My ancestors were Czech, but until recently my only experience of the homeland’s cuisine was a trip to the Czech and Slovak House in Hampstead where, on my pal’s recommendation, I ate my first-ever svickova: a sort of roasted beef escalope covered in creamy vegetable sauce that tasted like sweet, milky turnips, served with light bread dumplings. She’d warned me it was an acquired taste, but everyone else at the table had ordered the same dish, and seemed to be loving it. What was wrong with me? Was I missing the Czech food gene?
When we embarked on what would prove to be an epic trip to the Czech Republic this summer, I have to admit that sampling the local food was, for once, not something I was looking forward to. I decided I’d probably be on a goulash-only diet for the whole trip, but as it turned out, I was wrong.
Our first meal in Prague was an opulent breakfast at the Café Imperial. The Café is one of those old-fashioned high-ceilinged, classic European dining rooms, with walls and ceilings covered in mosaics. (A tip: if you ever visit this place, make sure you go to the loo. The gold swan taps truly are something to behold.)
Prague was hot. It must have been about 30 degrees outside and we all felt hungover with fatigue from the 5am flight from London. Our long-overdue big breakfast started with a basket of bread, which contained half a dozen miniature rolls of all shapes and covered in seeds or grain. I couldn’t resist a fry-up, Czech-style: ham with eggs arrived as a huge, conjoined, plate-shaped omelette, with three sunny-side-up eggs and thick, salty, lean bacon. Obviously, I professed shock at such an enormous portion (I couldn’t possibly eat three eggs, etc etc) before polishing it all off.
That evening, we headed to the local pub for dinner. Beer arrived in hefty glass tankards and as soon as one was finished, the waitress would bring another over and add it to the tally on a scrap of paper.
My friend said she’d been looking forward to having svickova for months; the rest of us went for variations on roasted meat. I asked for roast pork with sauerkraut and potato pancakes, and the portion that arrived was enough to feed about four people. The meat was tender; the sauerkraut mild and spiced (not like the pickled vinegary stuff out of jars) and served with a whole green chilli on top. I couldn’t get enough of the fried crisp potato pancakes, spiced with caraway seeds (another crucial Czech ingredient). Czech cooking may well be the ultimate comfort food. It’s heavy, hearty, and it takes you right back to wood fires, cold winters and foraging. Or so I imagine.
On our second day in the city we went to watch a football match at the new Prague stadium, which was a very civilised, easy going affair. At half time, I made a beeline for the snack counter, and bought myself a sausage.
I’d heard a lot about how good these sausages (called klobasa) were. They turned out to be seriously large and bright red, like saveloys but with the spicy warmth of paprika, and fattily satisfying when munched with a cold beer. They were served on a little cardboard tray with a dollop of mild yellow mustard and a piece of sourdough bread. There may be better sausages to be had elsewhere in Prague, but frankly, for football food, this was definitely a step up from some nasty hot dog van.
The final food highlight of the trip was the only meal that could really be described as fancy. We ate it in the distinctly retro surroundings of the Jested Hotel restaurant, and to be honest, it wasn’t so much the food but the experience that made it an amazing meal. Planted on top of a mountain, the Jested’s space-age spire is a radio communications tower and the lower levels house a hotel and restaurant. Jested’s decor is like being in a Sixties sci-fi movie – sort of futuristic and retro at the same time, from the original egg chairs to the beige light fittings. Inside it, as the mists swirled around us and the countryside landscape gradually faded into darkness, we ate something European but I was so distracted by the surroundings, I can't really remember what it was – I think I had chicken. Afterwards we retired to the incredible-looking bar, which we had all to ourselves, and drank mojitos adorned with tinsel straws. Next morning at breakfast, the buffet table included all the usual stuff: eggs, ham, salad, plum vodka.
On our last night, back in Prague, I hobbled out for a late dinner and, attracted by the synthing sounds of a Casio keyboard, settled into a beer hall in a quiet back street. The waiter informed me grumpily that there was nothing but goulash left.
