In the hills above Tragjas village in Vlorë, south-west Albania, I’m running after a farmer called Sofo, with a glass of raki in one hand and a triangle of pan-fresh petulla in the other. Dusk is leaching daylight from the sky, we’re late and the goats need to be milked.
Sofo and his wife Dhurata are hosting us for dinner at their rustic “restaurant”. We walk to the farm from the road through knotty grass, gorse and rampant sage – and are greeted with lashings of raki. Dhurata hands me a wedge of petulla filled with homemade goat’s cheese (a traditional dish of fried dough, it’s made when a baby is born – and a new niece is being celebrated) and I hurry off behind Sofo. Before we sit down to platters of grilled vegetables, meatballs and zgara (grilled meats), there’s milking to be done.
