A little while later, the wind has eased up, and I walk along the seafront, looking across the sea towards the rest of Italy. The Dolomites cut through the horizon, and the peninsula disappears into the South. The sea has always provided for Trieste, and it is perhaps here that the Italian influence is most prominent. Sardoni in savor (fresh anchovies, fried then marinated) is one of the more celebrated seafood dishes, and can be traced to medieval Venice. As I sit down at SaluMare, a self-proclaimed ‘fish laboratory’ (it sounds more appetising in Italian), the young man behind the counter is keen to talk about the cuttlefish on offer. This is another traditional dish, stewed in a broth and served on top of polenta, and it is, indeed, a delight. There’s a hint of bitterness to the broth that underlines the complex marine element of the fish, and all of this anchored by a soothing, slightly coarse polenta. A glass of Istrian malvasia rounds out the meal nicely.
That afternoon I end up in the Caffè San Marco, an institution in the city. It was here that much of the literary heritage developed. Famous native sons include the poet Umberto Saba and the great modernist, Italo Svevo. James Joyce also lived in the city in the early 20th century, only leaving at the outbreak of the First World War. But I am not here to write. I am here to eat. Specifically, I indulge in presniz and strucolo de pomi. The former is a pastry stuffed with nuts and dried fruit, the latter is the local name for apple strudel. Nestled into a corner of the grand interior, I imagine myself in deep conversation with Gustav Klimt, Schiele, any number of Viennese artists or writers. I am quickly brought back by a sip of my capo in B, found nowhere but in this little strip of the Alto Adriatico.
Photos: wp.com; lacuccinaitaliana.it