Restaurant: Vardar
Location: Acton
By Boeing: 893 miles
By Boris Bike: 12 miles
There are few countries in the world whose name is as evocative and historically resonant as Macedonia. Every schoolboy knows its connection with Alexander the Great, the classical embodiment of the Emperor-Adventurer who conquered the known world by the age of 30. But while its place in antiquity is unquestioned and revered its role and profile in the modern world is much less assured. For as a Balkan state in the Greek sphere of influence it has struggled to assert its own nationhood and sense of identity.
This was shown on its independence from Yugoslavia in 1991 when Greece strongly objected to the fledgling republic claiming the name Macedonia. For this is both the name for a wider Greek region and one of its administrative provinces. The diplomatic row continues though many countries have, largely through default and growing impatient with a conclusion, dropped its prefix of ‘The Federal republic ..’, much to the ire of Greece.
I pondered this as I arrived at Vardar, an annexe of a cavernous pub in Action, at 5.19 PM on a Monday afternoon. I didn’t quite know what to expect as I approached the small porch, outside which were a group, including the chef on a cigarette break. As the heavy door creaked open I cast my eye over the small, dimly lit space. I was surprised, nicely surprised. It was charming in the way that the cafe in Allo Allo was charming. An inter-war bistro feel was given a certain grandness by heavy scarlet curtains and a wooden beamed ceiling.
The rustic ambience was not unlike my Lithuanian experience, both being a pleasant escape from the tattiness of some of London’s thoroughfares. I ordered a small beer, Bulgarian in origin, and perused the shiny plastic menu.
Its cuisine is in many ways provides a flavour of its complex, divergent history, with influences from the Ottoman Empire, Slavic traditions, Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. Being a hot day the thick, cream-laden soups, didn’t appeal so to start I ordered that Balkan baked delight, a Borek. This heavy, layered bread is a popular street snack and is generally filled with meat or cheese. I had last eaten one mid way through an ascent of a one in four hill in Dubrovnik and struggled to reach the top. They cannot claim, as a Milkyway does, that it won’t spoil the appetite for dinner.
For a main I ordered the national dish, Tavce-Gravce, braised beans in an earthenware pot, in this instance served with a sausage. More eastern European than Greek or Mediterranean! Although oddly the most similar dish on the Fork and Flag journey had been in Brazil, where the humble bean is venerated. As I waited my eye scanned the room for the paraphernalia hanging from the walls. It was similar to Armenia, with traditional clothes and toys hung from small hooks. These were complimented by embroidered flags and shields that I suspected were an accompaniment to the patriotic fervour of a national football match or other sporting occasions where the local community sought the company of their countrymen.
When the meal arrived I felt like I’d ordered from the kids menu at a Little Chef. Beans n Sausages, it may as well have been Dinosaur Shaped chicken nuggets and Alphabet spaghetti. But on closer inspection it was infinitely richer than that and with infinitely less e-numbers. The sausage was broad and seared, the edges of the diagonal incisions crispy with heat. It made for a hearty and very filling sausage casserole. I felt like I should have been eating this leant on the back of a haywain, in a mid afternoon pause while reaping the harvest. It had that earthy goodness that is an agricultural labourer’s due.
I tore pieces of the Borek, its warm, crumbly cheese spilling out with the light pressure of finger and thumb, and scooped up the remaining beans. There was only one other table occupied, it was afterall still within the working day on a Monday, so I had no opportunity for food envy. I would have been interested to see, for instance, what the Pleskavica, a local pork burger, was like. Though casting my mind back to one I sampled for Albania perhaps I wasn’t missing out.
Had I not arrived by car, a first for Fork and Flag, I would have perhaps tarried with a local spirit or farmers wine. But instead I drove home. Whether it was a meal fit for the greatest King of antiquity I’m not sure, but it provided far more than it promised. It is a sleepy corner of Europe these days, not on many people’s ‘wish list’ of places to visit. But I have an inkling Macedonia could offer a few surprises.
