Anecdotes from the Club

KIt is said that almost every evening, for nearly seven decades of the Writers’ Club’s existence, the kitchen staff, after all guests had left, would recount stories and events that the club had experienced and heard throughout the evening. If the walls could speak or write, they would be true biographers of the club and its guests. Only some of these stories and anecdotes still live on in the club today – they are passed down by employees and regular guests, who retell them to younger generations.

Buda and the Taxi Driver

The famous Buda, owner of the Writers’ Club, once rode in a taxi and asked the driver:
“Do you know any good restaurants?”
The taxi driver replied:
“How could I not, sir? The best restaurant in the city, the country, and perhaps even the world, is the Writers’ Club.”
Pleased with the answer, Buda left a generous tip.
“Thank you very much, sir,” said the taxi driver.
“You’re welcome,” Buda replied.

The Olive

One evening, Dušan Baranin and Danilo Kiš were sitting in the Writers’ Club. Baranin tried to spear an olive with his fork, but it bounced off the plate and, ricocheting between glasses, bottles, and flowers, landed right in front of Kiš. Kiš skillfully caught the olive with a toothpick and, with a smile, said:
“This is how it’s done, my Dušan.”
To which Baranin replied:
“It’s easy for you, being younger. I’m already tired out.”

Grandma Rada

Stories are still told about Grandma Rada, a woman dressed in layers of wool sweaters, who guarded the entrance to the Writers’ Club. Legend has it that one evening, even Ivo Andrić himself, upon introducing himself to her, was told:
“Six Ivo Andrićs pass through here every evening. You need to come up with something more original.”

When Dušan Baranin first returned from abroad, where he had been for some research, Matija Bećković asked him:
“Tell me, how is it there?”
“The West is terrible,” Baranin replied. “It’s clean, but it’s merciless. You can’t even drink a lemonade there without paying for it.”

Igor Mandić and the Kitchen

The only person allowed to meddle in the Writers’ Club kitchen and prepare a meal to his own liking on the old Smederevac stove was Croatian writer Igor Mandić. He used to say that all Zagreb restaurants could hide behind the Writers’ Club kitchen, because goose liver and Croatian liver were served there – the finest things one could find in Belgrade’s culinary offerings.
The Writers’ Club was a kind of urban womb. A visit meant descending into the basement, and the menu offered a combination of all regional cuisines from the former Yugoslavia.

One Night: Meeting, Promise, and Wedding

As there was no music in the Writers’ Club, so as not to disturb conversations, that night those present carefully followed the drama at the next table. Every word was heard as Katarina scolded Vuk for the poor review he had written of her book. When he confessed that it was precisely because of this that he had fallen in love with her, silence fell. Then he proposed marriage, and to the astonishment of all present, she accepted. Guests scattered across the city to secure the wedding documents for the young couple. As custom dictates that the wedding party comes to the bride’s home, they came for her that night – at the Writers’ Club.