[size=55:2cj9iyjq]Sofia echo
Lamb to the slaughter
"
Some eat to live, others live to eat"
is a common saying. Others, like myself, just lie about eating. And you can read that both ways.
Take my father. He ate very slowly and delicately with dignified pauses between each morsel, laying down his cutlery at suitable intervals – never wishing, as he put it, to "
conduct an orchestra"
with his utensils – often expounding on the greed of some of the surrounding company (if dining in a restaurant) and the tragedy of global starvation. Even if he were ravenously hungry, it just would have been unseemly to devour too passionately.
His son, on the other hand, has slightly different predilections. But then again Hershman Senior had never visited Bulgaria's mountain villages and, in particular, he never went on – what I quickly came to dub – "
the gastronomic tour"
.
What follows is the diary of an unashamed food-lover who succumbed to temptation on every stop of the trip that was organised by Sunshine Tours at the end of March. I know what you are thinking. Perhaps this implies a certain superficiality on my part. After all, almost the entire Arab world seems to be in the throes of revolution. Japan is recovering from a series of unprecedented catastrophes. And here I am writing about food. Yes, you're right, so if you really have no interest in culinary pleasures, stop reading now.* The rest of you are probably salivating already.
Day one - shock and awe
I awoke in Dobrinishte (near Bansko) at the splendid Hotel Spa Orbel, having arrived the previous day from Sofia. Even then my belly was not exactly empty. The night before, our group had eaten shopska salad and a very large kebapche. I noticed that other diners did not eat it all, perhaps aware of what was coming. But thinking that this was a one-off, I consumed everything. Breakfast was a modest mixture of home-made warm bread, thick yoghurt with jam and honey, fresh juice and coffee. It was a deceptively low-key affair that did not prepare me for the assault to follow.
We travelled to Banya and then on to Gorno Draglishte where we stopped at the Rudi Hotel. They brought out tea with mint herbs and a pine tree elixir syrup. This was apparently a kind of traditional preprandial ritual. Strange, I thought, usually tea as a drink falls in late afternoon. What was this all about? We didn't have long to find out;
lunch was being poured in the adjacent restaurant. Traditional Bulgarian accoutrements always make a meal more delightful and here they were in abundance: the red table-clothes, the decorated ceramic crockery, the rustic ornaments on display on the walls.
We started with rakiya – unexpectedly hot and laced with sugar. Your heart sends you messages – "
remember me, I'm still here"
– then the anaesthetic follows as it floods the brain. The feast followed: mushrooms, large beans, cabbage, egg topped with tomato and pink beetroot, accompanied by red wine.
Lunchtime drinking – for me at least – is always dangerous, foreshadowing the inevitable four o'clock "
dip"
when I'm overwhelmed by sleepiness. Only marching on the spot at gunpoint, a sharp sword pressed under my chin, would keep me awake. And yet I succumbed to the lure of the drink. It was a cold, rainy day, after all. As one person said, "
there might not be that much to see, but there sure IS a lot to eat and drink"
. Dessert was yoghurt with fruit. Meanwhile, we were treated to a fine exhibition of dancing babas. Strange, but for all the talk of penniless pensioners in Bulgaria – and their rather drab existence – most old folk seem surprisingly cheerful. At least these babas did.
Lunch was more than I could handle. But it was just the beginning. Our next top was the Deshka House in Gorno Draglishte where we observed more babas making caramel sweets. At first they produced a doughy-like substance which they moulded into snake-like formations before they were chopped into hard sweets. Suddenly – to my horror/delight – they brought in huge plates of pumpkin banitsa. Have just a little, I thought. But, when I tasted it, I was hooked;
it had a kind of flaky, crumbly texture that you don't find in ordinary shops. And I've always had a weakness for sweet banitsa.
We staggered into the bus and the effects of the alcohol were sending me to sleep. I started snoozing even though the road to Dobursko was rocky and twisting. We arrived at the mayor's office and – hospitable fellow that he was – he had prepared some more traditional home made bread with plentiful wine and spirits. I partook just a little, knowing there would be an intermission in consumption to follow. Wrong again! We were on on our way now to Godlevo. Next stop was a free-range dairy farm – Vekir - Radka Belezhkova – where, we were told, they produced particularly fine sirene and kashkaval – white and yellow cheeses – from cows' milk. All the animals on the grounds were free to roam at random. The cheese produced here, entirely free of fats and preservatives – is only sold to clients in the area. If they were exported as far as Sofia – it was explained to us – then the fat content would rise and the cheese would lose some of its quality. Naturally we were invited to sample some at a nearby guest house (Pri Asen) along with home-grown wine, the only proper accompaniment to cheese. The cheese was uniquely soft and velvety with a creamy texture. Accompanied by pastarma and more home made pita bread, it was wonderful. By the end I was ready to explode. Dinner at the hotel was trout – "
caught especially for you"
– according to the hotel management. I decided to share a portion. With some difficulty I heaved my mighty frame off to bed.
Day two - a lull
I purposefully had a wafer-thin breakfast at the hotel. Lunch was at the White House in Kovachevitsa. This was a relatively modest affair – hamburgers and potatoes followed by baklava, a treacly dessert. We had a light dinner at the hotel that night. Nothing much to say, gastronomically. To be honest, this was a day of reprieve.
Day three - the final attack
Any chance of permanent relief evaporated the following day. The tour organisers told us to "
go easy"
at lunch because we had "
a real treat"
in store in the evening. So I carefully declined soup at the hotel and just ordered a "
малка порция"
(small portion) of beef and rice instead. The waitress smiled but brought me a plate with the same content as everyone else. For some reason – maybe my mangled pronunciation – nobody ever understood "
малка порция"
of anything throughout my three days on the tour. It was as if an empty glass or plate were an insult to the hosts. Anyway, with the relatively light lunch, followed by a trip around a windswept Pirin Gold and Country Club, then a brisk climb at Pirin National Park, I was beginning to prepare for the challenge ahead. Although I have to say my heart skipped a beat when I was told that we should gather at 6.45pm in the hotel lobby. Clearly, this was going to be a sustained assault. For once my instincts were correct.
We arrived at Pri Tome in Dobrinishte, actually a private house, not a guesthouse, but one that caters to occasional private parties and has proved extremely popular with tourists in the past. At 7.30pm the first rakiya of the night was poured – Burgas 63 – accompanied by a huge bowl of salad. No matter how many times I cleared my plate, it was replenished forthwith. Well, it's only salad, I thought.
When we had finally stopped eating the salad, I saw the proprietors delicately place six bottles of red wine (14 per cent proof) from Todoroff cellar on the mantelpiece. The lamb, which I was assured had been slaughtered that day, was brought in. Then it was shredded before our eyes. We were invited to help ourselves to the lamb together with finely chopped lamb liver and rice, seasoned with pepper and herbs. We had live music courtesy of guitarist Jan and friends and more horo and home-made wine. The time passed quickly. One of our party – the delightful Tanya – took to the floor to entertain us whenever there was a song. I felt she would be a good advert for Bulgarian tourism by herself. By midnight, however, I was starting to wilt and retreated to the hotel.
Appropriately, the souvenirs of my visit were the biggest packet of sirene I'd ever laid eyes on, together with some kashkaval, gifts from the dairy farm. Just before I left the hotel I gazed at my stomach. That was also the biggest I'd ever seen. Next stop is a health farm.
Thank you to Blagovest Lefterov and Boian Manev from Sunshine Tours for organising this trip.
Sun Apr 10, 2011 10:02 pm
:Food:You just gota eat 
