Istria, to whet your appetite

That's where I was for most of September last year. It's the northernmost part of the Croatian coast, and it looks like this:

So. Yeah. That? Oh, that's Draguch, some dinky little hilltown. There's a small chapel with a fresco in there. Not really worth it (Worth it. The road past Draguch makes the Sierras look like a toxic waste dump).

The streets of such towns look like this:

Motovun, Istria, Croatia.

And everything is really pleasant. For the most part. When the curator of a local museum hisses at you, hoping you don't "learn too much" about Istria, then maybe that suspicious Slavic character rears its ugly head, the mark of a people under someone else's thumb(s) for too long. But let's not wash history in brushstrokes too broad. This is a lovely region, known for truffles and mushrooms that look like this:

Chantrelles foraged in the forests surround Tinjan, Istria, Croatia.

But yes, Istrians have been under everyone's thumbs. And by "everyone" I mean the Venetians, the French, the Italians, the Austro-Hungarians... So mushrooms like this might make an amazing sauce for your gnocchi, which you will follow up with strudel and Turkish coffee.

It's a cook's dream. A place where many people have their own gardens and produce the best that nature has to offer; where you'll trip over foragers combing the woods around small towns; where you'll trip over truffles; where you'll find some of the best seafood in the Adriatic, because, apparently, the currents wash all of Croatia's garbage to Italy.

I'll get to all of these nuances in separate entries. I just wanted to show my audience what's it's like, generally. And only generally.