I’m sitting in an old-fashioned pub, drinking beer at wooden tables and enjoying a hearty meal. Except that the wooden table tops are covered with red checked cloths, the decor is Balkan folk.
Instead of a roast, I dive into a pile of ground beef sausages called ćevapi and take in recordings of it rakija, the local plum brandy. An accordionist takes a musical breath in a corner, his companion plays gypsy melodies from a violin, people dance on tables. Welcome at the kafana.
Kafanas are the tavernas of Serbia: a restaurant, pub and music venue open from morning until late at night. Regulars come here for a lively breakfast before going to work, families organize weddings and celebrations here, business deals are concluded and sorrows are drowned in dark corners. They were so central to people’s daily lives that friends and the postman would come to see you in your local kafana, and not at your home.
Kafanas were home to poets, artists and singers, who traded their talents for a livelihood
Unfortunately, many traditional kafanas closed in the 2000s, partly due to their unwillingness to prioritize making a profit rather than having the patrons sit at one table all day. But just as Britain’s struggling pubs are turning to gastronomy, kafanas have adapted their offerings to survive, heralding a culinary comeback. I am taking a renewed kafana tour through the heart of Belgrade with seasoned bekrija – kafana regular – Goran Magdić from local tour operator Taste Serbia.
We start the day with breakfast at the city’s oldest kafana, Znak Pitanja, which means ‘the question mark’, and which started as an Ottoman coffeehouse in the 16th century. A cozy wood-paneled restaurant in a low building with overhanging lintels, opposite one of Belgrade’s oldest churches. The customers got in trouble for calling it “the bar at the church,” so they put out a “?” on. and never bothered to change the name. Sitting at low sofra tables, we are served Turkish coffee, roasted on a brazier, followed by a fiery shot of rakia – believed to be the key to longevity in the Balkans. Next come omelettes and pies loaded with cheese, soft bread folds, fried dough uštipci and smoked meat.
The Ottoman style of this kafana is just one of the many influences that can be found in the varied streetscape of Belgrade, where east and west meet. Ornate Art Nouveau and Neoclassical facades are offset by communist-era megalith blocks. The kafanas have also evolved into three distinctive styles.
Some are oriental, with hearty Balkan cuisine and raucous gypsy trumpet bands. Others are in Austro-Hungarian style and serve dishes such as goulash, with string instruments and accordions setting the mood. More recently, nightclub-style kafanas have emerged, amplifying traditional music into turbo-folk and attracting a younger crowd looking for revelry.
Turbofolk later: For now I’m exploring Skadarlija, a cobblestone street that was once the city’s bohemian quarter. Here, kafanas were home to poets, artists and singers, who drew inspiration from the vibrant cast of characters they encountered and traded their talents for sustenance. One of the more legendary was Toma Zdravković, the singer of Dva Jelena restaurant. Grainy videos from the 1980s show him wandering from table to table, wreathed in smoke and chattering to adoring customers. Now he is cast as a statue in bronze on Skadarlija, and people lay flowers and cigarettes at his feet.
For a hearty lunch we go to nearby Srpska Kafana, a watering hole for the actors of the adjacent Atelje 212 theater. Goran tells me that in the Yugoslav era, Srpska was so busy that a famous actor Zoran Radmilović, a kind of Serbian Terry Jones, would sit near the toilet room when he found the hall full – and entertain everyone present with his impressions of the ‘Toilet Mafia’ – the money-grubbing toilet goers in the Balkans.
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Grateful that we have a table and not Radmilović’s toilet, we enjoy juiciness ćevapi and grilled meat coated with melt kajmak (a sour cream-like spread) served by older waiters in timeless white shirts and black vests. Serbian cuisine is meat-based, but vegetarian options are also available, such as fried sauerkraut, grilled peppers and delicious soups. The dessert is a mix of Bosnian, Turkish and Central European: pies filled with walnuts and dripping with syrup, baked apples.
After this I need a postprandial walk through the Tašmajdan Park with fountains. On the way there, I pause at the red-and-white checkered telephone exchange building and realize that it looks exactly like a kafana tablecloth.
As night falls, the kafana transforms again. Lights shine from the windows and the music starts in earnest. At SFRJ, a restaurant full of Yugoslav paraphernalia overlooking the Danube River, we grab a beer and gaze out over the twinkling lights of the city.
The music evokes enormous emotions in elderly residents: hands wave in the air and eyes start to sparkle
It is disturbing to be surrounded by the Tito bric-a-brac, given the violent end of Yugoslavia and the brutal role played by Slobodan Milošević’s Serbian paramilitaries. Serbia has never fully reckoned with this dark past, and the same sentiment that celebrates war criminals is today converted into pro-Russian leanings among more than half of the population. But here a bandstand wobbles in the corner, where the musicians play Bosnian, Croatian and Serbian folk songs on request, as well as Yugoslavian hits from the ’70s. The music evokes enormous emotions in elderly residents: hands wave in the air and eyes start to sparkle after a few strong drinks.
The band ends around midnight, but I’d like to keep the party going, so head to one of the BAM club’s newer kafana-inspired ‘turbofolk taverns’. Traditionalists are snobbish about these places, but for me they show how the kafana continues to evolve and capture the essence of Belgrade nightlife, where hedonism and nostalgia merge. I descend into a packed basement where local legend Paganini plays: a Roma musician with an electric violin. People shower the band with cash, an act of showing off, but done in the spirit of fun. I dance to the energetic turbo folk beats until the small hours. The only possible remedy the next day is breakfast rakia.
Taste Serbia is offering a new kafana tour from €60