Croatia: The Restaurant Roundup

Dubrovnik: The Taj Mahal, Forty-Four
Split: Bokeria

Will you eat well in Croatia? Yes. Is it a foodie destination? I'm skeptical.

This is contradicting the much-missed American food journalist Anthony Bourdain who, on a visit here in 2012, exclaimed "Croatia is the next big thing!" Perhaps, based on endorsements like that and on rising tourist numbers, they're just trying a bit too hard. Because while we found plenty of beautiful restaurants, revelled  in excellent service and ate well, I still can't tell you what on the food front makes Croatia unique. Nor did I see much evidence of the passion for seasonal eating and local produce that usually characterises great local cuisine.

Take, for example, the pomegranate. We saw them growing everywhere and it was obviously harvest time; tables in Split's market were groaning with them. I thought either the kernels or the syrup would  feature strongly but we never saw a mention on menus. Same for the exquisite cabbages (Diocletian, after all, famously retired here to grow them) and the huge numbers of oranges for sale on roadside stands between Dubrovnik and Split. We heard many boasts about the world-leading qualities of Ston oysters and the unique flavour of its sea salt, but didn't encounter either in restaurants. Given Dalmatia's historic role keeping trade open between the Islamic east and the Christian west, I thought we might find heavily spiced fusion dishes like those that turn up in Lebanon or Sicily. Nope. And considering the preponderance of big, bold zinfandels on the wine lists, I expected more spicy lamb dishes or rich beef stews, but most restaurants defaulted to local seafood and lighter dishes (most of which risked being overwhelmed by the fruity reds.)

Every restaurant we entered, with one exception, featured a menu that could have been designed by an international culinary consultant asked to create a generic Mediterranean experience to please all diners. All the meals we had were delicious. They just weren't distinctive.

The one exception wasn't Croatian at all, but Bosnian. You'll assume it's a curry house when you see its name, but the Taj Mahal draws from traditions much closer. Bosnia is only about an hour from Dubrovnik and, with the exception of a tiny piece of coastline, is mostly inland and mountainous. The Taj Mahal delivers all the exoticism of mountain dwellers existing between empires to the centre of old Dubrovnik. Here are the strongly-flavoured, smoky meats that paired perfectly with giant Zinfandels. Sensing our openness to new things, our waiter laid on a combination menu so we could try a little bit of everything. Bamija (a veal stew simmered with okra, tomatoes and garlic) fought with the house special (veal and turkey with mushrooms and cheese, baked in a pastry case) for dish of the evening. The sweets are familiar in description but distinctive in taste. Numerous people on Trip Advisor claimed their baklava was the best ever. It managed to preserve the honey, nuts and layered pasty of the familiar dish but somehow deliver it as something far lighter, more delicate and not so overpoweringly sweet; certainly worth ofthe superlatives. Half an apple, baked until soft then stuffed with a fine mince of walnuts, chocolate and honey was another winner.

Servers wear loose trousers and short, open-front waistcoats giving them a look somewhere between I Dream of Jeannie and Lord Byron's famous Albanian costume. The music is vaguely Arabic, but also reminds you of a Southern Italian tarantella or Spanish flamenco. The walls are covered with colourful Moorish tiles. It's all delightfully exotic yet comfortingly cosy, particularly on the sodden night from which we sought shelter. Even better, it was about half the cost of the meal the night before.

Forty-Four delivered our most expensive meal of the trip, and the one that felt closest to that design-
by-food-consultant concept. Which might not be too far off the mark, given that the place is owned by a professional athlete. Bojan Bogdanovic is a local boy made good in America's NBA, currently playing small forward for the Indiana Pacers. He wears No. 44, thus the restaurant's name. The place is blessedly free of sporting memorabilia, but in the premium priced-menu of steaks, lobster and fine wines it follows the template of sporting stars' restaurants around the world.

