What We Ate in Veldara
A four-day food diary from a town where the bread is exceptional and the menus are handwritten and everything closes between two and four.
We keep a rough food diary when we travel — not formal notes, just the things one of us says out loud that are worth remembering. We need to come back here. What is this. How is bread this good. In Veldara, the diary got long.
What follows is an edited version. Some meals are missing because we were too involved in eating them to write anything down.
Day One
Arrived late, ate at the only place still open — a narrow room with four tables and a chalkboard that listed three things. We ordered all three. The soup was better than anything we deserved after a long travel day. Soren asked the owner what was in it. She listed seven ingredients. He wrote them down and then admitted he didn't recognise two of them.
Day Two
Found the market. Found the bread. Bought too much of the bread. Ate half of it standing at the market before we had gone twenty metres. Carried the rest back to the room and had the other half with whatever was left in our bags — some hard cheese, a bruised pear, good butter we had bought on instinct.
"This is the best meal of the trip," Soren said.
"We've been here fourteen hours," I said.
"I know."
Day Three
The fish place on the harbour. You order by pointing at a board and they bring what they have that day. We sat outside. The bread arrived first, always. We made a note: bread first is the mark of a good restaurant.
Day Four
Reluctant departure morning. Coffee at the station café. The coffee was fine. The bread was, somehow, still excellent. We bought a loaf for the train.
The best trips are the ones where you spend a lot of time deciding what to eat next and feel no guilt about it whatsoever.
We have been back to Veldara once since. The soup was the same. The bread was the same. The fish place had a new chalkboard but the same fish.
We are planning a third visit. The diary is already open.