The traditional hamburger in the Balkans is made with the same aromatic combination of flavours that the cevapi is made with. It is just shaped in a patty. Celebrating our last night in the Balkans at Belgrade with pljeskavica was the perfect finale. We all met at Delta City, a sparkling new and very western mall just across from the 2009 Universiade Athletic Village there. It was the only spotlessly clean public shopping place I have been to in Belgrade. The Black Light Bowling was a blast. Thank you , Vanja and Mario, for a really lively family evening of laughter and hilarity.

Then, off to a little Rostilj place near Lori and Igor’s for a “Balkan Burger”! I knew what to expect meat-wise, but I was not expecting the accompaniments. First, the bread is a huge bun, as is the burger. Then, there are so many really high quality fresh condiments available, I was really enthralled. The dry additions are a very hot and freshly ground paprika, and a seasoning salt mix. The fresh vegetables that every one had on theirs while we were waiting, and in our crowd are shredded cabbage, diced onions, and tomatoes.

The, sour cream, a homemade looking ketchup, mustard, roasted peppers, and a parsley, garlic and oil mixture that was way past delicious. Give me a bowl and a spoon! Really!

I ate the piece I cut off of mine and it was so umami-yummy. Mmm-Mmm!

 

Every time I have been to the market in Bijeljina, and that has been three times in the last five years, there are boxes of baby chicks for sale. This is unique to this market within the realm of my experience. Every time I find them as someone is always chasing after a little wildly ecstatic escapee and inevitably the little fellow is captured and returned to his crowded quarters.

This market, like all throughout the Balkans in the growing season, is open all week long, all day long. Early each morning you will find local area farmers with their produce from the day before, and they are usually sold out long before noon. After that, there are still some local farmer’s children or wives remaining to sell products (honey, jam, cheeses, meats, etc.), and the business proprietors that buy from larger farms, or wholesale, sell their wares.

This is the land of the tomato, and of the meatiest, most flavourful red peppers in the fall. They are the ones you must have to make the best ajvar with. The pale translucent yellow peppers can be purchased from the Italian Centre in Edmonton and must be eaten fresh the first time, to really appreciate the crisp light juicy flesh and the bright sweet paprika flavour.

The white beans are so fresh and lovely. I cannot get enough of them. Melons are everywhere.

The smoking drives me crazy. Carrots for Pava. And the beautiful sweet long green peppers are different than any I have eve found at home. Sweet, and mildly spicy with a thick juicy meatiness that makes them delicious grilled or fried with lots of garlic.

I often think of VJ and Amina when I am in Bosnia. This is the first time that I have seen the fresh and dried baby okra on strings like Amina used to bring home to cook delicious soups with. I wish I knew her recipes. I wanted to buy some, but wouldn’t know what to do with them. I usually do not like okra, but her preparation of them made the usual (in my experience) slimy little critters surprisingly addictive.

And in the middle of the market, the traditionally shaped outdoor sink I see everywhere here. It is certainly a practical shape, but really ugly.

On the right, behind the vegetables, the candles that the Orthodox people use to light in the church and at the grave side. I have not seen these at another market, either.

 

This is made from the same pastry as burek, but is prepared and cooked “empty”. It hasn’t any cheese, or meat, only pastry. Apparently people enjoy then like this. Vanja and Ako and Elsada all said that the pastry like this was really good. The woman who was selling them told me to drizzle a little pavlaka over it and eat it with yogurt. (Remember, you drink the yogurt here.) I think it might be an acquired taste? I should have tried one.

Here I bought the walnuts for the baklava I was going to make for Igor and Lori before we leave, in Belgrade.

I cannot pass  buy such beautiful, fresh produce without taking a picture. Gorgeous. And below, the honeys and herbs for special medicinal teas. To the right, all kinds of different flours.

Homemade pastas, and cheeses, and below, homemade meats, and a smoked cheese that is a speciality of this region. I don’t care for it at all. It is dry and bitter.

