Well, they can’t all be winners.
It’s probably my own fault. Impressed by the notion of roasting an entire bull on a spit, I decided to check this festival out. I showed up at around 7:00, which was an hour before they were due to close. This is probably where I went wrong.
The bull on a spit was nowhere to be seen (it had clearly been carved up and disposed of by then) — a warming tray full of meat was all that remained.
I ordered a roast bull sandwich and went on my way.
There were a couple of fairly big issues here. For one thing, I’m pretty sure the aforementioned warming tray wasn’t actually being warmed by anything, so the very fatty beef was lukewarm and congealed. That wasn’t the best.
The other, more pressing issue was that the bun — which tasted like a variation on an Eastern European flatbread called lepinja — was cold, stale, and unyielding. I’m sure it was okay at some point much earlier in its life, but by the time it got to me it was better suited to be a doorstop, or to weigh down documents on a very windy day, or as a chew toy for an overactive dog.
I took a couple of bites, then brought the remainder of the sandwich home, tossed the bun, warmed up the beef, and ate the rest in bread that was actually suitable for human consumption.
It was a fine sandwich, I guess. It was a bit on the tough side, and there didn’t seem to be much to the spicing of the meat other than it being vaguely salty, but it was alright.