Traveling the world through cooking, lets use plums and honey as is done in this traditional Croatian dish. About time for us to share something honey again!  This recipe comes to us from Savorist Monica King. It originally “aired” in 2017 on her personal site. Since that site is more devoted to beekeeping we believe that not too many people saw the recipe, so we decided to share it here.

Savorist Jacqueline Soule traveled in Croatia in the 1970’s, when it was still part of Yugoslavia, and Tito was still alive. Since we here are about the Savor – let’s share this Croatian winter treat first, and the story after.

Croatian Honey Plum Pie

This is not a round pie as most Americans may expect. It is a square layered dessert pastry featuring a flaky dough, cream filling, and jam from plums.

Plums and plum jam are very popular in Croatia. The climate is good for plums. And bees too. There are many native flowers that bloom through the year for bees to sip from and create delicious honey.

Filling Ingredients

1 1/4 cup milk, 1/ 4 cup reserved
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla 
3 Tablespoon cornstarch
1 cup butter
1 teaspoon honey

1 – 2 cups plum jam

Dough Ingredients

2 cups flour
2 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoon butter
2 Tablespoon honey
2 Tablespoon milk
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/ 8 teaspoon salt (called “a pinch”)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Optional, powdered sugar and cinnamon for dusting

Make the Cream Filling

Step 1. Combine 1 /4 cup milk with cornstarch. Set aside.
Step 2. In a saucepan, combine 1 cup milk with sugar. Over medium heat, heat until it boils.
Step 3. Add cornstarch mixture to the boiling milk and cook on low heat constantly stirring, careful not to burn milk in this process. Heat until thick.

Step 4. Stir in the vanilla.
Step 5. Cover and let cool.
Step 6. Beat butter and honey until fluffy and add fold into the cooled cream filling. Set aside.

Make the Dough

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Step 1. In a separate pan crack one egg and scramble it well.
Step 2. Add the milk, sugar, salt, and honey and heat just until the sugar is dissolved.
Step 3. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, cinnamon, and baking soda.
Step 4. Add the melted mixture to the dry flour mix.
Step 5. Add the other egg.
Step 6. Knead just until it forms a dough. Do not over mix because it will get tough and not roll out well.

Step 7. Divide dough into two equal parts and roll. On a sheet of parchment paper, roll the dough as thin as possible.
Step 7. Slide the parchment paper with the dough onto a flat cookie sheet. Cut each dough in half. This means you will end up with four equal sized pieces.
Step 8. Bake each piece until golden. Do not over bake or it will become to dry. Usually takes 8-10 minutes to bake, depending on oven. Let cool.

Assemble the Pie

Place the first flat cooked dough layer on a serving tray.
Spread half of the cream filling on the first layer.
Place second flat pastry layer on top.
Gently spread this layer with the plum jam. Make it thick as you like.
Cover with third pastry layer.
Spread remaining cream filling on top of this.
Cover with fourth pastry layer.
Best to let stand in a cool place overnight.

Then dust with powdered sugar. Add some cinnamon for color if you wish.
Cut into squares and serve.

Serves 12. Or maybe just two very hungry plum harvesters.

Croatian Autumn Harvest

Walking along a country lane, somewhere in what is now Croatia, I spied some folks out in an orchard picking fruit. At the time I was a starving student hitch-hiking through Europe with a small backpack and even smaller purse. I remember often being hungry, so I was curious about the fruit – and more immediately in my mind, if I might be able to “score” some fruit to eat. The trucker who let me off at the crossroads had told me the road I was trudging along lead to a big town and big road. At least that’s what I think he tried to convey. I had thought was getting fairly fluent at pantomime.

The fruit pickers noticed me noticing them, and gestured me into the orchard. It was across a ditch and over a wall, and as I started towards them they gestured me to go up the road. A little girl with jet black braids bouncing ran up to the inside of the wall and gestured me to follow her to a wooden gate that she opened for me. She was in a homemade skirt and blouse, with lovely embroidery around the neck. She handed me two warm and plump purple plums.

Plums. Oh ugg!  Perhaps my least favorite fruit. I was hoping for apples, or maybe pears. But this little girl, who was maybe 5 or 6, beamed up at me and said something in Croatian. She had a sweet smile and I did not want to disappoint. I smiled back and rubbed my stomach, indicating “yummy” in universal sign language.

