Aroma

A group of geographers and historians, members of the Royal Geographic Society from London were resting and fooling around on the sunny meadow in the early summer of 1820. Who would have thought that these tousled and muddy gentlemen have just returned from the stuffy and damp Karst underworld. Vilenica, the largest and most beautiful cave near and far, has by no means disappointed them.

‘My fiancée for a roasted ox!’ Humprey, the youngest of the expedition started shouting. The stomachs of other playful cave explorers started to grumble in harmony. All of them started to ask their guide: ‘Stefano, where is this promised inn?’ Once more, they were not disappointed.

The oak tables in the shady courtyard of the inn were shivering under the weight of excellent Karst meals. In the air one could smell the cypresses, cheese and wine black as ink. The red-faced innkeeper was encouraging them to eat in a language they did not understand. Humprey would not be asked twice. He was overcome by the aroma of the thin red slices that somebody has carefully laid out on the large wooden plates.

Thus, he tasted the Lokev prosciutto.