If there was a Serbian version of Dirty Dancing, it would be set in Zlatibor. It’s a popular mountain resort area nestled among pine tree forests and known for its fresh air, hiking and spa treatments. I haven’t spotted a dance hall yet, but I’ll bet there’s one somewhere in the little shops that surround the town center.
The town’s charm is somewhat manufactured, but the natural setting isn’t. The region has been a vacation spot since the early 1800s, when Prince Miloš Obrenović summered here. (I hate to use “summer” as a verb, but he was a Prince.) The air is noticeably nicer here, and it inspires a rare sight in Serbia: physical activity. People come to Zlatibor to ski in the winter and swim and hike in the summer. But true to the Serbian spirit, it’s also known for its smoked meat, kajmak and lepinja, a special sandwich. You’ve got to love Serbia: they don’t take their exercise too seriously–and if they do, it’s followed by a meal of 3,000 calories.
True to the Zlatibor spirit, I started my first evening here with a hike to the monument. I was with several Serbian women, one of whom was wearing heels. Based on their footwear, I figured it was a short walk and brought our own Prince Miloš along for the walk. After 40 minutes of walking uphill, I felt like I was carrying a watermelon. Actually, I was luring a French Bulldog up a hill with a giant stick.
Miloš and I have a long way to go before being considered Serbian. It was a nice walk, but there was no way I could have done it in heels. Even for this lovely view.
At the top of the hill, we stopped to admire the Zlatibor monument to fallen soldiers in World War II.
We returned to town with revived lungs and a hearty appetite. Fortunately, our hotel obliged with a buffet fit for Kellerman’s, I mean, King Aleksandra. The highlight of the meal was Zlatibor kajmak. Kajmak in Belgrade is a cross between cream cheese and butter. In Zlatibor, it’s denser and more feta-like, thanks to the fresh raw milk in the region. I like kajmak in Belgrade, but I love it in Zlatibor. Looks like I’m going to have the time of my life…and hit the hiking paths again.
Americans, picture yourself in a Serbian restaurant. Two hours have passed since you were seated.The Serbians around you are still ordering piles of food, but at this point you are utterly, completely full. The plates of pork prosciutto and mladi cheese are reduced to unidentifiable crumbles. The remaining ajvar has settled into an oily, shallow pool at the bottom of the bowl. The main course-you didn’t think that was the main course, did you?-has been dutifully picked over: roasted meat and vegetables massacred by several forks, and only two scoops of prebanac (baked beans) remain. The waiters clear rakija glasses and offer you another flask of wine. You think you may never eat again.
But it’s not over. The waiter asks, “Something sweet?” Such small, innocent words. Words fit for a tiny petit four or a spoonful of local honey. But you’re in Serbia, and there’s no such thing as a small dish here. You start to protest as your Serbian friends nod vigorously. They discuss options. You think, all the food in my stomach has dislodged a rib. There is no way I am eating dessert. And then…it arrives. And it’s gone before you know it.
There are many great desserts in Belgrade, but one you should try is baklava. Though many think of baklava as a Greek or Turkish dessert, it’s widely available, and delicious, throughout the Balkans. If you’d rather skip the meal and go straight to dessert, I heartily recommend the Baklavdžinica Dukat on Topličin Venac, 3.
They offer a variety of flavors and sizes, from chocolate to pistachio and so on. I prefer pistachio, muz liked chocolate. Either way, you’re not going to be disappointed. If you’d like to know more about the place, check out this great blog post about it.
When I reminisce about this last trip to Italy, I’ll think of the usual “Italian” things: great scenery, excellent food, and fun people. But one of my fondest memories will be my tour of the MD discount grocery store in the Rome suburb of Fiumicino.
It was our second to last day in Italy, and the last we were staying near a major city. I wanted to go to a grocery store to pick up a few small items that are hard to come by in Serbia, like anchovies, salted capers, and taralli, which are basically Italian pretzels that I have a terrible obsession with.
Over breakfast, I innocently asked the B&B proprietors about a nearby grocery store. A long discussion followed, but it was mostly in Italian. Muz had to take over-he speaks Italian and I do not-and somewhere in the conversation, it was decided that the Signore at the B&B would drive us to a nearby discount store and help us with our selection. This seemed unnecessary, but I learned a valuable lesson: if you ask a question about food in Italy, it will be taken very, very seriously.
Signore and I walked into the store while Muz kept the dog outside. He proceeded to examine goods and read their ingredients out loud: “Farina, aqua, sale…” Then he would suddenly proclaim, “no!” and put it back. He did this several times, without explanation.
When he liked an item, he would throw it in the cart. Cheese, olive oil, and endless boxes of pasta were given his approval. He selected at least two, and sometimes five of each item that met his mysterious criteria.
I picked up a bag of polenta and was promptly given a lesson in proper stirring, right in the middle of the aisle; Signore rotated his arms wildly and people ducked to avoid his movements. When we reached the anchovies, he piled six jars in the cart. I made a joke about him liking them as much as I do, and he said, “No, this is all for you.”
I looked at the cart. It was full. Muz was not going to be pleased, and I wasn’t even sure how it would fit in the trunk around all our luggage. I protested that I just wanted a few items, but he shook his head-a gesture of ten thousand words. In a tone usually reserved for children, he said, “This is food for 15 days.”
I wasn’t sure if he thought Serbia was a foodie wasteland, or if this was considered a normal jaunt to the grocery store. But I didn’t remember where to return most of the items, and we were running late. Also, I was kind of curious about the pasta; he said it was the best in Italy. I gave up, gave in, and hoped that Muz would find trunk place for our specially selected items.
