In the late 1800s, my maternal grandmother, Valentine de Dudzeele, and her parents and siblings left their London house in Half Moon Street for a new diplomatic posting in Belgrade, where they were to take up their duties alongside the other Embassy families. Soon after settling into their new home, they were invited to an official dinner and ball at the royal palace. The dinner was terminally long and formal. It featured many of Serbia’s heavy, rich, meaty specialities: soup followed by several courses of grilled meat (served with typically spicy, hot Serbian sauces), cabbage leaves stuffed with nuts and the traditional Beagradska torta od Badema (Belgrade almond cake), all washed down with plenty of wine and šljivovica – the plum brandy that is still the national drink of the country. When the dinner had finally ended, the young King Alexander rose from the table unsteadily and requested a dance with Valentine.
Valentine, aware of the importance of never upsetting a king, smiled graciously and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She tried desperately to avoid Alexander stepping on her dancing feet, while he fumbled in his suit pockets for boiled sweets, sucking them throughout the waltz.
On the other side of the glittering ballroom, hung with chandeliers and lit by thousands of candles, Valentine’s beloved younger brother Bob was dancing with the young Natalia Konstantinovic. She was unusually beautiful, with amazingly deep, expressive eyes of different colours: one brown, the other a deep emerald green flecked with gold. Her father, General Konstantinovic, watched them indulgently, safe in the knowledge that Natalia would soon marry Prince Mirko of Montenegro, as had long been planned.
Natalia and Bob fell deeply in love that night. They kept their love secret for a whole year. Under cover of the various theatrical and musical presentations given by the offspring of the diplomatic families, and organized by Valentine and her sister Germaine, Bob and Lili – as he always called Natalia – were able to meet often. But their secret happiness could not last. Lili’s planned marriage was inevitable as it represented a significant political union. Despite Valentine and Germaine’s valiant efforts to help, keeping the lovers out of sight of the various spies and conspirators that seemed to pepper their life, soon the suspicions of General Konstantinovic were aroused. He summoned a quaking young Bob to his house and ordered the boy to swear never to contact Natalia again and to forget her forever.
Later that night, filled with fear and despair at the thought of never seeing one another again, the young lovers met in the gardens of the de Dudzeele house. Bob had brought a little picnic for them: a slice of Lili’s favourite almond cake, a handful of cherries and a thick wedge of hard, white cheese. When the last cherry had been eaten, using Bob’s carefully wiped penknife they sliced into their thumbs and pressed their wounds together to form a blood pact. Under the moon and stars they swore eternal love, no matter what might happen. Lili and Bob did not see each other again for a long time.
In 1895, the de Dudzeele family left Serbia for their next posting to Constantinople (where, five years later, Valentine was to meet my grandfather, Carlo Sforza). Lili married Prince Mirko in Cetinje on 25 July 1902, but it was not a happy time. The miserable girl wrote letter after letter to Queen Elena of Italy, Mirko’s sister, begging her to free her from her marriage and obligations. She also wrote many letters to Valentine. Those she wrote in reply took months to reach her friend.
Queen Elena eventually arranged Lili’s safe passage over the border into Italy. Lili took her young sons with her, travelling south to one of the royal palaces near Naples where she took up temporary residence. As soon as Valentine heard that Lili and her sons had arrived safely, she travelled from Rome to stay with her. Lili’s estranged husband made no attempt to contact her but the women both knew that she would never be able to marry Bob while Mirko still lived, such would be the scandal of their union. Lili, who was then only 26, resigned herself to having no contact with Bob.
Mirko died less than a year later in Vienna, and Valentine telegraphed Bob immediately. The telegram contained only two words: “Lili libre”. He raced from Paris and they were married as soon as decorum would allow. Bob took his wife back to Paris, where they lived together for many happy years, just as they had promised each other they would do when they were barely more than children.