Now, I am nearing the far end of the market, and I almost tripped over the little chicky scooting between my legs. I see this time, the “Chick Lady” also has ducklings, and more than one kind of chicken.

Here she sits with her grandchild selling her little balls of puff.

And the Bijeljina version of the Veg-O-Matic promotion was hilarious. There the fellow is, top right, with his pile of cabbage as he is chanting madly in that “Veg-O-Matic” mantra about how wonderful his potato peeler is. That little plastic yellow thing is essentially what he is selling. That should tell you something about the quality of life for some here. The standard of living has certainly increased steadily the last five year. Pensions have not increased a penny since the war, though. So you can figure out who is really suffering.

And, out the other side. The market is a large square enclosed by stores that mostly open onto the street on the outside from the market direction. I am glad I made the time to go. I understand so much more each time, and always enjoy visiting an open air market. With veggies for Pava, and walnuts for my baklava, we were ready to bid farewell, and head out to Belgrade to prepare for our flight home.

There is nothing that compares to the complexity of flavours infused into every pore of the skin and flesh of this succulent roasted chicken.

Vanja awoke to his doting parents already preparing his Birthday coffee and his midmorning birthday lunch.

Instead of the traditional chicken soup, Pava had once again splurged for the rich dark duck for her soup.

Petar had some special slanina (cured and double smoked bacon) and sunka (smoked meat) saved for this special meal and Pava had picked and frozen every wild strawberry that she could find for this day.

The powerful punch of sweet fruity perfume that this miniscule juicy ruby jewel delivers is unexpectedly enticing. I could not get enough.

Veal Goulash is the mid day “light lunch”. She had also made cheese pita, but we were too hot and too full to even cut into it. She also had two cakes. It is so sweet to see the little gummy hearts on the cake for Vanja. The main dinner celebration will be when it cools down outside. That scared me. This was huge. How much more is she making?

Today it was 42 degrees Celsius in the shade. I was drained and begging to be flung over the nearest bridge, and left there. Meanwhile, Pava was sweating in the smoke house, water dripping off of her nose as she diced the onions for the pljeskavica for the evening rostilj. She is one determined mommy.

Petar readied the grill. Pava seasoned and prepped the meat. Chicken first, then raznjici (kabob, in this case, cevapi with slanina), sausages, pork filets, pljeskavica, and lastly, the long green peppers.

Divine! All this with Pava’s cheese pita, Srbski salata, and bread: a meat lover’s feast.

Zoka and his family were invited to share in the celebration and the platters and platters and platters of meat. It was still so hot in the evening, but everyone seemed to be lost in the farewell feast. Tomorrow, we leave. And, it was so hot, I was eager to go. What a wonderful finale for us all.

Pava’s neighbour dropped by yesterday with a gift for her. I was in the house, so I missed her. The gift was this wreath. Pava always has wreaths with special herbs and garlic on them at her gate, on her shed, on her house, and little dried up bundles of basil stuck in crevasses here and there. I asked Vanja about it our first year here, and he just laughed and said they were to ward off evil spirits. I was immediately tuned in. What do you mean? He actually wouldn’t or couldn’t, but didn’t get into it. He just said that many of the elder Serb’s believed in superstition and then I did a little research and belief in superstition is inherent in many Eastern religions.

 

It’s funny, or odd, that the last war, and many others have taken place in the name of religion when so few actually really go to church and practice their religious beliefs. Rituals are definitely practiced, but faith in a God is most often not part of the ritual. It is more about “what” you are than what you believe. Vanja never stepped a foot in a church through his entire life, and this was very common amongst his communist countrymen. And, it wasn’t as if they were communist in the sense that we understand in Canada. They were Socialists and lived in a communal state that was extremely liberal. There were no restrictions on travel from within the country. The people were able to keep their passports and allowed to apply to travel anywhere in the world. The standard of living was the highest of any eastern European country during the communist era and this enabled a great deal of freedom amongst the people.

