Žlikrofi: delightful Slovenian pasta parcels

There are dumplings, and then there are žlikrofi – those cheeky little Slovenian pasta parcels that look like they were designed by someone who once saw Italian ravioli in a fever dream and decided to Slavic it up. If you’ve never heard of žlikrofi, don’t panic. You’re not alone. Unless you’ve spent some time nosing around the Slovenian Alps, or you’ve got a granny from Idrija with a rolling pin and a grudge, chances are this one’s escaped your radar.

So what exactly are these mischievous morsels? Think of them as a hearty, potato-filled dumpling, vaguely shaped like a bishop’s hat (yes, really), with a cheeky pinch in the middle. They originated in Idrija, a small mining town tucked into the Slovenian hills, where mercury once flowed and miners needed proper belly ballast. The miners may be gone, but the žlikrofi remain – a culinary relic that’s anything but dusty.

Traditionally, the dough is made from flour, eggs and water, rolled out thin enough to let the light through (or at least your frustration), then cut and filled with a surprisingly delicate potato, onion, crackling and marjoram mix. They’re pinched into their signature bishop-hat shapes with the kind of precision that would make a Swiss watchmaker weep. What makes žlikrofi special, besides their shape and stubborn regional pride, is the fact that they’ve been protected by the EU as a Traditional Speciality Guaranteed (TSG). That’s right. They’re not just tasty; they’re legally tasty.

Now, you’d be forgiven for assuming they’re a one-town wonder. But žlikrofi have a few regional cousins worth mentioning. You might find versions that swap crackling for cottage cheese (for the faint of heart), or dress them up with sauces that range from meat-laden ragu to mushroom extravaganzas. The classic, though, is žlikrofi served with bakalca – a thick, slow-cooked lamb sauce that could warm the soul of a tax inspector.

As for drinks, think robust. You need something that can keep up with all that carby, savoury goodness. A bold Slovenian red wine like Teran does the job nicely, with its punchy acidity and dark fruit vibes. Or, if you’re more of a beer bod, go for a malty lager or a local craft brew that doesn’t mind rolling around with rich food. Avoid anything delicate. This is not a job for your favourite Riesling.

Want a side? Go old school with pickled cabbage or a sharply dressed beetroot salad. The acidity cuts through the richness like a good insult at a family dinner. If you’re going all in, a dollop of sour cream on the side wouldn’t go amiss either.

Health-wise? Well, it’s not exactly kale and quinoa, but it’s not an artery clogging disaster either. The dough is light, the filling is humble, and the portions are usually small-ish unless you make the grave error of having seconds. Or thirds. Which you will.

Where to find them? Head to Idrija, obviously. Try a cosy gostilna (that’s Slovenian for a traditional inn) where the cook probably learned her skills from her great-grandmother, and her dough from divine intervention. If you’re stuck elsewhere, you might find them at Slovenian food festivals or, if the stars align, on the menu of a Balkan-inspired restaurant having a particularly nostalgic day.

Fancy trying your hand at making them? Good. You’ll need a bit of patience, a rolling pin, and ideally no audience, because things get floury fast.

Žlikrofi Recipe (Idrija Style)

For the dough:

• 300g plain flour
• 1 egg
• 1 tbsp sunflower oil
• A pinch of salt
• Water, as needed

For the filling:

• 500g potatoes, peeled and boiled
• 1 small onion, finely chopped and lightly fried
• 2 tbsp crackling or finely chopped bacon
• 1 tbsp marjoram
• Salt and pepper to taste

Mash the potatoes while still warm and mix with the onion, crackling, marjoram, salt and pepper. Let it cool.

For the dough, mix the flour, egg, oil, salt and just enough water to make a smooth, elastic dough. Roll it out thin – very thin. Cut into rectangles or circles (about 5-6cm), plop a little filling in the middle, fold, then pinch into that little bishop hat shape. It takes a bit of practice. Swearing helps.

Boil them in salted water until they float and stay floating for a minute or two. Serve with a lamb stew, a buttery sage sauce, or just browned breadcrumbs if you’re in a rush. Or poor. Or both.

Whatever way you serve them, remember: you’re not just making dumplings. You’re making history. One oddly shaped, potato-stuffed bite at a time.