| Abstrakt: |
It's eight o'clock on a sultry June evening and the only waiter in the restaurant - not a man in the first flush of youth - is run ragged. From kitchen to interior tables, to covered exterior section, to open-to-the-elements outdoor terrace, he rushes hither and thither, arms laden with fresh fish dishes, risottos, salads, and pizzas the size of piazzas. We're in Sveti Lovrec in Istria, the son and myself, sitting outside on the terrace of Lorenzo's, the only restaurant to be had in this small, walled, medieval town. We've arrived the night before, flying into Pula, picking up a car, and then setting off for the hour's drive north, away from the coast and into the interior of this unspoiled part of Croatia. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER] |
