Hats from Manhattan

Za "Time" from New York

Somewhere in the middle of 116 Loisida Ave, right next to the entrance to the building with a red brick facade, was located "to your head". On the table, a menu that, like in any nearby diner, steakhouse or deli, starts with soup, cured meats and cheeses, but everything takes an unexpected turn when the list includes gibanica, greens and a bun with cream. The twist continues with lamb kapama and pork shoulder, while the stewed beans with ribs, shank and stuffed burger finally reveal why there is a sign above the door on in incomprehensible Cyrillic letters.

What would one of his New York friends say, when he left his hometown for the first time as a child to visit his grandmother in Charleston, where no building is taller than the steeple of the local church - what is this?

It's not quite like that, nothing is strange in this city, there are more Serbian restaurants than Malagasy, Trinidadian and Laos combined. Still, walnut-stuffed prunes paired with bacon-wrapped chicken livers go beyond the usual Manhattan offerings.

Vladimir Ocokoljić, the owner of "Kafana", may not quite agree with that, saying that it is just one of the New York restaurants. "Just as there are Italian New York restaurants, so we exist: a New York Serbian restaurant," says this former professor of technical drawing, who almost two decades ago left the job for which he was educated in America and started working in catering. "Tavern" was born from his love for food, after numerous fames, where he cooked for dozens of people who made their way to his apartment through the snowy streets of New York every year.

LOVE AND SOBRIETY

By the way, the story of food for millions of New Yorkers who were born outside the USA begins when the wheels of the plane touch the Kennedy runway. That path has not changed much in recent years. From the huge hall, you go down a long corridor to the airport train. From there to Jamaica in Queens, and then - who knows. To the north, west or south - there is no way around the world in this city.

It arrived, unpacked, we need something to eat. Almost everyone gets enthusiastic about American food in the beginning. Burgers, bagels, steaks, crispy chicken, barbecue briskets, apple pie or pancakes with maple syrup quickly make most people throw away the tortured food that has survived the journey across the ocean in some hidden part of the suitcase. At that stage, even Campbell's baked potatoes with steak or pasta with meatballs are endlessly juicy and delicious. Everyone already knows about "McDonald's", but "Connie's" hot dog, "Wendy's" baconator, tortillas from "Taco Bela", wings at "Papa John's", "Dunkin's" donuts or "Domino's" pizza quickly push into oblivion the tastes of the distant homeland.

After that initial euphoria, sobriety begins. Those dishes that smelled ravishingly after taking them out of the microwave oven are left after the first bites. Crispy chicken in the fridge quickly begins to resemble lumps of coal, and golden-yellow potatoes taste like rancid nuts because of the corn oil in which they are fried. This is the first sign that you should look for something from your previous life.

A CHEERFUL LIFE

It is easiest for those who come from Latin America - they will find everything everywhere. Chinatown is full of groceries for Asian immigrants, there are a bunch of shops for those from the Caribbean, a couple of huge markets for Indians, and for those who came from Europe, the only thing left to do is Mulberry Street. In "little Italy" you can always find imported cheeses, hams, prosciutto or sausages. There is, of course, parmesan in every New York grocery store, but when you look a little closer at the label, it says that the product is made in Wisconsin, with an explanation of the inspiration from the original Italian products. Similarly, Spanish chorizo ​​sausages are made in Johnsonville and German bacon usingers in Milwaukee.

...

Somewhere in that moment it becomes clear that some things cannot be found at all. There is no yogurt, for example. It has what's called Greek yogurt, but it's actually sour milk. There are no cherries either. They grow somewhere in Michigan and Utah, but they usually end up in sugary compote water that completely ruins them. There are no currants, quinces, medlars, celery or kale. The shelves of "Walmart" are filled with dozens of different pastries, but there is no integral bread. There is no sunflower oil either. White potatoes are baked and red potatoes are boiled. No one makes fresh coleslaw. Peas and green beans are not prepared as dishes, but as side dishes, like mashed potatoes or rice.

Bacon is, in fact, live meat. If no one tells you—and things that are obvious to hosts tend not to be said—it won't be noticed right away. Therefore, those with whom you share breakfast in those early days will look at you in disbelief as you chop and nibble on "Oscar Mayer" straight from the package. Polite and polite, the hosts will not tell you anything, attributing it to the local habits of the people who live in the hills of the distant Balkans. When you realize over time that bacon cannot be chewed because it is alive and you share that knowledge with your neighbors, they will admit how amazed they were when they saw you eating fresh pork meat. By the way, it is not easy to see a live pig in America.

When you drive northwest from New York, after an hour's drive, the villages near Chester begin to line up. There are houses, agricultural machinery, fields, fields and meadows, but nowhere in sight of domestic animals. Not only can you not see a pig roaming the ground, but there are no sheep, goats, turkeys, geese or chickens on the horizon. Occasionally, they rush through the roads of vehicles with cages in which the mangled poultry barely show signs of life, as they are first washed under strong jets of water, and then dried between huge fans. He spends his life of martyrdom in closed areas of farms without daylight. Only the cows were spared that hellish life. Like somewhere in Šumadija, here too they walk calmly, graze grass, drink water from the stream or stand staring into the distance for a long time, as befits the dignity of the horned species.