On Halloween night we were the only ones in the place, so maitre d' Goran (photo, top) made us the centre of his existence. And he delivered a memorable experience. We started with a platter of local seafoods ... most notably slightly pickled fish roe, otherwise a straightforward array ... with fresh breads dipped in local olive oil. While the menu felt generically Mediterranean, the producers of all the olive oils and wines seemed to be either Goran's cousins or neighbours. Croatia, he reminded us, is a small place.

The accompanying white Pošip wine came from Grgić, perhaps Croatia's most internationally famous winery. Croatian-American maker Mike Grgić shot to fame when his Napa Valley Chardonnay beat the French in the blind tasting now known as the Judgement of Paris in 1973. He went on to notable success in the States and in 1996 decided to return to the "old country" to invest in wines there with his daughter. His endorsement has been a shot in the arm for the wine industry across Croatia. Naturally, we had to try their Plavac Mali with the main course. This big, fruity descendant of Zinfandel probably overpowered the seafood that came next, but was delicious.

Or was the lobster, plucked from its tank and prepared just for us, overwhelmed by the sweet tomatoes, cognac or truffle that accompanied it in the home-made pasta? The dish, finished table-side by Goran, was an indulgent mix of pricey ingredients. Delicious but, truth be told, the delicacy of the lobster was wasted. The prawns that filled out the dish's protein profile and would have made more sense as the sole fishy ingredient. (Wild boar, which we were told roamed the wooded hills but never appeared on any menus, would have been even better.)

Without dessert, the two courses and two bottles of wine cost us £100 each, by far our worst value-for-money meal of the trip. I suspect this is a place crafted to appeal to the growing influx of wealthy visitors, especially the super-yacht passengers that tie up here every summer. It's clearly popular, pulling down five stars on Trip Advisor. We enjoyed it, but this wasn't the authenticity I look for.

Bokeria in Split came closer, and had the rare distinction of enticing us into a return visit. On short trips we like to try as many places as possible, but the meal, experience and price were such a good combination on our first visit we decided to make our farewell dinner a sure thing by returning here.

You can certainly make the generic Mediterranean, designed-by-consultant accusation here as well. You could pick Bokeria up and drop it easily in London, New York or Rome. There was nothing particularly Croatian about it. The name is a give-away; it's inspired by the famous market in Barcelona.

But it was good. Great, in fact. The kind of modern bistro with a rotating menu and exceptional service you dream about finding in your local neighbourhood. Given the enormous number of locals enjoying themselves here, they appreciate their luck. (This was the biggest difference between Dubrovnik and Split. In the former, all the restaurants seemed to exist solely for the tourist trade. In Split, we were appreciating places that succeeded or failed based on repeat local trade.) Our waiter insisted that this was the place that had transformed Split's whole food scene. Before its opening in 2014, everything was heavy and uninspiring; now, everyone else is chasing Bokeria's star. That may be another example of Croatian elasticity of truth, but it's great to see staff so enthusiastic about the place they work.

Over the course of our two visits we managed to sample a gazpacho everyone proclaimed was amongst the best we'd ever had, beef carpaccio, a heritage tomato salad and burrata that was a work of art on the plate. Our favourite mains were a thick, hand-rolled pasta with a creamy mushroom and truffle sauce that could be the definition of comfort food, a much healthier swordfish on a roasted red pepper sauce and a classic gourmet burger. Delicious desserts included a cake and ice cream dome rich with pistachios and a moreish chocolate eclair. The most Croatian thing about Bokeria is an extensive wine list that covers all the growing regions of the country. The waiters know their stuff, giving good advice and offering tastes to get us to the right choices.

Perhaps what's truly Croatian is an extreme elasticity to deliver what sells. We saw that characteristic in every tour guide, hotel and shop. Why not in restaurants, too? Croatia may not send you on an exotic journey of culinary discovery, but it will please your palate. And if trends change in years to come, I rather suspect that Croatian menus will change with them.