Croatia Day 6: Evening on the farm

After the winery, we got back on the winding road, hoping to beat the sunset. There was definitely more to see along the peninsula, and given more time, we would have definitely stopped in at least one of the small towns and at a couple more wineries. But we finally made it to the border crossing, and began to look for the farm where we would be staying that night. We had received an email that day from our host with (confusing) driving directions. We also realized that we did not have Euros or Bosnian Francs, both of which are the preferred currency in Bosnia-Herzegovina. When we arrived in Neum, the only real coastal town in B-H, located on this skinny spit of land that bisects Croatia, we looked for an ATM in the dark. We tried a hotel, but the lobby was locked and deserted. We made the judgment call to continue to our destination, and offer US Dollars or to visit an ATM in the morning. I felt nervous about doing that, but it did turn out ok.

The drive to the farm was one of the most tense of the trip. The signage was confusing, my phone got no signal at all, and it was pitch black – no streetlights and no towns in sight, as we drove along narrow winding roads, uphill the whole time. We just rolled with it, breathed deep, and continued on the way. I finally got a signal and was able to reach the host, who assured me that we were heading the right way. Sure enough, a few minutes later we found the farm.

When you are staying with a family, rather than in a traditional commercial setting, you feel a bit more pressure to arrive in a timely manner. I felt bad about arriving so late and even worse about not having the proper currency. After the tense trip through the dark, winding countryside, I really hoped for a warm reception. Our host, Davor, was a somewhat dower man, and I thought that perhaps we had offended him with our late arrival. I apologized profusely, and he seemed fairly indifferent. I realized that eventually that it was just his manner and that we really hadn’t inconvenienced him at all.

When booking this trip, I had initially intended that we stay in Dubrovnik one more night. Somehow, I wrote the wrong dates when we booked the apartment, and when I asked about adding night, it was possible but we would need to move to a different apartment in the same building. I took that as a sign that we look elsewhere, and I will forever be grateful that we did. I wanted somewhere close to the Peljsacs peninsula, knowing that we would be there on this day. Neum looked like a great location, and we’d be able to experience B-H a bit. But when I went online to find hotels, nothing looked appealing. No spot had great reviews, and none of the pictures really got me excited. I then expanded the search a bit, and stumbled upon Agrotourism Matusko (not related to the winery). The reviews on the booking site were stellar, and it initially seemed too good to be true – a reasonably priced (35 Euros per person for room and board, which meant dinner and breakfast), working farm in rural B-H. In fact, I worried that it might be too good to be true right up until we got there, and even for a bit after our arrival. Those worries totally dissipated, and ultimately I realized that I had stumbled onto what amounted to a dream come true vacation experience for me.

Despite Davor’s solemn manner, we were greeted most enthusiastically by his fluffy black dog, Mara. Davor showed us around a bit, though we couldn’t see much in the dark, and then showed us our room. Though he has three guest rooms, we were the only ones staying there that night. The room was upstairs and away from the main eating area, but it was unclear how much privacy we had. Davor and his parents appeared to stay in the home directly below where we were sleeping, though the layout was a bit confusing. The room, while sparse, was clean and modern. I would not want to spend a week in this room, but it was more than adequate for one night on the road. After we freshened up a bit, we headed down for dinner.

Davor served us cherry brandy, made with his own cherries, and we all toasted. This was followed by a large carafe of homemade red wine – I’m not gonna pretend it was anything spectacular, but the setting was enough to make it taste delicious – and a plate of meat and cheese, all locally produced. He made the meat himself, smoking it and curing it, while the cheese came from his neighbor’s sheep. This was delicious, and since Ben can only have a bit, I had to eat most of it. Not that it was a chore, but I didn’t want to be rude and leave any on the plate, something I had read could be insulting to your host. The meat was very tasty, though cut thickly and requiring a lot of chewing. Luckily the wine helped wash it all down! He also served us some homemade bread to go with it, which I encouraged Ben to eat since I had to take care of the meat and cheese.

Our dinner was being prepared using a traditional Croatian method (we soon learned that this part of B-H, which is technically the H – Herzegovina – is predominantly populated by Croatians, which makes perfect sense given the geography, but which I had not really expected). Thinking I was smart, I said, “oh, is this [insert traditional Bosnian cooking method here]” to which he curtly replied, “no, this is a Croatian method called [I really can’t remember, and it was definitely difficult to pronounce.]” But Wikipedia tells me that it was probably the following: “pod pekom means that the dish has been put into a stone oven under a metal cover. The cook puts hot coals on the cover so that the meal is cooked slowly in its own juices.” At least, that is an accurate description of the method he was using! He showed us the big outdoor stone oven and the hot coals covering the dish. I did not inquire as to the contents.

The food as it was cooking

Davor cooking the meal

When he served it to us, the scent made my mouth water, and the taste exceeded my expectations. It was essentially roast meat and potatoes with herbs stewed in the juice and fat from the meat. While it was the most rustic food imaginable, it easily matched the sensory experience of a place like 360 Dubrovnik. It was as unpretentious as possible. The meat was tender, though chewy. As it appeared to be white meat, and was definitely not chicken, I guessed pork. It turned out to be lamb! That was not the first time I’d had lamb, but I always thought of lamb as a red meat. It was closest in texture to dark poultry meat, and appeared to be the rib meat, though I am honestly not certain. The potatoes were, as they say, a revelation. Meltingly tender and richly flavored with the lamb juice, everything was well-seasoned with rosemary, which grows like a weed all over Croatia, and which Davor had freshly picked off his own rosemary bush growing right near the oven. The potatoes were also his own, and the lamb had come from a farm nearby. While the lamb and potatoes were incredible, the moment I will never forget came when I dipped a piece of bread into the juices in the pan. This was pure ecstasy, foodgasmic bliss. I ate as much as possible, washing it all down with plenty of the wine. 

We cleaned the plate completely, which I hope made our host happy. He was a bit hard to read.

Speaking of our host, during this whole eating process, which was several hours long, we chatted with him. The conversation, while stilting at times as it always is when you try to make conversation with a  solemn stranger, was intriguing. We covered many topics, including the threat of GMOs to the world food system, the impact of factory farming on local places like his, the proper way to cure prosciutto, World War II, our host’s family, climate change, our kids, and so much more. Davor told us all about the farm and his business, how he decided to become a host just five years before, the work he did to improve the place for tourists, and who usually comes to stay with him. He does not get a lot of Germans because he does not speak German, but he is very popular with the French and was expecting a large group of French tourists the next day for lunch only – 40 people, to be exact, one of whom could not eat salt, which was really throwing him for a loop. While we sat and chatted, he decorated small bottles of his homemade cherry brandy that he hoped to sell to the tourists tomorrow. Eventually, I realized that we were probably keeping him up, so we went to bed and crashed.