Weekend at Gorans: Europe Grill Newtown and the echoes of Yugoslavia
I never lived to see Yugoslavia. That great powerhouse of the Balkans, the nation that unified the southern Slavs, that stood up to Stalin, and installed its own decentralised mode of communism. The country that was meant to be a multicultural haven, home to Muslims, Catholics, and Orthodox Christians is dead. Murdered by American imperialists who destroyed its economy, lighting the match that resulted in the resurgence of the region’s racism and nationalism, sparking a decade of disintegration that looms over the Balkans to this very day.
I never lived to see Yugoslavia. But I have experienced echoes of it — through stories told by my family, the books in my father’s library, and most viscerally, through food. Through the dishes made by my Baba, through all the pork and cabbage and cabbage and pork, I could taste the land that I never lived to see, that the Yankee bastards said we didn’t deserve. So I am consigned to a life of scouring Sydney, searching for the remnants of the country my grandparents once called home.
Not far from campus, there rings an echo of Yugoslavia. If you wander down King Street, past the station and the Greek Orthodox Church, but before Gould’s books and the Union Hotel, you can hear it. What is it? The ultimate fine dining experience. Its name? Europe Grill.
Everyone I have spoken to has seen Europe Grill. Who could forget that great gallery of photographs that lines its exterior? Almost every dish on the menu is pictured, with the camera held an average of 4 centimetres away from the plate and the flash left on. In a suburb that becomes more modern and gentrified by the day, the kitschy, homely aesthetic of Europe Grill stands against the current like an island in the river Drina: tall, proud, and facing competing claims by various Balkan ethnic groups.
There’s an old rule of thumb that the more simple an ethnic restaurant's name is, the more authentic it is. If that’s the case, Europe Grill, whose full name appears to be “Europe Grill Restaurant: Balkan Grill: The Original European BBQ: Macedonian Cuisine,” is as authentic as they come (even if they accept payment by card). With its red-chequered tablecloths, shoulder-to-shoulder seating, and beautiful murals depicting the beautiful countryside of the Republic of North Macedonia, eating there feels like you’re eating in Skopje in 1976, where the streets are still named after Tito and your country isn’t at the centre of a naming dispute. Simpler times.
Europe Grill is run almost entirely by two people — Chef Goran, described on their website as the “craftsman: butcher, chef and sausage maker,” and Elena, “the laughter of the restaurant” — both of whom exude the best of Balkan hospitality. Chef Goran has never spoken in all my time at Europe Grill. Does he choose not to speak? Or can he not speak at all? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to. He speaks to us through his sausages, the best damn ćevapi you can find in the Inner West. Beautiful salted pork, mixed in with finely grated onion and minced garlic, grilled to perfection, one bite and you feel like you’re back in the old country. What’s more, every single dish is served with complementary cabbage. As for Elena, when a friend of mine spilled his beer, she went up to him and said “beer meant for mouth, not for table,” and kindly offered us some extra rakija (the highly alcoholic fruit brandy that holds up the Balkans) on the house. In that moment I realised why Elena was known as the laughter of the restaurant, and knew that Europe Grill was a place I could call home.
As delicious as Chef Goran’s sausages are, the rest of the food at Europe Grill is to die for. Whether it’s podvarak (pork with shredded cabbage), sarma (pork wrapped in cabbage) or uvijâce (pork, wrapped in prosciutto, stuffed with bacon and cheese (and served with cabbage)), every dish is made with a love that burns with the fire of the Balkans. I am of the sincere belief that if you got the presidents of all the former republics in Europe Grill, they could commit to reunifying Yugoslavia. Aleksandar Vučić might be a fascist strongman, but what’s he going to do when Chef Goran stares into his soul from behind the grill? I rest my case.
All of this — the aesthetic, the people, the food — converge to create an experience so visceral, so unique, that is second only to time travelling back to the glory days of Yugoslavia. Europe Grill is like Yugoslavia in a way, a place on the periphery, known by many, yet understood by few. A time capsule of a world that was, and in my heart, still can be.
I like to frequent Europe Grill with a dear Croatian friend of mine. As a Serb, I view our friendship as a testament to the fact that the Yugoslav project was not in vain. We sit together and drink rakija, watching on as burly Balkan men with names like Bogdan, Branko, and Borislav waddle in and share the space with us. Of course, I don’t ask them for their thoughts on Yugoslavia — I’m too brittle to survive a king hit — but I like to imagine that they would agree with me.
I never lived to see Yugoslavia. It's unlikely that I ever will. As it stands, the structural hurdles to reunification are too high. But my nights at Europe Grill give me hope that the dream of Yugoslavia will never die. Go to Europe Grill. Support them. Let’s let Yugoslavia live on, if not in the Balkans, at least in our bellies.
Beef Ćevapi
One of the most popular dishes in the countries of the former Yugoslavia is ćevapi, or ćevapčići - small sausages that arose as a variant of the Turkish kebab in the 1500s. Despite their small size, they pack a big punch of flavour, and a love of ćevapi is one of the few things that unites the ever-divided Balkans.
Ingredients
1kg beef mince
Thyme to taste
3 cloves of garlic, finely diced
50g of diced onion
Salt to taste
Olive Oil
Spring Onions
Method
Add beef mince, salt, garlic cloves, and onion into a large bowl. Mix well, until everything is combined into a malleable, smooth mixture, and leave to stand in the fridge for one to two hours.
Then, shape into small sausages and in a skillet grill on high heat, brown on each side. As you flip the sausages, brush each side with oil using a basting brush or a sprig of rosemary.
Once all sides of the ćevapi are browned turn the heat down to medium low until they are cooked through. When cooked, garnish with spring onions and serve with ajvar (a roast pepper sauce).