The hotel I am staying in is in the Lapad area of Croatia, where the nearest strip of restaurants are beachside ones, the touristy sort I avoid like the plague. Tonight, however, I settled myself down in front of a menu with 4 languages and a cocktail list containing drinks with names like Bloody Screaming Orgasm. Why? I had been up since 2:30am, and the thought of having a wandering down side streets in search of the restaurants that the locals keep to themselves was a little too much. I let myself off the guilt that I would usually feel, I can hunt for gastronomic pleasures for the next six days. Constant self-chastising doesn't make for a restful and relaxing holiday.
And it was fine. I went for a mixed grill, Balkan-style, with smoked sausage, pieces of skewered, grilled veal, and something similar to kofte that I believe was beef and pork, and chicken. There was some ajvar, red pepper sauce on the side, and mustard. It wasn't the sort of food that I could write pages about, nor was it terrible. But we ate whilst watching the sun, huge and red, rapidly sink behind the Elaphite Islands, so as far as introductions go, it wasn't so bad.
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