Those of you who hear from em or read my posts a lot will remember that I am particularly fond of writing about food; which is for several reasons. One, I feel that food is such an important part of the whole travel experience. Yes there are monuments, tourist sights, museums, and theatres (which, fyi, in my head I've prononounced with a dreadfully snooty English accent and even am pronouncing as though it is spelled theatre instead of the good 'ole American theater...but I digress...)but food and wine are a huge part of how you experience a culture. That and I just happen to really like food...Well tonight I experienced the food and wine plenty and thought to say a few words.
To begin, yesterday was Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras or what will you (see Lauren's blog of Yesterday if you haven't read it yet). This year, my Lenten sacrifice is going to be meat. I live on meat. I have gone so far as to even diagnose myself with proferia; and Serbia is a country that lives in meat (specifically pork). Actually, I think if we could ever get my dad to leave the country again he would enjoy Serbia...mostly because of all the meat and potatos. Plus he would probably eat the stuff that makes me convulse; like the tails and tripe and other internal organs. Ick. Where was I going? Oh yes! I have proferia, am currently living in a meat-filled country, and have decided to give up meat for Lent. Ahhh this should be interesing. So to bring this rambling paragraph back full circle, yesterday was Fat Tuesday so I celebrated by eating meat. I though briefly about getting another 'mixed grill' platter (which for those of you who missed my last mixed grill platter is a plate full of a variety of meats that is so full of said meats it would take 4 people to eat it. I mistakenly ordered it for me, myself, and I once). But no, the starving children of Africa with which my mother used to shame me as a child flashed before my eyes and I could not face the mixed grill. Instead I chose to visit a restaurant here called 'Srbska Kafana' which is a traditional Serbian tavern. Once there I decided to, of all things, order a pork dish. I do not in general like pork and yest somehow yesterday it seemed appropriate. I had a dish called Pork (also steak as it can be made with a variety of meat) Karedjordjevic. Meat rolled into a tube, stuffed with kajmak (Serbian cream cheese-like product) coated in bread crumbs, deep fried, and served with potatos, lemon wedges, and a tarter sauce. The steak, also known as 'girls' dream' as the shape and size are attributed to a certain part of the Prince Karedjordje's anatomy after which it is named.
Today I got up early to attend the Serbian mass and get my ashes. While here I'm always torn as to which church to attend. Do I go to the English mass church where I understand about 70%, or go to the Serbia (which, because of politics is really Croatian) mass church in which I understand 2% but which has remarkably more comfortable plank 'o wood kneelers? Tough choice. But I'm digressing again.
Ash Wednesday is a day of fasting so after Mass I had a yogurt for breakfast and then nothing else until I meet some friends for dinner a little after 5. Even though I started out with a bit of bread and roasted garlic cloves in oil (Lauren why haven't we though of that?!) I also had to start with a glass of wine. Then we got our food...and more wine. But first, the food. They have this thing here they call salmon trout. While trout is a freshwater subspecies of the salmon, such a thing as salmon trout I have never heard of. Nor does it exist on wikipedia.com and as we all know, if it's not on wikipedia it does not exist. My salmon trout was very salmon-like in color having that lovely deep, well, salmony color. Howver the flavour I could not attribute to being either truely salmon or truely trout. Mt slout, as I shall now call it, was baked, rested on a bed of creamy leeks, and had a beautiful line of pesto down its length. It was bloody fantastic. And so was the wine. I started with a local wine, a sweetish white with excellent legs in a lightly golden honey color which name I have sadly forgot. For dinner we all drank a locally produced Chardonney which was a pleasant surprise in its slight sweetness. I, in my recently found wine snobbery, believe it was probably not oaked since it had a sweeter, more buttery feel than your general chard. Then of course we finished with coffee as it seems to be a sin to not.
I do so love food.