What connects the Rera to coq au vin?
In the early 20th century, when construction of the famous Rera — the narrow-gauge railway linking Split and Sinj — first began, the work was supervised by French engineers.
Days under the Klis sky were long, and the evenings cold, so they wished to share with the locals one of their traditional dishes — coq au vin, rooster slowly cooked in wine.
In Klis, where poultry was plentiful and wine flowed easily, the French recipe quickly found a home.
It wasn’t long before the aromas of wine, onions, and local rooster filled the hearths and kitchens, blending two cultures into a single pot.
Today, while I was preparing my own version of that legendary dish, the jugo wind was pounding, rain was falling in sheets, and the power — vanished.
Without a moment’s thought, I continued cooking on the komin, and in that moment — in that flame, in that silence — I felt something ancient, familiar, primal.
Perhaps the very same taste those engineers once enjoyed, somewhere between the railway tracks and a glass of local wine.
And I can’t help but remember — the restaurant in Klis, which still stands today, began its story with rooster in wine.
Some stories are never erased by time.
They simply continue to simmer — slowly.
Days under the Klis sky were long, and the evenings cold, so they wished to share with the locals one of their traditional dishes — coq au vin, rooster slowly cooked in wine.
In Klis, where poultry was plentiful and wine flowed easily, the French recipe quickly found a home.
It wasn’t long before the aromas of wine, onions, and local rooster filled the hearths and kitchens, blending two cultures into a single pot.
Today, while I was preparing my own version of that legendary dish, the jugo wind was pounding, rain was falling in sheets, and the power — vanished.
Without a moment’s thought, I continued cooking on the komin, and in that moment — in that flame, in that silence — I felt something ancient, familiar, primal.
Perhaps the very same taste those engineers once enjoyed, somewhere between the railway tracks and a glass of local wine.
And I can’t help but remember — the restaurant in Klis, which still stands today, began its story with rooster in wine.
Some stories are never erased by time.
They simply continue to simmer — slowly.