From the old, to the new. So, as Saint Ivan’s Day was approaching, all old wreaths came down, and new fresh ones went up to proclaim to all who pass by that you are protecting your home and family from any ill will. You are doing the best you can to honour the traditions of your forefathers and carry on as best you can. Rituals are symbolic, and Pava feels at peace when she has her wreath on her wall. She believes she has done all she knows to do.

The special herb that is tied into this wreath is very important, and hard to find. It is Ivina Trava (Saint Ivan’s Grass) and symbolically protects the home as Saint Ivan is the protector of the home. Pava’s neighbour got it from a friend who sells it at the market so every year Pava knows she will have her new wreath for Saint Ivan’s Day made specially for her from her neighbour. The old one goes somewhere else on the property. If the gate is covered, then to the shed, the smoke house, the chicken house, or a tree. There is always room for another good omen.

And, even the old and dried ones are pretty. Of course, garlic is also added as an extra precaution to chase away the evil spirits. Basil is the herb of God and is the one used in the church at wedding ceremonies and christenings and any other church rituals. Pava places it in the crevasses throughout her house and yard to let the evil spirits know that she is a believer, and is protected from God.

They were selling them at the market, as well. One lady was making them at her stall with an abundance of the special herb to work with.

There are some that have a superstitious nature. If you worry about something, and express your worry out loud, some think that is a bad omen and that the worst may then happen. Best to not express worries out loud, and to have little wreaths at the gate.

Pava and I have a ritual upon my arrival to her home. Together, we tour her spectacular garden. She celebrates her labours of love, and I earnestly “ooh” and “aah” over everything – effortlessly. I am still in awe.

Here she is being silly in front of their home since 2002 in Bijeljina, Bosna. It is interesting to know that both Pava and Petar were orphaned at 10 years of age during the second world war. Though they never met until years later, their stories are similar. Each stayed with their brothers and sisters. Pava was the youngest, and Petar the oldest, thus each played very different roles within that intimate family unit during that very difficult time in history. Suffice it to say, that once they met, each had a truck load of intestinal fortitude, and understood one another implicitly. Family was always to be first and foremost in each of their hearts. Both worked hard, as that is all each knew. She, a kindergarten teacher; he, a financial planner. They owned their apartment in Lukavic, and had just completed a dream country house. Two story brick with an indoor and outdoor kitchen. Nut and fruit trees, grape vines, flowers… life was good, and they deserved good.

 

Then, came the Bosnian war. Again, suffice it to say that they left their home, and moved into another vacated home in a safer area. Once the war was over, they reclaimed their home, and in time, repossessed it. They could no longer live there, so they sold it. Their country home was unsalvageable at this period of their life. They moved to Bijeljina, inside of the Republik of Srpska in Bosna. Eventually, they found this lovely little cement home on this lovely piece of land to purchase and moved it to start over again. If anyone knew about starting over, it was Pava and Petar. Always positive, always happy, always working Together, they created a paradise for themselves in 7 years. It is a little sad to see how hard they do work. We could certainly provide an easier life for them, but they will have none of of that kind of change.

 

This home is again created by their own hands, and one can only guess at how much that means and how difficult it would be again, to lose. So, a little walk with me and Pava through her Garden of Eden….

 

She has a special variety of black berries that grow like grapes do, in clumps, and are more full flavoured than the ones I am used to at home. These are not ripe yet, but look good enough to eat right now!

There is the wall covered with them. And Pava is giving Lori one of her cucumbers to take home with her to Belgrade. Vanja wanted to be sure I noted that everything is bigger in the Balkans!

I am standing under the grape vines photographing them from the inside, but the light is still too bright! Look at how plentiful these are. They are not good eating grapes. They turn a nice red colour, and Pava makes juice from them for the winter.

See the grape vines beside the fence staked up with the two boards? They are huge. To the right of them are the peach and pear trees and the columnar apple trees. To the left, the blackberries. All are difficult to see against the green corn in the neighbour's yard.

