Сам Дойдох is my local kruchma*. Or it would be, if they would ever let me eat there. I’ve stood at their door jamb, half inside the restaurant and with anticipation mounting, yet time and again I am cruelly denied.
I can report that there are 4 tables. The room is living room sized. There are candles, a roaring fireplace, a small upright piano in the corner. They serve up hand cut french fries and your standard assortment of battered and fried cheeses, tongue, and stuffed peppers. Wine by the glass looks mighty enjoyable, judging by the relaxed slump and half-lidded gazes of the Chosen ones who are granted access to this, Sofia’s most elite kruchma. Every single day, by 5:00 pm, all the seats are reserved, and aggressively guarded by restaurant staff. If you’re willing to suffer the humiliation of being ousted from your seat at 6pm, you can sit for a few minutes and drink a glass of wine, maybe she’ll allow you a plate of fries, all the while being glowered at by the slender lady bulldog of a proprietor. But she will unceremoniously order you to go when she deems it close enough to the expected arrival time of one of her Chosen ones, for whom the table is meant.
Shame and humiliation have accompanied any and all of my encounters with Sam Doidoh, and I have spent many a night wracking my brain as I ponder how to gain access to this most illustrious of eating establishments. One Day! One day! I vow to you, one day I will be… Chosen.
Sniffle sniffle / Cough cough,
*Kruchma (кръчма) being something akin to gastropub… or greasy spoon