A trio of happy nuns in full habit checks out the offerings at the central fish market in Split, Croatia. I can’t remember exactly what it was they were inspecting, but from the photo it looks like škampi, which are also known as langoustines, Norway lobsters and Dublin Bay prawns, depending on where you are.

The Christmas meal in Dalmatia nearly always includes bakalar, a simple stew of dried cod and potatoes. It’s beyond delectable. The Croatian word bakalar is not only the name of the dish, but also of the fish. It’s a derivation of bacalao, the Spanish word for cod. The highly prized cod fish cannot be gotten from the Adriatic Sea, so it’s imported to Croatia in its durable, salted and dried form from various colder-water locales. It’s assumed that bakalar was introduced to Croatia by Dalmatian sailors who’d been on ships in the North Atlantic, and it’s now a tradition.

To make stewed bakalar, you will need:

1 lb dried salt cod

2 lbs. peeled and large diced potatoes

8 oz. large diced onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped

4 oz. fresh parsley, roughly chopped

8 oz. olive oil

salt, pepper to taste

Wash the salt cod well and soak overnight in water. Wash again, then cover with fresh water in a large pot and cook on a low flame until tender, but not falling apart (5-6 hours). Remove the cod from the water (which you will reserve), lay it on a clean cutting board and carefully remove the bones, taking care to keep the meat in large pieces. Quickly saute the onion, garlic and parsley in olive oil in the cooking pot, then add the potatoes and stir until coated with oil. Add the reserved cooking water and simmer the potatoes until tender, then return the cod meat to the pot. Simmer slowly for an additional 20-30 minutes without stirring. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with freshly baked crusty bread for soaking up the broth.

You can, as in most cases, adjust aspects of the recipe to suit your tastes. Like much Dalmatian food, bakalar is a very simple, satisfying and homey dish.

In addition to the Adriatic Sea, coastal Croatia shares centuries of history with Italy. That said, it won’t be surprising to learn that Arborio rice is prepared and enjoyed in much the same way as Italian risotto in Dalmatia. In fact, a few recipes are practically identical. One of the hallmarks of Dalmatian cuisine is crni rižot (TSIR-nee REE-zhot), or ‘black risotto’. Known in Italy as Risotto Nero di Sepie, traditional black risotto calls for the meat and ink of the cuttlefish, the latter of which lends the characteristic black color and silken texture to the broth.

Gule and Ivica decided to have a little party one Sunday afternoon. They prepared a delicious risotto with chicken and langoustines in the courtyard behind the kiosk while we all enjoyed our neighbors’ company with music and a few beers. The recipe was Ivica’s but Gule did most of the work. Once the steaming heap of PERFECT risotto was ready and placed lovingly in the alley, Jakov set up a “DJ booth” on his balcony and played classic American pop and soul 45’s from the only record player in the village. Neighbors who crept out of their houses into the alley to see what was happening were answered with a plate of risotto, a beer and a lot of smiles. Ivica reveals the ingredients for his risotto in this video from the happening:

Perhaps the strangest part of the event is that there’s nothing strange about it at all in Marina or other places like it in Dalmatia. Life is simple and companionship is a simple matter of stepping outside your door. People are known to spontaneously gather in random locations to enjoy food, drink and music together, whether it’s in a courtyard, on the beach or in the street. And were it not for the phonograph, it would not have been unheard of for the men to burst into song. Spontaneous public conviviality is but one of Dalmatia’s countless charms, and one of many reasons you should consider making a visit.

Back in mid-September, I had the pleasure of helping with the grape harvest and winemaking in the village of Marina. The grapes belonged belonged to Ljubo, one of the village’s most prolific and respected winemakers, and he had quite an operation in motion. While the grapes were being picked and bagged in the field, they were loaded into the car pictured above and hauled to Konoba Marina, the tavern in the middle of town.

The word konoba means “cellar,” in Dalmatian dialect, and since many small, family-owned taverns actually operate from within wine cellars, the term is used also to refer to such casual dining and drinking establishments. During the grape harvest, when tourist business has all but ceased completely, a local konoba will often revert to its original purpose: making wine!

I’m not certain how many tons of Babić grapes we took turns crushing by hand that day, but the end result would be nearly 1000 liters of wine. Once the fruit was crushed, we transported the mash to a giant vat for fermentation. One of our helpers, Antonija, was kind enough to let me photograph her next to the vat to help illustrate its size for you.

And Robert, proprietor of Konoba Marina, was kind enough to prepare a hearty lunch for the workers that day: a sumptuous roast of veal and turkey with onions and root vegetables under the peka.