These she did not plant, they are actually growing wild in the lane. They are wild plums and a signature fruit of this region primarily because of the plum brandy everyone distils at home. They can make it with these plums, and many do. They are really tasty fruit. The yellow one is more full flavoured with a very tart skin, and the red one has subtler flavour and a sweet skin. These would make great preserves, pudding, dried fruit, and a whole host of other things! Pava has used them in almost any way possible, particularly through the last war.

She has columnar apple trees hiding behind the nasturtium, pears, and nectarines in her front yard.

Two bulging apricot trees are in her garden in her side yard planted only two years ago!

The cherry tree is at the back of the house, as is the red current, the strawberries, and most of her herbs: thyme, sage, and other medicinal herbs. She makes teas with them all for the winter and knows exactly which combination will cure which ill. I have a cupboard filled with them at home with little loving notes attached to each so we use them properly.

Her garden is also at the side of the house filled with cucumber, tomatoes, onion, carrots, peas, squash, zucchini, potatoes, dill, and so much more. I found this eggplant blossom adorable, and did resist plucking the eggplants to make the smoked eggplant dip, but it was hard!

Look at this massive squash! This is for Lori to take home. Our pita for lunch was made with one, but I could only taste the cheese; it was delicious!

The morning glory vine is against the smokehouse beside the cement outdoor sink. Everyone has an outdoor sink. Even in the city, if they live in a house. The basil is everywhere, and all kinds. See the little topiary of it, and behind it, so much sweet basil. The smoke house is used in the winter to smoke the most outstanding pork. It is cured like prosciutto, but it is smoked and a specialty of the region. Everyone has their own way, and everyone does their own, even if they live in an apartment. If they don’t have their own smoker, they use someone’s. The smoked meat and sausage of this region is absolutely deadly delicious, and I do not even eat meat!

More from the garden I had to show everyone!

 

Where does Pava keep all of her food for the winter? In her shed. It is attached to the outside garage where the fire burning stove is, and this is always our last stop on our tour. She has started already for this winter, of course. Apricot jam, tomato preserves, all kinds of juices and winter salads, and of course, ajvar. Ajvar is seen to be cooking over open fires all over Bosnia in late summer and the fall in massive pots, yet it is so delicious, it is rare to have any left by Christmas. Pava saved her entire stock from last year for me. I make it, too, but there is nothing on Earth better than Pava’s Ajvar.

Here she is showing it to us. It took a lot of self control not to whip it out of her hand and savagely have at it that very second! I pride myself on my control! Then there are her yellow peppers and her hot peppers….

She showed me how many bottles of cherry juice she had already made this spring, and that begged the question: “Where is your Cherry Sliva?” The men usually drink it straight, but Pava sneaks a little, soaks her cherries in it, and creates a delicious (though still deadly) concoction to sip on. She started to grin and pulled out her jug of it!

And look what she made for her son…. Can you see that love in her eyes? It is pretty obvious, isn’t it?

Vanja had enough, so decided he would take a turn and show me his beer. Time for a break! No, one more minute, Pava whispers. “Look what I have hidden and saved just for you?”

An entire kilo of walnuts! Oh, my goodness! Vanja’s Uncle Vulcan brought them 2 kilos from his property when he came to visit over the winter, so she saved one for our visit. That’s Pava, the ultimate saver. There are walnut trees throughout the region, yet they are still very expensive in the stores, and almost all of the traditional sweets call for them.

And there is the shed, still mostly empty. Important tidbits in bags hung from the ceiling. Mother crying on her son’s shoulder one more time to let him know how much he was missed and to instil that little bit of loving motherly guilt within him as she mumbles through her tears that she is so happy to be together with the family one more time while she is still alive.

 

I have come to know this as part of who Pava is, and part of what is expected from all “good” mothers of the region.

 

And she is the quintessential mother. She wastes nothing. Uses everything. Works very hard, and takes great pride in it all, as she should. Those struggling to provide for themselves working at the 100 Mile Diet might learn something from a trip to this area. The 100 meter diet is basically the way of life here. They grow their own, and raise their own, and make everything themselves. And life is good.