The recipes that follow are traditional dishes Lili would have grown up with and Valentine would have come to know during her stay in Belgrade. The dishes of these parts are derived from a mixture of other cuisines, mostly influenced by the Mediterranean, especially Greece and Turkey, but also Hungary and Austria. The former Yugoslavia has always had a passion for food, its people relishing the filling, meaty menus, enlivened by various sauces and condiments, and the šljivovica (plum brandy) and lozovaca (grappa) that accompany them. Traditionally, a Serbian menu has three courses: a soup such as pasulj, the hearty white bean soup, with or without pork; followed by a stew or grilled meats; and a dessert – usually a cake. Lili, we know, was especially fond of the rich Belgrade almond cake with its sweet, buttery filling.
Uncle Bob, pictured far right, with family and friends.
This is a Serbian recipe that we would often be served when visiting some of our cousins on Lili’s side of the family. I always think you get more flavour out of cooking chicken skin-on and bone-in, but this recipe will work with boneless, skinless chicken, and also would be slightly quicker to make.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 10 minutes, plus 15 minutes standing
Cooking time: about 45 minutes
1.1kg/2lb 7oz chicken joints, preferably thighs and legs
45g/1½oz unsalted butter
3 large onions, thinly sliced, top to root
2 tbsp sweet paprika, preferably Hungarian
1 tsp hot paprika or cayenne pepper, plus extra for sprinkling
250ml/9fl oz/1 cup chicken stock
125ml/4fl oz/½ cup soured cream
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
boiled new potatoes and 1 tbsp chopped parsley leaves, to serve
Put the chicken joints in a colander and sprinkle all over with salt. Leave to stand for 15 minutes, then pat them dry with kitchen paper.
Heat the butter in a large sauté pan over a medium-high heat. Add the chicken, skin side down, and cook for 4–5 minutes until well browned, then turn over and cook for a further 2–3 minutes. Remove from the pan and leave to one side.
Add the onions to the pan and cook for 7 minutes, stirring occasionally and scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan, until lightly browned. Add both paprikas, season with pepper and stir to combine. Pour in the chicken stock, again scraping up the browned bits, then return the chicken pieces to the pan, on top of the onions.
Cover and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 20–25 minutes, or until the juices from the chicken run clear when the thickest part of the meat is pierced with the tip of a sharp knife.
Remove from the heat, take out the chicken and keep warm. Leave the pan to cool for a minute, then gradually stir the soured cream into the sauce and add a little more salt, if you like. If the sauce cools, return the pan to the heat to just warm through. Return the chicken to the pan and spoon the sauce over the top. Serve the chicken with new potatoes, sprinkled with parsley.
This is a slow-cooked pork casserole with a good hint of paprika and a lovely sweetness from the peppers. While it is similar to a traditional goulash that my ancestors were likely to have been served, I have finished it off with crispy bacon and salty feta to give it extra zing, then served it with creamy polenta.
Serves 6
Preparation time: 20 minutes
Cooking time: 3½ hours
1.8kg/4lb lean pork leg, trimmed of fat and cut into small cubes
4 tbsp hot Hungarian paprika
1 tbsp salt
1 tsp cayenne pepper
55g/2oz/¼ cup firmly packed brown sugar
115g/4oz unsalted butter
115g/4oz bacon, cut into 5mm/¼in strips
1 large Spanish onion, diced
2 red peppers, halved, deseeded and diced
2 yellow peppers, halved, deseeded and diced
1 garlic bulb, cloves finely minced
875ml/30fl oz/3½ cups chicken stock
100g/3½oz feta cheese, crumbled
soft polenta or mashed potatoes, to serve
In a large bowl, toss together the pork pieces, paprika, salt, cayenne pepper and brown sugar until the meat is well coated, then leave to stand for 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat the butter in a large sauté pan over a medium heat. Add the bacon and fry until crisp. Remove from the pan using a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.
Heat the fat remaining in the sauté pan over a medium-high heat. Working in small batches, add the pork cubes and fry until sealed and browned all over. Remove from the pan using a slotted spoon and leave to one side. Repeat until all the meat is browned. Discard any of the unused spice mix left in the bowl.
Add the onion to the pan over a medium heat and fry gently until soft and translucent. Add the peppers and garlic and cook for 4 minutes, or until softened.
Return the pork to the pan and pour in the chicken stock. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, for 3 hours, or until the pork is very tender. Scatter the feta and the crisp bacon over the pork, and serve with soft polenta.
