Bear meat and vodka are about the only traditional staples missing from the menu at Pectopah Pomegranate, a cozy Georgian-Russian eatery that opened last month at the corner of El Cajon Boulevard and Louisiana Street. But the borscht soup, samovar tea and Slavic hospitality all prove that this isn’t some gimmicky restaurant pretending to know the culinary treasures of a land far away.

The pectopah (meaning “restaurant” in Cyrillic) is fiercely authentic. It’s owned by Georgia immigrant Marko Zhukov and Jon Skorepa, a sturdy fellow of Irish-Czech descent who adds whimsy to the handwritten menu for describing a bevy of delicious peasant-style fare.

“For a fistful of rubles” you can savor the Chakhokhbili, a chicken casserole that “even Stalin melted over,” the menu reads. And under Chicken Tabaka it states: “How wonderful the world is … please allow 20 minutes for us to catch a chicken first.”

Some of the entrée descriptions suggest pairing certain wines and spirits with them — none of which are available yet. Our young waitress Elvira, who recently arrived here from Russia, says an alcohol license is coming down the pike soon. Instead, a refreshing cherry soda called Cheerwine kept our party of four perfectly sated.

We began with a sampler plate of sprightly salads laden with walnuts, garlic and aromatic spices. The Salat Oliver resembled a good, homemade potato salad with the addition of peas. An adjoining pile of moist shredded carrots with secret spices was also expressive in both flavor and appearance. But our hands-down favorite was the Lobio — cool garlicky beans imbibed with fresh cilantro and walnuts.

A few of us became intrigued over the interpretation of Shashlik, an entrée of grilled meats that are marinated in yogurt and pomegranate. According to the menu, the dish “saved” the 1944 accord in Yalta between Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt. Fortunately, we weren’t engaged in any serious negotiations because it’s only served on Fridays and Saturdays.

One of my dining companions decided to make borscht his meal. Served in a large bowl, it contained a hardy medley of beet roots, potatoes, cabbage leaves and stew beef — all bobbing within a classic beet broth accented with a dollop of sour cream. Another friend vouched for Golubtsi — cabbage rolls clad in a purée of red bell pepper and stuffed with a delectable meat-and-rice mixture. Needless to say, her plate became a stomping ground for all of our forks.

My entrée, called Zharkoyie, tasted similar to some of the great goulashes I’ve eaten in my travels through Eastern Europe. In Russia, the dish is normally made with bear meat. Here, it features tender braised beef coated heavily in brown gravy that is flavored with dried prunes, onions and secret spices. As with most of the other entrées, it came with outstanding roasted potatoes and expertly cooked bulgar pilaf.

Less foreign tasting, but still worth a try, is the Georgian BBQ platter, which includes several slices of tasty pork topped with sweet barbecue sauce. But whatever entrée you choose, I highly recommend supplementing it with Pirozhki. These little football-shaped breads, with their extra-yeasty flavor, are stuffed with a smidgen of cooked cabbage and onions. They’re perfect for mopping up the savory sauces and gravies that underscore the meals.

Wooden farmhouse tables and eclectic art abound throughout the dining room, which desperately needed air conditioning the night of our visit. A balalaika hangs from one corner of the ceiling while a thick paperback featuring the writings of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels is nailed to a wall in the restroom. In addition, patrons are encouraged to scrawl on the walls their food comments, which adds a personalized edge to the overall ambience.

Desserts carry a fun twist, too. We adored the Babushka Surprise — a baked apple filled with dry fruit, walnuts and vanilla ice cream. The dish is drizzled with an invisible yet wonderfully detectable pomegranate sauce. Much to our dismay, we inadvertently overlooked the Toad Sweat Ice Cream, which comes with a spicy chocolate sauce that Elvira said jokingly is made for “real tough men.”

Okay, we may not have what it takes to become Red Army officers, but we thoroughly enjoyed everything these stalwart Russians had to offer.