Sarajevo // You Can Lead a Horse to Water
© Fotokon // Shutterstock.com
When I first ventured into the magical land that is Bosnia and Herzegovina, Sarajevsko was sort of in the toilet. Not the city, obviously, that was (and is) a shimmering charmer with tangible history around every corner. I’m talking about the beer, Sarajevo's pivo output, found across the city in bars, pubs and clubs. It wasn’t literally in the toilet either, calm down. Metaphor, analogy, imagery. The green bottles were pretty enough, and I’m always happy to drink a local brew, but it was handicapped somewhat by not tasting very good. At all. I’m not talking boring either; it was flat-out bad. It was a bit like drinking out of an old shoe, although I can’t say I’ve ever drank out of a shoe. Nor cider from a lemon (lemon, lemon, lemon…).
At some point in the decade since that time, Sarajevsko got its act together, Like, seriously got its act together. Maybe it was the development of other regional beers, the improvements made in Mostar, Bihać, Banja Luka and others on the pivo front, or the ever-lingering spectre of Croatian and Serbian beers taking a fatter piece of the pivo pie. Rumour has it that the bigwigs on top of the company realised something needed to change, so the old brewmaster was brought back to drag the beer out of its rut.
He did some damn good dragging, I’ll say that much. Sarajevsko is now a Very Acceptable Pivo, and the brewery restaurant is one of the best in town. By my reckoning, at least, although admittedly, that reckoning is enhanced by coming here often. If you get a chance to drink a beer from its source, you drink a beer from its source. You can definitely lead this horse to water.
At some point, this horse needs to stop being led to the water, lest he finds himself used for glue ahead of his time.
© Vladislav Mavrin // Shutterstock.com
The long and storied history of Sarajevsko begins in 1864. Yes, during the Ottoman times. Towards the end of the Ottoman times, admittedly, but Ottoman nonetheless, and the story of that first brew is delightfully poetic. I might as well quote it, directly from a Yugoslav journal in 1930…
“The first pouring of beer was very festive. In a shady plume orchard in the valley overlooking the Brewery, on carpets spread around a round sofra (traditionally a low table or tray used as a dining table) covered with assorted refection, pillows and mats were placed for high guests, and, besides a creek, at the edge of the plum orchard, fattened lambs were being turned on a spit.”
Where do I sign? Of course, this being Bosnia, the story quickly takes a turn for the wacky, as a group of guys lugging beer home with them found themselves confronted by officials on the banks of the Miljačka, demanding a toll for the beer. What did the lads lads lads do? Why, they downed all the pivo, of course. Is it true? It doesn’t matter. Much like the old story of Yugoslavia being left with an excess of rakija and painkillers following the German invasion in World War II. How did they deal with the excess? They drank all the rakija and then used the painkillers to help with the hangover. True? I don’t care. TV is better than real life.
© Sarajevska Pivara
The Austrian occupation proved positive for the brewery, and soon it became one of the largest in the empire. Alas, the Austro-Hungarian years were brief, and the 20th century saw ebbs and flows in the brewery’s fortune. The ‘90s did a number on the place, but it remained of vital importance to the people of Sarajevo, acting as the only safe source of drinking water for the besieged citizens.
This leads to the decline at the beginning of this short and the subsequent resurrection, at least in terms of flavour, a resurrection that sees me come to the tavern for good beer and excellent chicken in gorgonzola sauce. I never claimed to be a complex man. I like my beer simple, and my food good. It took a while, but Sarajevsko ticks both of those boxes. Better late than never.
Still, this horse needs to stop, lest the knacker's yard approach. The Stewart Lee quote about gradually decreasing the quality of your own obituary feels prescient.
