It has pushed my palate into an entirely new bracket, you see. Created a monster appetite, if you will. As there is nothing remotely like it in Canada, I am beginning to nurse a grudge. I think it is a Croatian conspiracy to ensure that at any time I have saved enough pennies, I will make a run for it to get my fill of the stuff.
It is a modern-day piracy of sorts, and I am hopelessly hooked.
|Peka dish banked in coals|
|Note the massive peka lid|
While eating at this particular konoba one evening, we noted the ability of our hostess to switch to excellent English on the fly as we were seated. Later, an Italian couple came in. This was interesting not only because they were so busy making out behind us, but because again our hostess switched effortlessly into Italian to accommodate them. I was just wishing aloud for some Germans to enter and make the room complete, when lo and behold, in walked a German couple. Fascinated, I watched our server closely to see whether she was up for the challenge.
She was, indeed, and rattled off a guttural prattle of German as if she had been born there. Between the peka, the amorous Italian strangers, and our multi-lingual hostess, that evening was again a quintessentially Croatian masterpiece of cultural texture, aroma, flavour, and fun that has woven itself inexorably around my heart-strings forever.