My first encounter with these exquisite little nuggets of vegetalia occurred on the Pelješac peninsula in southern Croatia, where they are known as uštipci od tikvice. They’re pretty straightforward, down-home little numbers, so I’d be shocked, stunned and amazed if they did not exist in some form in the culinary lexicon of a few other cultures. They actually remind me of some of the whimsical concoctions my grandmother used to prepare. In this case, my cooking lesson came on a sweltering afternoon in the tiny village of Kučište, a place of grand old stone mansions still owned and inhabited by the descendants of old Dubrovnik sea captains. A respected village patriarch, Mr. Matias Glavaš, was my teacher.

Indeed, the rendition of zucchini fritters that he prepared for me that day while the stuffy Jugo winds blew in from the south could come from nowhere other than coastal Croatia, as his recipe calls for rogačica. This rare, bittersweet liqueur made from carob pods is enjoyed as a cordial, but in its stronger, more concentrated form it’s used as a medicinal. My rendition, however, uses a sprinkling of white truffle infused olive oil in the batter, which nods to the truffle rich soil of Istria in the north of Croatia. Mix the following in a bowl:

5 cups grated fresh zucchini (wrap in a clean towel and press out the liquid)
3 eggs
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
4 cloves garlic, chopped finely
grated peel of 1 lemon
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1/2 cup fresh Italian parsley leaf, roughly chopped
2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary
2 teaspoons olive oil (you may use truffle infused oil if you like, but use only 1 tsp in that case)
2 ounces grappa (optional)
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt

The mixture should be thick, but not stiff. Don’t be afraid to add a little flour or water to adjust for the consistency of pancake batter. Allow the mixture to rest for ten minutes, then stir again.

Heat a skillet with 1/4 inch of olive oil to medium high, just below the smoking point. Spoon in large dollops of batter and fry slowly to golden brown on each side. Drain on a paper lined plated and sprinkle with a little kosher or sea salt while still hot. This quantity will produce about 20 or so fritters. Enjoy them alone as a snack, or as a side dish for lunch or dinner. If you have a favorite Mediterranean aioli or dipping sauce, go for it… but I think they’re pretty excellent alone. Dobar tek!

Rakija (RAH-kee-yah) is the catch-all term for any kind of spirit distilled from fruit in Croatia, and it pretty much translates to ‘brandy’. Just as there’s apple brandy, plum brandy, berry brandy and so on, varieties distilled from different source materials take more specific names. Here are a few:

šljivovica (SHLEE-vo-vee-tsa) – plum brandy

lozica (LO-zee-tsa) – grape brandy

kruškovača (KROOSH-ko-va-tcha) – pear brandy

rogačica (roh-GAHTCH-ee-tsa) – grape brandy infused with carob pods

In Dalmatia, the king of all rakijas is travarica (TRA-va-ree-tsa), a sophisticated spirit acclaimed as a superb digestive aid and tonic. It is quite simply an infusion of grape brandy and a variety of herbs, and there are as many recipes for travarica as there are people producing it. Some contain as few as 10 herbs, while others can contain 20 or more. Travarica often contains rosemary, chamomile, lavender, rose hips, matgrass, juniper, thyme, currants, mint or sage, but the list of possible additions is practically endless.

Pure grape brandy isn’t widely available, but if you have access to good grappa (Italian grape pomace brandy), making your own travarica is not a complicated undertaking at all, All you need to do is insert the whole, edible herbs, flowers and dried berries of your choosing into a 750 mL bottle, fill the bottle with brandy and allow to infuse for at least a month. Of course, the longer you allow the brandy to take up the essential oils and aromatic components of the plant material, the stronger and more complex the flavor will be.

Of all the exquisite artisan food produced in Dalmatia, there is none as widely loved that resonates in the hearts and souls of the people like pršut (PURR-shoot). If you’re at all familiar with the prosciutto of Italy and jamon of Spain, you’ll almost know what to expect from pršut. True Dalmatian pršut begins with a fresh pork leg that’s cured in pure Adriatic seawater, then pressed between large stones to remove the brine. Next the ham is smoked and hung outside to dry in the blasting Bura winds over winter. Pršut is typically then aged for anywhere from one to three years in dark cellars or attics, where its flavors mellow and mature.

This dry ham is a distinctive experience in flavor, texture and aroma not found elsewhere, an unmatchable product of Dalmatia’s specific climate and ecosystem. Though passable, commercially produced pršut is available for purchase in supermarkets and butcher shops in Dalmatia, many families make and prefer their own. Once you’ve tasted true Dalmatian pršut, homemade with the time and love it requires, you’ll understand why. But since it’s not produced for export, you’ll just have to visit Dalmatia to discover for yourself.