My Italian grocery shopping lesson was complete. Signore was a wonderful teacher, and a smart man. As we unpacked our seemingly endless supply of groceries, I thought, “I can’t believe I only bought two bags of tarelli.”
Muz is a man of many talents. Cooking is not one of them. In the ten years we’ve known each other, he’s never prepared a meal that didn’t involve sandwich bread or a Foreman grill. So when he suggested we take a cooking class in Lucca, I happily agreed. A little voice in my head whispered, perhaps husbands can change-maybe he’ll start to cook!
We booked a day of sightseeing and cooking with Gianluca at the International Academy of Italian cuisine (link here.) We started our day at the markets around Viareggio, a seaside town, while Gianluca told us the finer points of buying fresh produce.
After exploring our options at several shops, we settled on fish and fresh seasonal vegetables. When we asked what we were making, Gianluca simply held up the bag and said we’d figure it out. It was a perfect lesson in great cooking-focus on the best ingredients for delicious food.
Along the way to the culinary institute, we stopped at the San Martino villa and winery for a quick tour and tasting. We bought several bottles of their Lucchesi Bianco, a full-bodied white with an unusually golden hue and complex flavors. (I can’t believe I just wrote that. But that’s what it tasted like, I swear.)
After lunch at a hidden gem of a restaurant, we found ourselves at the cooking site. Though the academy offers classes for novices, it’s also a professional school for international chefs. I believe they also rent rooms to chefs and agrotourists. But we weren’t there to check out the lovely decor. Giancarlo put us to work.
We chopped and stirred and simmered while he showed us how to filet the fish. (Some things are best left to experts.) Then he announced that we needed to make pasta dough. Say what? Doesn’t it come in boxes, all neatly prepared for us? But Gianluca doesn’t roll that way.
Making the dough was deceptively simple: it’s about 100 grams of flour and 1 egg per person, mixed and kneaded until smooth and springy. But when we asked how to determine the correct thickness of rolled dough, he said, “oh, you will know after the first few times.” This presumed a lot about our ability to make pasta without professional supervision. But thanks for the vote of confidence!
Despite my assistance, the pasta and the rest of the meal (salad, fish filet, lemon custard tarts) was excellent. I may even try to make my own pasta again, since I could clearly taste the difference. As for Muz, well, he was the one taking all of these pictures while the rest of us worked. So now he’s got a taste for Italian cuisine, but no hands-on experience. Have I been deliciously duped? Maybe. But that meal was worth it.
If you’re interested in a cooking class near Lucca, contact Gianluca through the website link above. He normally focuses on cooking classes rather than an overall Tuscan foodie experience, but he might do it again (if we didn’t scare him off). He’s a delightful person and willing to answer any questions about cooking or Tuscany-highly recommended.
Before our visit, I had only known Pisa as host to a leaning tower. Under-researching a trip is bad form for RHOB, but at least it led to my great surprise-and awe-at the Duomo of St. Mary of the Assumption, or Santa Maria Assunta. Doesn’t everything sound nicer in Italian?
Construction of the Duomo began in 1064, and it was consecrated in 1118. After a devastating fire in 1595, the Duomo was renovated with a gilded coffer ceiling, new doors, and restored paintings. Fortunately, the fire did not destroy the mosiac apse completed in 1302.
The fire also spared my favorite item in the Duomo, Giovanni Pisano’s pulpit circa 1302.
I liked how the pulpit’s delicate carving contrasted with the heavy imagery and darker colors throughout the church. But RHOB’s opinion would have been the minority in the late 16th Century. After the 1595 fire and during the subsequent renovation, the pulpit was placed in storage and “forgotten” until its rediscovery and reassembly in 1926. Makes you wonder what else is lurking in Italian church cellars…
I’d post more photos, but I don’t think it would convey the proper grandeur. The Duomo is one of the most impressive churches I’ve seen since starting this blog, and I’m a little embarrassed that I basically stumbled upon it because I wanted a funny picture featuring my dog. I guess God really does work in mysterious ways…
If I had to sum up Lucca in one word, it would be bicycles. Lucca is a fairly large, walled city with great shopping, food, and a unique walking path on top of the city walls. So why am I so focused on their bicycles? It’s because I can’t think of another place that had so many bikes and such a diverse group of riders.
There were older riders passing children on the street,
mothers “driving” their kids to school,
the office commute,
And plenty of parking.
Maybe bikes are so popular because Lucca is flat; most of the cities we’ve seen on this trip are quite hilly. Perhaps it’s just easier and cheaper than driving: Lucca has many pedestrian streets, and parking within the city walls is practically impossible. Or maybe it’s a way to work off pasta and pizza. Whatever the reason, the bicycles of Lucca are its most appealing-and unexpected-sight.
I probably wouldn’t have insisted on a day trip to Pisa if the idea of this photo hasn’t entered my mind. For some crazy reason, I thought that Pisa was a tiny, dusty town whose only claim to fame was a poorly built tower. Mea culpa, Pisa. It’s a charming, walled city that is centered around the Piazza del Miracoli. The Piazza hosts the tower, tons of (rare) open green space, and a series of marble buildings that inspire awe. Outside of the square, shops and restaurants line the streets.
Pisa came into great power during the middle of the 11th century, and Pisans took to calling the city “the new Rome.” There’s even a Romulus and Remus statue in the Piazza. But eventually the economic tides turned, and Pisa was under Florentine rule by the early 15th century. The city retains part of its former opulence, and it’s worth a visit for anyone driving through Tuscany.
If the off-season crowds in Pisa are any indication, I am the last person to know that there’s more to Pisa than the leaning tower. But if you’re looking for additional information, I found this link helpful.
Even if Pisa had been awful, I think the drive was worth these pictures. Miloš, however, might disagree.