I followed my nose to the nearest spice stall, ringed by pyramids of colorful powders, each tagged in curlicued Georgian scrawl. I must have looked helpless. “You buy Georgian spice?” the vendor cooed in English, sizing me up as a tourist in an instant. “Try khmeli suneli, my special mix—okay for everything,” she said, thrusting a palmful of yellow-green powder toward my nostrils. I took a whiff and salivated instantly. Toasty, fresh, floral, and tart all at once, it encapsulated the kaleidoscopic Georgian palate that had won me over. I bought a pound.