Caught about ten crabs the other day. Took them home and made a feast! The rakia that I brought home from Serbia last summer (the bottle of clear brandy, on the far left) paired well with the crab. But the degenerative events that would occur later that evening, in combination with the meal, produced a very unpleasant end to the story. In fact, when i think about it now, it was similar to an experience that I had in the same city where I bought that very bottle. “Smrt” - the yugoslavian word for death - was the only word I knew in the language that could describe the horrible condition of my stomach to a restaurant janitor. It is odd for me to look back at this beautiful photo - it is so bourgeois and orderly - and to compare it with my memories of the night that followed, and to my experience at that desolate Belgrade train station.
