced strangers into the intimate act of sharing food, breaking down barriers with each passed plate.
Badımcan ruleti was pure architectural genius on the plate. Thin slices of eggplant, grilled until they achieved that perfect balance between tender and structurally sound, were wrapped around a filling that tasted like Azerbaijan’s greatest hits album.
The walnut paste inside carried notes that spoke of ancient trade routes—hints of garlic, whispers of herbs, and that distinctive richness that only comes from nuts that have been treated with reverence. Each spiral was a small masterpiece, the eggplant’s natural smokiness providing the perfect canvas for the complex filling within.
Manqal Salad arrived still carrying the ghost of flames in its charred edges. This wasn’t salad as Western palates understand it, this was vegetables transformed by fire into something primal and elemental.
The tomatoes had been kissed by flame until their natural sugars caramelized, their acidity concentrated into something almost wine-like. Peppers added their own sweet char, while onions contributed layers of smoky complexity. Together, they created a dish that tasted like summer evenings around a wood fire, like gathering with family in courtyards where the grill is the center of the social universe.
Fourth Movement: The Centerpiece
Üc Bacı Dolması ‘Revisited’ arrived as the evening’s crescendo, a dish so beautifully plated I felt unworthy to disturb it.
This was dolma reimagined through the lens of contemporary technique while honoring its ancient soul. The three vegetables—the “three sisters” of Azerbaijani cuisine—had been stuffed with a mixture that spoke in the language of tradition: ground meat perfumed with herbs, rice that had absorbed every flavor around it, and spices that whispered stories of Silk Road caravans.
The presentation was stunning—each vegetable arranged with precision, the colours creating a painting on the plate. The peppers gleamed with their natural sweetness enhanced by gentle roasting, the tomatoes had surrendered their structure while maintaining their essence, and the eggplant had achieved that perfect balance between creamy and substantial.
But it was the filling that truly transported me. Each bite delivered layers of flavour that unfolded like chapters in a novel: the richness of perfectly seasoned meat, the textural comfort of rice that had absorbed the cooking juices, and herbs that provided bright counterpoints to the dish’s essential earthiness.
The Sweet Conclusion
Tənbəl Paxlavası arrived as the evening’s final act, accompanied by glasses of amber tea that sent aromatic clouds into the candlelit air.
This wasn’t the aggressive sweetness of commercial baklava. (I for one, am a big ‘not too sweet’ guy.) Layers of phyllo dough so thin they seemed to whisper rather than crunch dissolved on the tongue, releasing their cargo of chopped walnuts perfumed with cardamom that spoke of ancient spice routes and careful preservation of tradition.
The sweetness was perfectly calibrated—present but not overwhelming, allowing the nuttiness of the walnuts and the floral complexity of the cardamom to shine through. Each bite was accompanied by sips of tea so perfectly brewed it seemed to have been steeped with patience itself, the slight bitterness providing the ideal counterpoint to the pastry’s gentle sweetness.
Beyond the Plate
But this evening transcended mere dining. The careful orchestration of seating meant that conversations bloomed naturally…I found myself deep in discussion about waste management innovations with someone from the recycling sector, learning about adapting to Albanian culture from Tirana International School faculty, and gaining insights into diplomatic relations from embassy members.
Katayun moved through the room like a gracious conductor, introducing each course with stories that provided context and meaning. She spoke of growing up with these flavours, of the Ottoman influences that have shaped Azerbaijani & Albanian cuisine, something she has a uniquely 1-of-1 perspective of.
Her narratives transformed each dish from simple sustenance into cultural artifact. When she described the significance of dolma in Azerbaijani culture—how it represents solidarity, respect, and hospitality—the dish on our plates suddenly carried weight beyond its physical presence.
The Cultural Diplomacy
What struck me most profoundly was how food functioned as perfect cultural ambassador. These weren’t exotic curiosities presented for shock value—these were authentic expressions of identity offered with genuine hospitality. I read the menu like a love letter to Azerbaijan, with each dish carefully chosen to represent different aspects of the culture.
In our somewhat polarised world, there was something deeply moving about watching strangers from (7+?) different cultures, backgrounds, and professions finding common ground over shared plates.
The ingredients themselves told stories of cultural exchange: Some sourced locally from Albanian markets on the same day, others imported specifically from Azerbaijan and Italy for authenticity.
The Lasting Impression
As the evening wound down and conversations gradually shifted from food to broader cultural topics, I realized I had experienced something rare: a meal that functioned as education, entertainment, and cultural bridge simultaneously. The attention to detail—from the invitations to the family photographs on the walls—created an atmosphere that felt both intimate and significant.
As I biked home through Tirana’s quiet streets, the flavors still dancing on my palate, I carried with me more than satisfied hunger. I carried new understanding, fresh appreciation for a culture I’d barely known, and the warm glow that comes from experiencing genuine hospitality.
The evening left me with a burning desire to experience these flavors in their homeland – to walk through Baku’s markets, to sit at random restaurant tables on Nizami Street, to understand how these dishes taste when prepared in their original context. That, perhaps, is the highest compliment one can pay to cultural cuisine: when it makes you want to experience the culture itself.
Katayun and the team at Bufe have created something special with Bridging Tables. The start of a series that promises to bring distant cultures closer through the most intimate and universal of human experiences: sharing a meal. If this inaugural edition is any indication, Tirana is about to become a much more delicious and culturally rich city.
Five stars, without question. This is the kind of dining experience that lingers in memory long after the last bite, the kind that expands your understanding of the world while satisfying your most essential needs. May there be many more such bridges built, one extraordinary meal at a time.
Special thanks to Zing&Zest, Bufe Bar, and all the wonderful guests.
