We are NOT foodies!

Foodies are obsessed by food. That’s not us, or so we told ourselves as we ate our way through several countries this past week. It was the May Day holiday and everyone here took off, and so did we. We flew to Ljubljana in Slovenia, then drove to Trieste (Italy) and Istria (Croatia). A truly wonderful trip. 

But about the food …

 I think Bill was joking when he said we went to Trieste to buy some Italian coffee. We like the coffee at the cafes here in Sarajevo, but we have yet to find one that tastes good in our drip coffee maker. Sooo, we thought, Trieste, home of Illy! And off we went.

It was only as we loosened our belts after a day in Trieste – one single day – that I tallied our intake:

• Breakfast at our hotel, the Victoria (James Joyce wrote here!): A huge spread of fresh juice, eggs, prosciutto, fruit, yogurt. Oh, and Italian cheeses. And mortadella. Also tomatoes and fresh mozzarella. Croissants, cappuccinos. Cakes, cakes and more cakes.  (Okay, I admit to having a cream puff, they looked so good and who cares if it’s breakfast.)   

• Espresso mid-morning at Urbanis Café, one of the oldest in Trieste. Came with shortbread cookies.

Buffet di Pepe, Trieste. Lotsa pork

•  Lunch, Buffet di Pepe: Mixed pork plate (pork cheek sausage, a thousand kinds of prosciutto and pancetta, roast pork, little knuckly things), topped with fresh grated horseradish, all  accompanied by a big plate of sauerkraut (for Bill), and then a cheese and olive plate. Bread and mustard.

• Mid-afternoon: Gelato! “A day without gelato is a day without sunshine,” that’s our motto in Italy. Two scoops each, mine limonato and fragola, Bill’s stracciatella and some other (he didn't keep track, can you imagine?!).

Little deli in Trieste with a prospective customer figuring out ettos

• Post gelato: Prosecco in the square. Served with olive bread and mustard, and chips. For some reason, in Trieste they won't serve you a drink without food.

• Dinner: Ristorante Strabacco. For starters, Bill had beef tartar (raw hamburger) topped with burrata (pretty much butter posing as cheese), I had a modest dish of pears filled with goat cheese, and all drizzled with dark, local honey; then Bill had grilled lamb straight off the fire, and I had tenderloin, ditto off the fire. We were restraining ourselves. We started dinner at 8:30 and left at 11. Wine, sure. No grappa.

 That’s all! For that day …

Best meal we had: Spejza in Ljubljana. Five-course fixed-price dinner. Bill’s favorite was the scrambled egg with truffles. Mine was giant squid stuffed with black ink risotto and cuttlefish. Yum.

Worst choice of meal: Good traveler, trying the local Slovenian cuisine at a mountaintop chalet, I ordered the buckwheat ravioli. It was stuffed with lard. Yes, lard. It reminded me of my childhood for some reason. I’ll have to check with the siblings about why. I didn’t want to insult the cook, who of course was watching, so I choked it down. Lard.

Buckwheat ravioli on the right. Bill's more sensible gnocci "rolls"

Mainly, we had many wonderful meals, but we weren’t obsessed. Oh, no. They just happened. It was wild asparagus season, and we saw lots of people clutching bouquets of freshly picked asparagus fronds as they walked along dirt roads. It tastes more bitter than the usual asparagus, but is really yummy with prosciutto.

And we had a lovely lunch in a hill town in Istria. We had walked 6 miles to Zavsje where locals shook their heads when we asked about a café. We were starving (probably because of the stretched Trieste stomachs). Finally, a man understood our plight and pointed 1 km uphill to an agriturismo in Montizel where we indulged ourselves in wonderful pastas, insalata, local wine - all out in the sunshine surrounded by olive trees and wildflowers. (Since it was Istria, everyone spoke a mix of Italian and Croatian, very odd.) Then a very difficult 6 mile hike back to Groznjan where we were staying.

Then there was rakija (like grappa) with our hosts at our stone “villa” while they showed off their son’s chess trophies. And rakija “from the house” at the restaurant in Groznjan (and many others).

And local olive oil, which we poured into miniature swimming pools on our plates and sopped up with the fresh bread everywhere we went. Sometimes the waiters actually laughed, but they liked it too.

Sladoled in Istria and Ljubljana. A day without sladoled is a day without sunshine. (Look it up.) Multi-layered Austrian tart, couldn’t miss that. 

Oh, yes. We came to Sweet Home Sarajevo with 3 bags of Italian coffee.

Coffee, giant oranges, pecorino and prosciutto under the Istrian trees

Food for the soul in Ljubljana. Wisteria was growing wild in the fields, scenting the air everywhere!