By David Minsky
By Jen Mangham
By Bill Wisser
By Laine Doss
By Bill Wisser
By Dana De Greff
By Laine Doss
By Zachary Fagenson
"The terrorists must be busy today," our friend Lidija said. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."
We never would during our monthlong stay in pre-WTC Macedonia.
I couldn't help but be concerned that my stock had dropped at New Times when the editor first suggested I head toward Skopje to scope out the restaurant scene there. I should note this was in August, before an uneasy truce was signed between the Albanian Muslims and Macedonian Slavs. Well, all right, that's not exactly how I ended up in a country on the cusp of civil war. Truth is, my wife befriended a clique of Macedonians when they all lived in London during the early Nineties, and over the years we've returned a number of times to visit them in the homeland to which they've returned. Our prior visit was in 1999, just after NATO had stopped the strafing of Belgrade. This time around it was even less desirable to be an American in Macedonia. For reasons too complex to skim over in a food column, the populace here believes the United States and NATO bear at least partial responsibility for their nation's unstable situation. Still, even with the frenzy of political turmoil swirling about and a tension in the air as palpable as the aroma of boiled cabbages, my wife and I never missed a meal.
Macedonia's national menu is a savvy hodgepodge of neighboring culinary influences from Greece, Romania, Hungary, Austria, Italy, and Turkey. The cuisine's appeal derives from a plethora of fresh-from-the-farm fruits and vegetables, standouts including strawberries, peaches, watermelons, eggplants, potatoes, and arguably the best tomatoes in the world. Some of the fare claims a hearty Eastern European heritage, like stuffed peppers (polneti piperki), stuffed cabbage (sarma), and a number of savory goulashes and stews. Other dishes take their cues from the Middle East, such as burek (phyllo pies layered with cheese, spinach, or beef), which often are eaten with yogurt for breakfast; and shopska, an oliveless variation on Greek salad with diced tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers lightly tossed with olive oil and topped with a snowy mound of finely shredded feta cheese.
Makedonska (Macedonian) salad is the same as shopska, except the peppers are first roasted and peeled. That differentiation was pointed out to me by Klime Kovaceski, who serves the former as the house salad at his Crystal Café in Miami Beach. Kovaceski was born and raised in Ohrid, Macedonia, a beautiful resort town built on the shores of one of the world's oldest and deepest lakes. The trout (pastrmka) from Lake Ohrid are a regionally renowned gastronomic specialty, and Klime is quick to reel off a traditional trout preparation: "First you clean the fish through the gills, which means you can grill the fish whole, allowing the moisture to stay inside during cooking. After grilling you open the fish up, remove the bones, and fill with a combination of slow-cooked onions, peppers, tomatoes, and paprika."
Klime has more up his sleeve than just cooking: He was the original guitarist for the Macedonian band Anastasia. Nowadays the group is big in the Balkans, and it achieved notice in America and Western Europe for providing the soundtrack for 1994's Academy Award-winning foreign film, Before the Rain. Goran Trajkoski is the lead singer of Anastasia, which performs sort of a Gothic-Slavic-Orthodox-Christian-electronic music. Klime put us in contact with Goran some years ago, and we get together whenever we visit. This past trip he painstakingly prepared the vegetable spread pinjur for us, a process that consists of charring and peeling eggplant and red peppers and then hand-mashing them with tomatoes, walnuts, garlic, tahini, chilis, and olive oil. Pinjur can be enjoyed either as an addition to a light main dish or as a starter with bread, feta cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and various other spread-friendly foods. You can purchase a jar locally at European Homemade Sausage in Hollywood (1428 S. Federal Hwy.; 954-927-4455).
Lunch takes place between 3:00 and 4:00 in the afternoon, and serves as the main meal of the day. Goran brought us and our dear friend Lidija Dimova to lunch at Ljuc, a restaurant in the capital of Skopje. During our walk there, he apologized for the way the place would look; Goran knows I write about food, and, as he explained, this was not a hip or ritzy room. I loved the way it looked, containing as it did a pure food-lover's minimalism: wood-paneled walls, tables, chairs, and a smoky grill covered in sizzling meats.
As the owner of the Abakus Translation Company, Lidija is in contact with all sorts of political birds who've flown into the country during recent years and is known for having her finger on the pulse of what's going on. One thing going on was that "American consultant jokes" were circulating the city. We prodded Lidija into telling one, and reluctantly she did: "An American consultant in Macedonia decides to take his jeep into the countryside for a relaxing drive during his day off. He comes across a shepherd and, just for the fun of it, asks: “If I can guess the exact number of sheep in your herd, can I take one?' The old shepherd, figuring he'll never guess correctly, tells him: “Sure, go ahead.'"