My infinitely loving and compassionate partner, Alex, knows that when I come home from Bosnia-Herzegovina, I go through a withdrawal that verges on exile. Where’s the Turkish coffee, the Sarajevsko beer, the cevapi, the burek, the corner bakery, the fresh tomatoes and cheese, the fountains of spring water, the dazzling flora, the fashionistas’ flair, the fog of second-hand smoke?
This weekend I got my fix, with my annual visit to Charlottesville’s Balkan Bistro and Bar (smoke-free, of course — this is America, after all). Everything to die for, just as I remembered: the baklava, the spinach and cheese pie, the fresh bread, all a mere 600 miles from home.
If you’re anywhere near Charlottesville this week, stop in and see Anja, Jozo, Bozana, and Panto for Restaurant Week. And give them my love….