Join the Plum Harvest

The smiling little girl grabbed my free hand and tugged me back to the adults. They all smiled and said something to me in Croatian. I smiled and nodded and said, “Thank you.” Tried “Gratsi,” and “Danke” too, and we just all smiled and nodded at each other. Then one of the men said something and most of them turned back to picking.

The men were up in the trees on hand-made wooden ladders, with cloth sacks around their necks. The women were on the ground, picking lower fruit into shallow baskets. Young kids moved around carefully searching among the tall grass and flowers for fallen fruit. I shed my pack and joined the women. They showed me how to carefully place the ripe plums into the baskets. No bruising allowed. Pantomimed by fist hitting palm and an index finger waved “no.”

When baskets or bags were filled, the teenage boys and girls disappeared with the bounty towards the cluster of houses set back from the road. One gray haired lady appeared to be supervising the small children, she joked and laughed, and had not one tooth in her head. Her blouse and skirt were lavish with embroidery.

Busy Orchard

It was a sunny autumn day, warm but not too hot. Honeybees droned in the flowers. Birds flitted about, scolding the humans. The air smelled fresh and clean. A few puffs of clouds wafted over the mountains. The orchard was filled with the sounds of life, but no vehicles whispered past on the road.

We reached the end of the orchard, and the villagers turned towards the houses, men shouldering ladders, women hefting baskets. The toothless old woman gestured me to come with. I grabbed my pack and followed.

Busy Village

In the village, there was much going on. A number of people were slicing open the plums and spreading them to dry on woven mats. Others were boiling and mashing fruit in large pots over open fire pits. Still others were cracking open the plum pits and extracting the seeds inside.

The old woman ducked into her house and came out with flatbread wrapped around some soft cheese. She handed it to me. “Thank you!” I told her. She tried to say it back to me, and we both laughed.

Drink Up!

My belly much happier, I pulled out my pocket knife and went to join the plum slicers. I was getting very thirsty, and had a canteen in my pack, but I hadn’t seen anyone else drinking, so I abstained. Then one of the kids appeared at my elbow with a pail and dipper. Oh Lordy. A communal pail of something that might be tea. It looked okay, but sanitation did not appear high on anyone’s list. How do I not offend these sweet people who shared they meager food with me? I sipped. It was cool and sweet, and as it went down my throat I realized it was something alcoholic. Oh yikes. As my eyes widened I realized everyone was watching me. “Yum! I declared, and rubbed my stomach. We all laughed, and everyone else got a drink, and drank very deeply.

That bucket went around several times as we worked our way through the plum harvest. I believe it was a form of honey beer, not mead especially, because I think it was simply grain and honey fermented, with all the grain left in, not filtered. It was fairly rich and filling, and not overly alcoholic. The little kids drank it too.

Small Blessings

Thank goodness it wasn’t pelinkovac, a strongly alcoholic drink popular in Croatia. Pelinovac is a bitter-sweet liqueur based on wormwood. The alcohol content is around 30 percent. I believe the honey beer we were drinking was around 2 to 4 percent alcohol, and was one way to stay hydrated in a place where water supplies may not be safe for human consumption. Now that I think on it, I’m going to make a form of pelinovac, with Arizona wormwood steeped in vodka.

Nightfall

Evening approached, and I was invited by the old woman into her home. I ate stew with her. It had many vegetables and a few shreds of meat. It might have been goat. She tried to get me to take her bed, but I unrolled my sleeping bag on her dirt floor, struggling out of my jeans once I was inside. The woman simply took off her skirt, and I realized that her blouse went to mid-thigh and was also her “night gown.”

At the first crack of dawn everyone was up. Breakfast was hot herbal tea and more flatbread with cheese. The woman gave me plums for the road, and I gave her the three needles out of my tiny sewing kit. You would have thought I handed her gold coins. She teared up and hugged me, repeating what must have been “thank you” in Croatian many times. I said it back to her and we laughed. I turned and waved goodbye several times as I headed down the dirt path back to that not so main road.

Plums and Peoples of Croatia

Over the years since then, I often wonder what happened to those people in that tiny grouping of homes that did not even qualify as a village with a name. I hope that all those deeply kind people survived the downfall of Yugoslavia. I pray that were not struck by the violence and terror that swept through the region when people of one religion tried to impose their will onto others not of their faith.

On a different note, that day I learned that plums fresh and ripe straight off the tree were simply delightful, and the stuff in supermarkets a very poor fifth place, not worth the cost.

So that is me, and Croatia, and plums.

By the way, in case you were wondering, they used outhouses. And in Europe in the 1970’s every traveler knew to carry their own TP.

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