Food has always been my love language. Ever since I could hold a fork and a spoon, my family had the habit of showing affection through food. I was born into a Yugoslavian family, just one year before that country seized to exist and we entered a new, much greyer era of life. This meant that our family habits contained a lot of Yugoslavian notes to it. Although by the time I was over my toddler years and my consciousness was up and running, we were living in Bosnia and Herzegovina, the legacy of the olden days was reflected in everything we did. Coffee and cigarettes for breakfast, and then my mom and dad were off to work. We, the kids, would have a slice of bread with some spread and then school. But when the working day was done, it was implied – we sit together and we have lunch together, my parents, my brother and me. It was almost like no matter what was happening outside of our little safe circle called family, lunch at 4 pm sharp every day was the certain thing, our small universe where we converse about random daily things and appreciate whatever was brought to the table that day. And this was the drill from Monday to Thursday.
And then, to celebrate coming of a weekly holiday called the weekend, we had a tradition of gathering at my majka's (one of Bosnian terms for grandmother) house every Friday- Also 4 pm sharp, a bit bigger circle, a bit bigger table, more plates - more love I guess. Friday was always my favourite time of the week. I clearly remember that anything could happen on a Friday – angry teacher screaming at me, mean girl comment at school, bad grade from math, fight with Eldar, my big brother, whatever – I would get through it with bounce in my step because it was Friday. Because no matter what happens that day, we would sit together at 4 pm, majka would cook all of our favourite meals, we would eat, talk, laugh and almost always reminiscence. My parents, grandparents and uncle and aunt would almost always end up talking about family feasts before the war. They made them seem like they were much better, dare I say perfect. Sometimes I would think about it after lunch, gazing into the TV with local news on and wondering, what could be better than this? I guess I am telling you all of this to start my story on my love towards food. Even as a middle schooler, the peak of my week was Friday, not because the weekend is here, but because the feast is here. Majka would make at least 5-6 savoury dishes, and then always something sweet to start the weekend of on the right note. But for me, there was always one champion – Bosnian pie with boiled potatoes, something that was not so typical in other households. Other grandmas made spinach, cheese pie or burek, but not this. This was special. It only felt right to start off this literary gourmet journey with her highness, my majka and her pie. Majka is now long gone, we miss her every day but every now and then when I make this dish, I am again 8 years old, sitting with her and my family and having a perfect day.
This is my background, this is the story I keep coming back to anytime I try to figure out why food and why this drive for cooking. It is an emotion, it is a special climate and it creates a context of its own. One where anything outside of it is irrelevant, differences come down to things as simple as does one like their food spicy & hot or not. A universal need turned into a universal language that everyone understands. That is the core of my inspiration I guess. Creating value through something that every single person in this world needs on a daily basis. Turning it into something more elevated and satisfying. While I was a small child, in the war-torn Sarajevo, food & eating was a prerequisite for surviving. We didn’t have the luxury of liking or not liking something, our main driver was to be fed in order to feel full and have energy to survive. But even then, people were creative, even then magicians of Sarajevo were turning scraps & nothingness into birthday cakes, fake chocolate and feasts out of thin air. Even then, in the scarcity of everything – food was the creative outlet and a spot where atrocities stop, where friends and family gathered around the table. So, as long as I live, I want to keep bringing pieces of this emotion to people – through feeding them, educating them, inspiring them to take leaps of faith.
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