Articles of Mastication

Meat on a Hot Xylophone

Someone decided to have roštilj (barbecue) at Igor’s weekend place in Tržić, way up in the wine-growing Samoborske Gorje, about an hour from Zagreb. In true northern Croatian fashion, there was plenty of meat, including thick trenchers of GRILLED BACON.

Igor pulled the requisite green onion crudite from his garden, but after a couple of bites I was forced to point out that he’d mistakenly pulled the garlic shoots. “Igore, to nije luk vlasac,” said I. “To je češnjak vlasac.”

But I didn’t care. Despite the fact that garlic shoots don’t have nearly the crisp tingle and palate-cleansing effect of green onions, I continued to dip the straws in salt and nibble contentedly between bites of sausage and veal steak. I believe it was Natalja who’d brought the gorgeous salad of big, skunky homegrown tomatoes, sliced and marinated in olive oil and wine vinegar with peppers and actual onions. So lifted was my mood from the abundance of fresh air and protein, the girls had no trouble convincing me to sing a verse of “Šumi Šumi Javore”, an old, old, OLD classic you’ll hear the tamburica band play at any Croatian wedding. Indeed, there was plenty of Karlovačko on hand, but this was more of a mellowship with the older kids than a youthful search-and-destroy mission. No rowdy antics were to be had that day. As the evening sun fell behind the hills, so did the mercury in the thermometer. We left before dark, moods light, eyes heavy and bellies full. I think we all slept well that night, completely blissed out from a tranquil day well-spent barbecuing in the hills with friends.