Heart Burek-en
Tržnica Dolac, Zagreb’s central marketplace, sits only a few steps away from the city’s bustling main square. The market has everything you’d need. The south-western entrance, approached from the main square, passes through the flower section, with bouquets wrapped around painted eggshells for Easter. There’s a full and crowded fruit and vegetable section on the roof, with bundles of spring produce. There are fishmongers in the seafood section gutting the catch that was brought in from the coast early in the morning. Downstairs there is a subterranean meat section where the smell of drying hunks of meat wafts into the bakeries nearby. And perched on the half floor between the open-air fruit and veg section and the underground meat section there is a small shop selling burek with a simple sign out the front that just says “Burek.” I came here three, almost four, times in my two nights in Zagreb.
The First Time
I arrived in Zagreb around lunchtime. After squeezing on to the local tram I arrived at my accommodation, dropped off my bag and began one of my dangerously tiring walking-around-without-any-real-idea-where-I-am-going walks. Soon I stumbled on to the markets. I saw the burek place for the first time. It had all the telltale signs of a good place to eat. There were only four things on the menu, despite it being well after lunchtime it still had plenty of people in it, none of them seemed to speak English, it was very hard to find an English translation of the menu and everything was cheap. The prices also weren’t round numbers. A burek with cheese, for instance, was €2.26. With the move from Kunas to the Euro only a few months ago, and with a transition period of practically two weeks, it seemed some businesses were still thinking of things in Kunas. The Euro was merely an imposed system that they were using in practice but would get around to thinking about later. And so this inexactness in pricing became a great indicator of how traditional a restaurant was in Croatia. Restaurants aimed at tourists would change the prices to rounder numbers. Places that were more concerned about the food and not disrupting locals' spending habits would be the ones filling my wallet with bronzed one and two euro cent coins.
I scanned the menu. There was burek with cheese, burek with meat, burek with apple and there was yogurt. Cheese seemed to be what everyone was having. The girl behind the counter, calling on her English-speaking brother to translate, explained that they had run out of everything. A sellout - another good sign. They were making another batch of cheese burek and it'd take twenty minutes. So I went downstairs, explored the market and came back after twenty minutes. When I returned I got a plate of cheese burek and settled in.
The Second Time
Zagreb's Museum of Broken Relationships features objects donated by people who've been in relationship with another person but, as the name suggests, are no longer. There's a mirror that a man used to watch his wife getting dressed in front of to meet, who she said were colleagues, but was really the man she was having an affair with. There's a half-written note from a man who disappeared one morning and never came back. There's a book titled "How to Lose 10 Kilos in 10 Days!" which a woman was given by her boyfriend before she called things off. Why this existed as a museum, why in Zagreb and why was I here? In order: I don't know, I don't know and it was overcast and cold so I needed to go somewhere warm for an hour.
I attended the museum on the afternoon of my first full day in Zagreb. The irony of going alone to the Museum of Broken Relationships only dawned on me after I left. Earlier, in the morning, I went along to the free walking tour of the city. I learned of the two mediaeval cities that make up modern-day Zagreb. I listened through finger-blocked ears as a very loud cannon shot off at midday on top of the main hill to signify to citizens that it was lunchtime. I passed cathedrals and public buildings covered in scaffolding, a result of damage sustained from two earthquakes in 2020. I was told that we should be able to get into the main cathedral safely by, all going well, 2050.
But before all of that, I started my day with burek. Having enjoyed it on the afternoon I arrived, I decided before going to bed to head back to the same shop the next morning for a second helping. So, awoken by the symphony of snores that seem to pervade all the dormitories I frequent, I headed straight for the market and got myself a burek.
I'd had burek before getting to Zagreb but what made this one different was the way they cut it. Burek, a thin, filo-like pastry filled with, in this case, cheese is often served as a triangular slice from a large pie or as a long, cylindrical pastry baked individually. But in the shop in Zagreb it was different. When you ordered-in you were given a plate that had a piece of burek which had been seriously mangled. It had been messed up. It's as if the person serving it had taken the delicate slice with her bare hands, crushed it as hard as she could, thrown it against a wall, stomped her feet on it and slammed it down on your plate. But all that degradation and pastry-torture made the eating so much better. In one bite I'd get clumps of smooth, salty cottage cheese, shards of crisp outer-pastry and chunks of chewy, buttery inner pastry. I got through the plate faster than I could imagine, disappointed that the rest of my day would not live up to such a breakfast.
The Almost-Third Time
My second and last morning in Zagreb had been planned meticulously. I'd wake up at eight, walk straight to the market, have a plate of burek (they opened at eight so I'd get it fresh out of the oven), walk back to the hostel, check out, catch the tram to the bus station and get on my bus to Zadar. It was the perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong.
When I reached the burek shop it was closed. Closed. I had not planned for this. As if I was auditioning for the pivotal scene in a Hollywood blockbuster, I fell to my knees and cried "nooooooo!" Forlorn and emotionally frustrated, I dusted myself off and went about swiftly finding an alternate location to fulfil my cheese pastry fantasies. While walking frantically, I thought I'd check my bus ticket. But I'd checked it five times already. The ticket was not changing. There was no need to be anxious. The bus was leaving at 10:30. I was certain of it. One thing I learned that day was that it doesn't matter how many times you check the time the bus is leaving because if you don't check the day the bus is leaving then your preparation is for nought.
I had booked the bus for the day before. I thought the bus was leaving in an hour and a half but really it had left twenty-two and a half hours ago. I was struck by the bittersweet feeling that I could be stuck in Zagreb a while longer but that could mean I'd have an opportunity for more burek. But I didn't have time to think about that. I ran back to the hostel, hoping to get in Wifi range and book a ticket out of Zagreb.
The Third Time
I managed to book a last minute ticket on the bus I thought I had booked the day before. I checked out of the hostel. All the admin had been worked out. I didn't have much time. But I thought I should give the burek shop one more chance.
With my travel pack on my back and backpack on my front, I raced for the third time in an hour down the main street of Zagreb towards the market. I went past the main square. Through the flower section. Up the stairs. Past the busker playing guitar who seemed to always be there but wasn't very good. And then I saw the ethereal lights of the burek shop. They were open.
I walked in and plonked my bags on the ground. The man who spoke very good English stood behind the counter with a slight smile. "Oh, you're back." I felt like saying "Joey, get me my regular." But we were probably still a few days from that kind of repartee. I got a plate of burek and took it to the standing bar against the wall. Still catching my breath, I had my last plate of burek at Burek.
