Finally, a cook’s cookbook for cooking in the kitchen! In this day and age of the Internets’ gastronomic pornography, we have grown so accustomed to dingleberry picture books for the coffee table, often penned by a celebrity chef’s ghostwriter. Portland, Oregon’s itinerant chef and writer John J. Goddard saves us from a supper of further gloss and empty accessory in Dalmatian Cooking: Cuisine of the Slavic Mediterranean, his homage to the little known cooking of Croatia’s southwest coastal region. Prior to arriving in Portland in 2008 and founding Nob Hill Bakery and the LUKA pop-up dining series, Goddard was the 2007 summer season’s executive chef at the Hotel Marinska Kula near Split, Croatia. He has spent considerable lengths of time in the republic, visiting each region and learning of its particular treasures.

The first book of its kind to be offered in English, Dalmatian Cooking presents a grand old Mediterranean cuisine influenced by millennia of invading empires and ethnic commingling. Much after the fashion of Escoffier’s Le Guide Culinaire, Goddard assumes some skill and intuition on the part of the cook in this extensive collection of recipes, briskly outlining the desired result and its required steps. While less far less intimidating a work than its French predecessor, the book’s 300 pages deliver a bulging pirate’s chest of tutelage in Dalmatian cooking and artisan food production.

Goddard currently contributes writing to Taste of Croatia, the world’s leading English-language resource for Croatian food, wine and dining information, and is developing a series of documentary films in HD to highlight regional Croatian wine and cuisine for the site. The Taste of Croatia team has launched a campaign to raise funding for production, and Dalmatian Cooking is available exclusively as a reward for supporters at this time. When one pledges $25 or more to the project, a copy (or copies) will be shipped to supporters at the campaign’s end in late June. Supporters at higher levels can also receive jars of Dalmatian fig marmalade, and bottles of organic, small estate-grown olive oil from the isle of Brač. You may  thoroughly investigate the fundraising effort for the Taste Of Croatia TV project through this link, and connect with Taste Of Croatia on Facebook via this link. Goddard recently re-launched his blog at JohnJGoddard.com and can be contacted there, or pursued on Twitter @JohnJGoddard.

Fig trees are tremendously abundant in Dalmatia, growing wild just about everywhere. When the fruit ripens and begins dropping from its branches in September, you’ll find – and inadvertently step on – plump, sweet figs in the narrow lanes and paths of the villages where they grow. They are collected and laid out on rooftops to dry in the late summer sun, and eaten throughout the year. Smokvenjak, a delicious aromatic cake, is prepared from dried figs, wrapped in fresh bay leaves and “baked” in the sun, then stored and dried for as long as two months before serving. Though it originated on the isle of Vis, smokvenjak is popular throughout Dalmatia, and enjoyed with brandy or coffee. You might not have fresh bay leaves, or the time and sunlight to bake this on your roof, but you can certainly dry smovenjak in your oven at a very low temperature and store it in parchment to age and aromatize.

Smokvenjak (Dried Fig Cake)

1 kg dried figs
250 g almonds, lightly toasted
1 sprig of fennel
200 mL fruit brandy

Grind the figs and almonds separately. The figs should have the consistency of a rough paste, while the almonds should come to a coarse meal. Blend them in a bowl with the brandy (you may add grated lemon peel, chopped fennel or aromatic spice such as cinnamon and nutmeg for variation). Knead until the brandy is absorbed and a stiff dough is achieved. Form in the shape of round cake or smaller serving-size biscuits and dry in the oven at its lowest temperature. When cooled, press a sprig of fresh fennel into the top of the cake, wrap in parchment paper and store for as long as a few months. Serve with brandy.

Dalmatian cuisine features countless recipes for pasta, bearing robust testament to the influence of the Venetians. Many of them are relatively quick and simple if you don’t take into account the time required to make fresh pasta from scratch – which I absolutely suggest! Pasta can be served as the sole course of the midday meal (marenda), or as a middle course at dinner, after the main meat or fish dishes. This dish is a fine example of how memorable and elegant in their simplicity pasta preparations can be. I predict you will return to this favorite old recipe often.

Rezanci s pršutom (Noodles With Prosciutto)

400 g fresh (not dry!) fettuccine or tagliatelle noodles
150 g prosciutto, sliced in short, thin strips
350 g chopped tomatoes
1 large yellow onion
1 large carrot
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
olive oil
grated parmesan cheese

Julienne the onion and carrot and sauté in three tablespoons oil with half of the chopped rosemary. Add the prosciutto and sauté until lightly caramelized.  Add tomatoes, season very lightly with salt and pepper (the prosciutto will provide salt). Simmer on low heat for 30 minutes, stirring and adding a little water or stock as needed. Cook the noodles in plenty of salted water with a little oil. Fresh pasta doesn’t require much more than a minute of cooking time. Drain and return to the pot. Add the finished sauce and toss gently to evenly cover the noodles. Serve, sprinkle with plenty of grated parmesan and chopped rosemary, and drizzle with a little more olive oil.

This old Dalmatian recipe for brain soup (or juha od mozga) will probably be considered a gastronomic oddity to many, but if you’ve enjoyed brain before, then you know it’s a preparation worth attempting. As with many Dalmatian recipes, you will see elegance in simplicity here. If you’re tempted to embellish with further seasonings or shredded vegetables, add them to the onions while frying, as I suggest with the chopped garlic and red pepper flakes. This will ensure that the flavors are well concentrated, and enter the preparation at its foundation.

If you have trouble locating your brain, I suggest checking with a good Asian or Hispanic grocer, or contact a reputable butcher shop that’s been in business for a good while. They may be able to special order it for you.

Juha od Mozga (Brain Soup)

1 lamb or 1/2 calf’s brain
2 ounces of fat (lard, butter or olive oil)
1 small onion, finely chopped
1.5 ounces of flour
salt and pepper
1 thick slice of bread, soaked in milk
chopped parsley

Gently parboil the brain in simmering salted water for about five minutes, or just until the proteins have set and the brain holds its shape. Rinse in cold water, remove the veins and dice into 1/4 inch pieces. Fry the chopped red onion in one half ounce of the fat in a skillet until soft and translucent, then add the diced brain and a little salt and pepper (you may also add some finely chopped garlic and dried red pepper flakes at this time of you wish). Fry the brain with the chopped onion until it begins to brown, stirring constantly. Remove from flame and set aside.

Heat the remaining 1.5 ounces of fat over low flame in a saucepan and stir in the flour to make a roux. Continue to heat and stir the roux over medium low flame until it begins to brown. Add the fried brain and onion to the roux, then add four pints of water and bring to a low boil. Stir in the soaked bread, add salt and pepper to taste. Reduce heat and simmer for approximately 30 minutes. Add a bit of chopped parsley and serve.

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.