SALT Gluten-Free House

It’s close !

It was great, the service was very friendly and everything was delicious, perfect for people with gluten intolerance!!!

Unfortunately, Split only has one restaurant that offers gluten-free options. And it's like having only one bottle of water in the Sahara, but when you open it – there's sand inside. And spit in your face. That's how you feel every time you order from this place. Ordering a ham and cheese sandwich? Prepare to be disappointed. Two (!) thin transparent slices of what could be ham, and a "cheese" that, given the quantity, is probably just an idea someone whispered into the sandwich. Instead, you'll get a salad of dubious color and even more dubious freshness, which looks like it's survived three lifetimes and all three were bad. Ćevapi? Burnt, hard, and turned into micro-versions of the original. And of course – more expensive. If you're used to Ćevapi at home, here you'll get a dry, agonizing parody of them. Order without onions – you'll get with onions. Say without salad – you'll get more salad than meat. And if you have any additional questions, the staff will look at you in confusion because they don't understand the language, which is probably in line with the owner's philosophy – the less communication, the more control. And the owner… screams INSANE. Not at you – you're just a collateral victim – but at herself, life and, most likely, gluten. In her eyes, you're not a guest, but a necessary evil that's disrupting her day. Communication? Reduced to passive-aggressive comments, a cutting look, and responses to reviews that sound like they were written by a passive-aggressive AI with childhood problems. It's not clear whether it hurts more that she has to deal with people, that she has no competition, or that – despite everything – she still has to visit if you're not allowed to eat gluten. When you order a sandwich in pizza dough, you'll pay for it like a veal brzola at a butcher's, and you'll get... something that tastes and feels like cardboard. Probably old, angry cardboard that hates you for choosing it. A tooth? Maybe you break one, maybe two. The salad – of course – is there, screaming, “Why am I still alive?” In conclusion – this is not a restaurant. This is a study in desperation. If you want gluten-free food, bring it from home. And if you do decide to stop by, come with a psychologist. For yourself – and for the gaz******.