Crazy for Konobas

What it's like to eat at a typical Istrian restaurant

At first, I thought the word konoba meant restaurant.

But the word for restaurant in Croatian is restoran. While konobas are technically restaurants, they’re usually smaller family-run establishments serving the traditional dishes of the region. More like taverns, Konobas are rustic with vintage decor from the family’s own collection. There’s almost always an outdoor terrace, often with traditional trestle table-and-bench seating.

Konoba comes from the word for cellar. The cellar in an Istrian house—typically located on the first floor, not dug into the earth like an American basement—was where families made and stored their food and drink. Along the sturdy stone walls, you might have found a barrel or amfora of wine, a rake for harvesting olives, or a slowly aging prosciutto. It is here they would relax with family and friends, often over some homemade rakija.

Once when we spotted a konoba for lunch, my husband said he hoped they had a certain dish on the menu. I laughed. Aren’t they all the same, I wondered.

I’d only been to a few at that point but I noticed the menus were always remarkably similar. Years later, I would read an expat joke saying they all order their menus from one place, changing only the cover to reflect the konoba’s name. 

This, of course, is an exaggeration. It’s just that konobas only serve Croatian food, not a mish-mash of cuisines. And even in the touristy areas, there are few non-Croatian food options. It’s quite a change from America, where you can get Thai, Indian, Nepalese, Chinese, Vietnamese, Italian, Mexican, or Japanese food almost any time you feel like it. 

Croatian food is GOOD

Konobas are the definition of local—there are no chains. The food is always made fresh, not squeezed out of a bag and cooked under a heat lamp. The home-cooked meals also reflect the region’s heritage. Half of Istria used to belong to Austria-Hungary; the other half, to Italy. 

So you’ll find schnitzel, sauerkraut, and potatoes, plus pasta and pizza on the menu. Truffles—the black or white mushrooms, not the chocolates—and wild asparagus are offered when in season. You can usually choose what you want on your pasta, polenta, or omelet: truffles, asparagus, or goulash made with beef or venison.

When not tending their olive groves or vineyards, many of our neighbors hunt for truffles, selling what their dogs sniff out from the local forests. The white truffles have a much briefer season and stronger flavor, making them the more prized—and expensive—option. I love it when the server dons a pair of white gloves to shave the truffles right at the table. Sometimes they will offer to let you smell the truffle first, like with wine.

Another cherished local delicacy is Boškarin—the Istrian ox with enormous horns. You’ll find various cuts of beef on its own or served with hand-rolled fuže pasta, which is made with eggs and has a hefty bite. Boškarin is pricier and usually found at higher-end konobas or agroturizmis, which are farm-to-table restaurants.

If you’re by the sea, you’ll find octopus salad, grilled or fried squid, and fish, which usually comes with a boiled potato and Swiss chard mixture I could eat every day. Fair warning, the fish is typically served whole, though a more upscale establishment may debone it for you.

And for dessert? Tiramisu or palačinke (pancakes) are typical offerings. Your server will also offer you complimentary schnapps. Yes, you get rakija to sip on for dessert—it’s not the kind of shot you chug. The regional favorites are biska (mistletoe), terranino (teran grapes), and travarica (aromatic herb).

What to expect at a konoba

Menu jokes aside, there are two key differences among konobas. First, inland konobas—those not along the seaside—hardly ever serve seafood. The server will look at you as if you have a second head if you ask for fish. Second, smaller konobas usually don’t have a pizza oven. 

Soup and salad are always on offer. Many items listed as cold or hot appetizers can work as your main meal. I find the portions generous and recommend only ordering a starter if you’re famished or with a large group. Oh, and the omelets are more like scrambled eggs.

Bread is usually complimentary, as is the olive oil for dipping. I’m guessing most places either bake their bread or get it from the local bakery because, to an American, it’s always good.

If you want voda (water), you’ll be asked if you prefer sparkling or still—and you will pay for the bottle. They don’t automatically bring tap water unless you ask—and you might be charged for that, too. If you hate mineral water, know that most of the sparkling water is also of the mineral variety. 

Things to keep in mind

• Always ask if the konoba accepts credit cards before you order. We once had to pay in U.S. dollars because it was all we had on us. Another time, they reluctantly “found” the credit card machine out back for us.

• Tipping is less expected but becoming more so. When paying cash, rounding up the total is always appreciated. You cannot tip on a credit card, so have some Euros on hand if you like to tip.

• The menu will usually be in Croatian, Italian, German, and English. If not, you can ask for one in English. The servers are used to tourists.

Eating like an Istrian

I’ve been told Croatians don’t eat out as often as Americans and it does seem like it’s mostly tourists when we go. The average salary here is low enough that young people are moving to other EU countries where they can earn five times as much. So it would seem it’s not just that the cooking is better at home, it’s also more within their budget.

I’ve also been told Croatians aren’t big on eating breakfast, possibly because their parents worked in factories and had to be on the job by 7 a.m. You can grab a pastry at some cafes or a bakery, but hotels catering to tourists are the only places I’ve seen breakfasts being served. (Shoutout to Buzet’s Vela Vrata Hotel for their excellent guest breakfast buffet.) 

Over time, I’ve learned some konobas are fancier than others and there are fancier restaurants than konobas, but there’s nowhere near the same amount of fast-casual dining as you’d find in America. Lunch out means going to a konoba, and if we want to grab lunch on the go, we head to a pekara (bakery).

The Royal Pekara in Višnjan is one of our favorites, and not just because we can spend 9 € on two sandwiches and two poppyseed strudels. Their strudel is unreal. We also like to get bureks—puff pastry stuffed with cheese—in Buzet. Only 4.20 € for two. (1 Euro equals around 1.1 U.S. dollars, by the way.)  I can hear my Boulder friends shuddering now—the carbs!

Of course, the more crowded tourist areas along the sea have more dining options out of necessity. I once talked to a man who was bringing his family some McDonald’s from Poreč to Motovun, which is almost 30 miles away. 

My mouth must have been agape because he hastily explained it was a treat for the kids. It just goes to show you that parents are the same everywhere. Even in truffle country. McDonald’s figured that out from the get-go.