Across the former Yugoslavia grilling meat (more specifically, red meat) outdoors is something of an obsession. So much so that in the city of Leskovac in south Serbia, every September they celebrate rostiljada – a week-long festival where the streets are closed off and dedicated entirely to the rostilj or barbecue.
Until I visited Shepherd Bush’s Caffè Bonego, my experience with rostilj was restricted to the small backyard at my Deda’s (Grandad) house in Ealing. At the age of 87 he still pulls out the grill and cooks up an enormous array of hamburgers and sausages. During Tito, he trained at Belgrade’s Hotel Majestic, and later worked at the club attached to the Yugoslav embassy (back when the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia still existed – it broke apart calamitously in the 1990s ). He also grew up in Leskovac so I’m biased when it comes to the rostilj repertoire.
Still, standing on Goldhawk Road outside Caffe Bonego on a sunny day, I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a barbecue smell strong enough to delight my inner carnivore. The animalistic meat-eating instinct is one you have to embrace, because Yugo food is notoriously unaccommodating to vegetarians. This cuisine is not for the faint hearted.
I went with a friend who has never had Yugo food so I dove straight in and ordered the classics: ćevapi, small sausages that constitute the Yugo answer to kebab (we got a large ćevapi for £9.95 but a small ćevapi will reasonably serve at least two people and is priced at £5.95). It comes with copious amounts of delicious bread and a dashing of ajvar (a dip made with peppers, auberginet and a little spice). I ordered more ajvar, and by the end my cream trousers were covered in it.
I was delighted to find myself enjoying my bread and meat so much that my insides began to hurt; a Balkan obligation and a good sign. It’s not an experience you want everyday though. I also ordered sarma (minced meat in fermented cabbage, sauerkraut or kiseli kupus as it’s called in Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian). They gave it a good go but I confess, the sauce was not quite as tangy as my Deda’s. Disappointingly, but not surprisingly. For those who are new to Yugoslav food, without their familial prejudices, it does the job reasonably well (and it’s £10.95 for a serving that could easily fill three people).
Caffè Bonego also do English breakfast and Spaghetti Bolognese, but that’s not what the clientele are there for. On the table next to me two men were playing chess – in Yugoslavia’s heyday the country was one of the best in the world at the sport. On another table some men were talking loudly about Serbia, drinking beer and Coca-Cola. Luckily I was occupied with my ćevapi, and my Serbian isn’t good enough to understand what they were saying. The group would change every so often with people coming and going unannounced (old Yugos always do this…). For drinks, I insisted on rakija – the pride of South East Europe and a strong spirit made with fruits like plums – because it was necessary to complete the atmosphere.
The men ordered way more than us, but we were so stuffed we had no room whatsoever for dessert. While we digested, we had a couple of glasses of wine. The bill came to £24 a head but between us we definitely ate enough for five people. My extremely bloated stomach reminded me why I don’t eat Yugo food on the regular.
Caffè Bonego is open Monday – Saturday from 7 am to 10pm. It is located on 170 Goldhawk Road, a six-minute walk from Goldhawk Road tube station and an eighteen-minute walk from Shepherd’s Bush station.