0

It was first thing in the afternoon when my editor summoned me. "Listen Ryan," he slurred, "I've had enough of you sniffing out the lesser-known nuggets of the restaurant world for our readers. Go and do somewhere famous. Somewhere popular, somewhere enduring. An institution." "Like Cad," I said. He paused for a moment or two, smiling, while memories of meals past made their way up through his bowels via the stomach, the mouth and the nose, then into the brain. "Cad," he eventually managed to splutter, "Yes, Cad. You may go." So go I did. For those who don't know, Cad is the familiar name given to Gostisce Pod Roznikom, an institution among Ljubljana restaurants and a fixture up on the hill behind Tivoli, although the popular name predates even this incarnation, and probably the Romans too. It does Balkan cuisine (grilled meats and other bits and pieces) in the Serbian style (pork included), and has been doing it for many a year, come wind, rain, hail or storm, socialist federative republic or European super-state. In the winter hail you eat inside the sizeable white building, the d'cor distinctly socialist federative, though welcoming nevertheless, but it's in the summer that it comes into its own, with the opening of the enormous garden, mostly covered, complete with grill and outside kitchen. It was to the garden that we headed, with me first to arrive as usual. A bottle of Mr Erzetic's marvellous pink wine was called for, and the menu was browsed: you're never alone with a Damski Ros', even if you have to give it a bit of ice bucket. But the joy of Cad is in the collective experience, the pondering, the negotiations, the ordering of slightly too much food. Though when the throng in the busy garden was finally joined by Katja and her Jasen, we decided that negotiations could proceed smoothly enough in the absence of the rest of our party. You see, there are some things on the menu that are virtually compulsory: sobska solata (the classic Bulgarian salad of sheep's cheese, peppers, cucumber, tomato and onion), urnebes (a spicy paste of roasted vegetables and sheep's cheese), char-grilled chillies that pack a real wallop, roast peppers, a portion of grilled mushrooms as a nod to life beyond flesh, and of course prebranec (baked beans), gloriously crusted but velvety underneath, where the trick is to order one between two with always the possibility of getting more. Then the meat had to be dealt with; men's work. Particularly when we insisted on ordering the foal steak, to the groans of Katja, who's a bit of an equestrian. But order it you must, and bloody too: what arrives is a lightly charred piece of pink flesh, as tender as a young girl's caress for her first pony, but with the thrilling punch of a Derby winner. Unmissable. We also took a couple of mixed grills, with the Roznik platter being the better option. The aim is to get as many sausages as you can - long, thin, tangy and juicy - and then load up with pleskavica (kajmak, of course) and cevapcici, the classic Serbian versions of burger and kebabs, only they're made with real meat. Raznjici, pork kebabs, also feature here, the smoke of the grill taking the pig to a new level. Of less interest are the chicken and pork cutlets, sometimes a little dry, and the liver, which would be better in thicker slices. There are also a few soups and pastries tucked away on the menu, but I see these more as winter fare, the delight of garden dining being the barbecue-and-salads approach. Although the ros' is unsurpassable in the summer, the wine list has a range of decent reds and the odd palatable white, a good effort for this type of restaurant. More effort is needed with the spirits, an industrial slivovka being the main digestif offered. Surely they can get someone's Uncle Slobo to procure some decent homemade travarica or quince schnapps? Still, the wine gets a thumbs-up. A word, then, about the service: erratic. The waiters are usually full of Balkan hospitality, if a little rushed sometimes, but on occasions they descend into the blood-feud, curse-of-generations level of hostility and slovenliness that has fuelled many a Montenegrin punchline. One infuriating but recurring piece of drama is the "would monsieur care to taste..." solemnity granted to the opening of the first bottle of wine, while the contents of subsequent bottles, equally as likely to be corked, get dumped unannounced in the glass with all the decorum of a Ryanair turnaround in a warzone. In fairness, the service has got more consistent recently, and now matches the reliability of the food and the outstanding value for money. And it's these qualities, reliable eating at good prices, that make you love Cad, warts and all. Yes, their summer garden is an institution: crowded, vibrant and welcoming. Long may it continue. Food: 6/7 Booze: 5/7 Service: 4/7