Ročka Konoba

“Morning brings back the heroic ages. There was something cosmical about it; a standing advertisement, till forbidden, of the everlasting vigor and fertility of the world. The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.”

Henry David Thoreau

The sunrise is early, but there is a natural calmness in waking up with daylight and having nothing to do. Lying in, dozing, getting up and dressed, all have a timeless meditative quality. You get lost in the enjoyment of the mundane.

At work, everything moves so fast, and there seems to be no time. Here, when I don’t need time, I have all the time in the world – and these mornings are stunning.

This morning, I might be showing signs of a hangover. I consider moderation and dismiss it immediately.

We head off for a run. My legs are tight, not used to running, but you cannot beat the feeling of cool summer air and a trail in the forest. Even with a hangover, it is a wonderful feeling.

“The thoughts that occur to me while I’m running are like clouds in the sky. Clouds of all different sizes. They come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky always. The clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.”

Haruki Murakami

Home for breakfast, pilfering some of the tiny, delicious plums from the tree as we stroll through the streets.

Grožnjan is still asleep. It’s a teenager, rolling out of bed late, doing little all day, before going to bed in the early hours of the morning.

I used the last of the truffles in the previous night’s pasta. I add some ricotta and it does the job.

Nothing to do but read and wait for Ročka Konoba to open.

We visit Ročka Konoba whenever we’re in Grožnjan. The difficulty is knowing when it will be open. It closes for periods in winter. It closes for a few weeks in summer. Today it is open for the first time in a week.

A table for two outside.

A carafe of house white to start, and we order some food.

One of the best salads I have ever eaten. I meagerie of ingredients that makes no sense yet is delicious. Prunes, raisins, balsamic, peanuts, ricotta, apple, shredded cabbage, lettuce, and tomato. I am probably missing a few.

Shell orders the fettuccine with a mountain of truffles. I order the fuži with pulled pork and truffles.

We have run out of wine, and I am mindful that I am driving and recall brief thoughts of moderation early this morning. We switch to beers.

Shell goes with the Bruman Red Ho Red IPA. I lean towards the tastefully named Brain Fucker American IPA, also by Bruman. Neither is a lightweight, both clocking in at 7.0%.

Lunch is done, it is time for dessert. You cannot go past the only staple on the menu, ricotta with coffee caramel, walnuts, and honey.

It is 2.30 pm when we are ready to leave. An afternoon of great food, well named beers, and excellent food.

We drive home and lie about reading and chatting in the afternoon sun.

A tough gig.

“There is, following an ample meal, a sort of pause in time, filled with a gentle slackening of thought and energy, when to sit doing nothing gives us a sense of life’s richness and a feeling that the least effort would be intolerable. The melancholy we took with us to table has disappeared and, if we think of it at all it is only to smile, as at some black mood now past, its cause having gone. And with the melancholy, all scruple, all remorse departs from us.”

Marcel Proust