Therefore, it is no small surprise when, for example, you see Karađorđe schnitzel on the menu of "Taverns". Where does the cream come from, when there is no yogurt?

"Is there something that is not in New York?" asks Vladimir Ocokoljić, adding "that such a thing does not exist".

Is there any cream?

"Yes. We don't have a huge selection for that kind of thing, but you can find cream of very solid quality."

So, you can get everything you need to prepare authentic Balkan, Serbian dishes?

"Yes, everything is there. Apart from that, there is almost nothing in our kitchen that is not used by other cultures", explains the owner of "Kafane".

photo: boogie

BORROWING FROM OTHERS

That, by the way, is part of the story of borrowing from others. "Lifeway's" kefir is most like what you eat with burek, which is probably the best in town at Tony and Tina's Albanian bakery. There's a great selection of Balkan food at Euromarket in Astoria - from plasma and core biscuits, to dry ribs and Todorić's pancetta - but you can run into a lot of it quite unexpectedly at stores like Western Beef in Brooklyn. Vegeta is standing on the shelf right next to "Grand's" aroma, while "Podravka's" jam is in the company of "Bambi's" lanet. Essentially, there is no big difference between Albanian sudžuk and Bosnian sudžuk, which are on the same shelf as kravovica from Guatemala.

Otherwise, only in stores that cater to the Latin American community can you see calf's tongues, pig's ears and pig's feet in the refrigerators. In El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua, they make chicharron, which is irresistibly reminiscent of potatoes in a sauce, while in Colombia, Venezuela, and Cuba, they fry pork that looks like cracklings. It is often served with beans in Dominican and Puerto Rican restaurants around New York, although you shouldn't overdo it. It's similar, but not the same.

Immigrants from the Balkans clustered in Astoria, in Jersey they live around Clifton and Patterson, so there are shops and restaurants. Food is ordered through "Taste of the Balkans", although one often goes to "Papagaj", which is owned by a Bulgarian family, or "Mediterranska food" in Greece. Ćevapi are usually eaten in "Sarajevo", "Sel" or "Srpski Club". Regardless of the fact that in the greater metropolitan area of ​​New York there are ten larger stores with Balkan food, "Euromarket" has remained an eternal stumbling block.

The luggage has long since been unpacked, but some Balkan habits have not changed. It usually starts with someone's question on social networks about where to find something, then someone mentions "Euromarket", which is followed by an avalanche of comments about it being "one of the worst shops", "broken market" and "dirtiest store around". Then there is a counterattack against the "spammer", and it all ends with forcing the beautiful mother.

Americans can fight over sports or politics, but they rarely fight over food. Practical and pragmatic, they increasingly go to the German "Aldi" and "Liddle", because they are much cheaper than their "Whole Foods", "Trader Joe's" or "Wegmans". In addition, Austrian chocolates from Aldi, unlike Hershey's, cannot be swallowed in one piece. A high percentage of cocoa strongly resists sugar cravings.

It's not all about money, of course - New York has always been free and open. There are more restaurants in the city than, for example, Bajina Bašta, Topola, Majdanpek and Kosjerić have inhabitants together. It's a place that has the power to turn an endless sea of ​​newcomers into New Yorkers, while other parts of America often look more like the countries from which their residents came.

"New Yorkers are curious people and always want to try something new," says the owner of "Kafana" Vladimir Ocokoljić. "They are not picky and whatever you recommend to them - they will eat. From svargli, blood sausage, to kebabs and sarma."

And, when they come to you for the first time and ask for a recommendation, what do you tell them?

"Do we have sarme, or lamb shoulder, shank... It depends on what they like, adapt based on that, and recommend it to them. They will take it, you just have to present it to them nicely", says Ocokoljić, who fought for his "Cafana" to be on the list of the hundred best restaurants in the city as chosen by the "New York Times". Not only because of the food, but also for selected wines from Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia or Bosnia, which nobody in this city has in that number.

WHAT IS THIS??

On the way back from an upstate vacation, eating Buffalo wings, a Rochester meat platter, fries, macaroni or potatoes boiled in salted water with Syracuse butter, near Chesterfield - all the same.

Cows staring off into the distance, a city packed with tourists that makes everyone else flee Times Square, Rockefeller Center, and Fifth Avenue. In the "Tavern", on the walls, incomprehensible Cyrillic patterns that mean something only to those who still remember those advertisements, posters and clippings from newspapers.

For New Yorkers, it's just a part of the city's labyrinth that they discover again and again. And those who were born here look at Google Maps when they go far from the part of town they live in or occasionally lead you on the wrong subway lines that rumble through this city's endless underground.

Then they are usually surprised that they headed north instead of south, like when, as children, they first left their town somewhere where the solitaires don't tear the sky and thought - what the hell is this? In time, they will accept that there are different cities, just as they will love the food from the homeland of those who chop unprocessed meat for breakfast. If bacon from American markets can be eaten alive, then kebabs can be small sausages for Americans, and beans can be soup. This city changed with those who came, because that was the only way it could remain what it always was.