A few days after the Belgrade episode described here, we were back in the city. I'd spent the intervening time ogling the long-legged beauties - a pause here as I catch my breath, oof - of Montenegro ("the world's tallest country") and getting robbed blind at the seaside town that Dubrovnik is. All that is irrelevant, as I once again assert that the best things in travel spring from the incidental.
On our first (and only) evening in Belgrade, before we went on said excursions, we had walked by a hole-in-the-wall burger-type joint. Late at night, it was still serving up a decent clientele. As they say in Singapore, join the longest queue at a coffee shop, for that's where the best food is.
Anyway, this afternoon, I convinced my friends - at least one of whom is clearly an adventurous eater, I learned later - to go to this place. The girl at the counter spoke no English, but of course had the hots for me. Yes, I know, I transcend all barriers, except that of the "pick-up barrier". There was however a guy who helped us out pick our stuff. Basic handmade patties; a huge variety of sauces, many yogurt-based - remember this was Turkic territory; and toppings.
We sat there watching them literally make our burgers, cringing slightly at seeing the involvement of bare hands in the process. Eventually I got my "gourmanski pljeskavica" and, frankly, it was pretty fucking good. My friends too thoroughly enjoyed their Ćevapčići etc.
As they say where I come from (wtf?), sometimes when life throws you meatballs, just eat them.
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