This is a really delicious way of serving Savoy cabbage and typical of the dishes that Lili would have grown up with and the de Dudzeeles enjoyed during their time in Belgrade. It’s very simple to make and a great vegetarian main course, with the ground walnuts adding a lovely flavour and texture to the whole dish.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 25 minutes, plus cooling
Cooking time: 1 hour 35 minutes
100g/3½oz/½ cup long-grain white rice
1 large Savoy or spring cabbage, left whole with hard core removed
100g/3½oz/1 cup walnuts
3 tbsp olive oil
5 onions, roughly chopped
2 celery sticks, finely chopped
1 green pepper, halved, deseeded and roughly chopped
400g/14oz tinned plum tomatoes, drained, juice reserved and tomatoes chopped
sea salt
Boil the rice in a pan of boiling salted water for 10–15 minutes, until tender. Drain and leave to cool before using.
Bring a large saucepan of salted water to the boil. Add the cabbage, return to the boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 5–6 minutes until softened. Meanwhile, grind the walnuts to fine crumbs using a pestle and mortar or food processor. Put the nuts in a bowl and leave to one side.
Drain the cabbage, refresh under cold running water and drain again. Leave to cool, then separate each leaf. Lay the larger leaves flat on a board. (You want about 8–12 large leaves; the smaller leaves can be saved for another dish.)
Heat the oil in a frying pan over a medium heat. Add the onions, celery and green pepper and fry for 5 minutes until soft. Add the cooked rice and stir-fry for 2 minutes until the rice is thoroughly reheated. Remove from the heat, stir in the ground walnuts and season with salt.
Spoon about 1 tablespoon of the mixture onto a cabbage leaf. Roll up the leaf, with the sides folded inwards to prevent the mixture from falling out. Repeat with the remaining leaves and mixture. Transfer the stuffed leaves to a large sauté pan, making sure they fit snugly.
Spoon the tomatoes and reserved juice over the leaves, topping up with enough water to cover. Cover with a lid, then simmer over a medium-low heat for 1 hour, or until the leaves are very tender, adding extra water if necessary. Serve warm or at room temperature.
I can remember eating a cake like this one with my Belgian cousins as a child and being surprised even then by the unusual method used to make it. My mother had shown me how to cream the butter and sugar first, then add all the other ingredients, but this very rich, delicious cake is made very differently.
Serves 12
Preparation time: 30 minutes, plus cooling
Cooking time: about 50 minutes
Cake:
butter, for greasing
50g/1¾oz/heaped 
cup self-raising flour, sifted, plus extra for dusting
8 eggs, separated
125g/4½oz/heaped ½ cup caster sugar
100g/3½oz/
cup blanched almonds, finely chopped
Filling:
10 egg yolks
125g/4½oz/heaped ½ cup caster sugar
1 tbsp plain flour
1.2l/40fl oz/4¾ cups milk
1 vanilla pod, split lengthways and seeds removed
380g/13½oz unsalted butter
slivered toasted almonds, to decorate
Preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F/Gas 5. Grease a 28cm/11¼in deep cake tin with butter, then dust with flour and tip out any excess.
To make the cake, beat the egg yolks and sugar in a mixing bowl until pale, then add the chopped almonds. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites until stiff, then fold in the flour using a metal spoon. Fold the almond mixture into the egg white mixture, then pour into the prepared tin. Bake for 45 minutes, or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Turn the cake out of the tin and leave to cool on a wire rack. When cold, cut the cake horizontally into 3 layers with a very sharp, serrated knife.
To make the filling, beat the egg yolks and sugar in a heatproof bowl until light and fluffy, then add the flour and mix well. Stir in the milk and add the vanilla seeds. Put the bowl over a saucepan of simmering water and cook, stirring continuously, until the mixture has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon. Remove from the heat and stir until cooled. In a separate bowl, beat the butter until light and fluffy, then beat it into the custard.
Spread the filling over the three layers of the cake and sandwich together. Cover the outside of the cake with the remaining filling. Decorate with the toasted almonds and serve.
The de Dudzeeles.