 

I do feel at home here. Who wouldn’t? It is a paradise for a gardener, and a cook. (Though I do miss my kitchen at home.) This is definitely an adventure and a challenge I am eager to take on every time I come!

 

Who needs to shop? Just go outside and get what you need. It is all here. Only the bread and milk is purchased in this home, and in many others nearby, even that is made from the field in the house.

 

This country is full of contradictions. Where the 100 Mile Diet is the way of life for all in the rural areas, the nouveau riche are revelling in their new found ability to buy processed, buy foreign, and just “buy”. The deep appreciation many are just beginning to acquire at home for local regional produce is the way of life many are trying to escape here. The new Mega Markets popping up throughout the land everywhere offer much more variety than has ever been possible in stores here before. The transition in this country has been phenomenal in the past five years.

 

I wonder if they know what a good thing they really do have going. Then again, this way of life is a matter of survival, not choice, for most. That makes all the difference, but the 100 metre diet is a beautiful thing to me.

What would Pava and Petar do without the Smoke House in the summer? Two years ago it was 50 degrees Celsius in the shade when I was here. The growing season is long and the temperature has been very hot here since April. Cooking in the smoke house means that Pava can keep her house a dark and cool sanctuary for her to nap during the sizzling afternoons. They sure have this little house stocked! Ever morning Petar makes his coffee here, and Pava prepares the evening meal in the coolness of the early morning.

These two do everything together. Currently, they are making a late evening meal of eggs and salad. She has a gas stove and oven in the smoke house and a two burner gas stove top that she is currently using above, as well. For bigger jobs, like jam making, there is the wood burning stove in the open garage.

 

Everyone in the Balkans has an outdoor sink. Everyone. It sure comes in handy when you cook in the smoke house! And, nothing goes to waste! The hot heat from the son heats huge bottles of water left under the sink all day so there is hot water for dishes in the evening. Believe me, it is still hot!

TIME FOR PALACINKA!

See what looks like a trap door in the left photo below just behind Pava’s feet? That’s where Petar builds his smoky fire in the fall to smoke his meat for the winter.

Can you see in the photo above to the right that there are a couple of beer drinking buddies waiting for some palacinka?

 

HEY! Great flip! Palacinka are exactly like crepes and common everywhere throughout the Balkans. Everyone makes them, and you can buy them on the street anywhere for about a dollar.

Vanja has apricot jam on his, and I have a little with some walnuts. Most people prefer Euro Creme on theirs which has become more popular than Nutella. Most likely because it is cheaper. It is also half white and half milk chocolate.

All rolled up and ready to go! YUM. But, never enough for Vanja. I HAVE TO GET THE RECIPE FROM HOME to insert here. Pava made it without telling me, so I couldn’t write down what she threw in.!

Sir (cheese) pita is a definitive favourite of this family, and I am finding, of all families in the Balkan regions. In Bosnia, burek, is a meat pita. Everywhere else uses the term “burek” for all kinds of pitas. Pava made this for us upon our arrival to Bijeljina. Vesna made it for us in Kozarci. Dragana made it for us in Kozarci. Pava made it for us on Vanja’s birthday in Bijeljina. We bought some delicious sir and meat pita in V Banja for our meal there at the “best” Pekara in town, according to the locals. It is always different, but always (so far) delicious. Pava does not make her own dough, but Vesna did. It is so gorgeous coming out of the oven and such a yummy lunch with a little yogurt to drink. The flavour combination is outstanding.

The cheese used for this kind of pita is also not available in Canada. Cottage Cheese works. Here, the cheese looks like the consistency of ricotta cheese, but is not at al sweet, or nearly as salty as cottage cheese. It is richer and creamier and more buttery.

It is 35 degrees in the shade. What would we do without the smoke house for the summer kitchen? See the “trap door” in the floor that Petar uses to build a fire to smoke his meat each fall for the winter. Where the pots and pans are hanging is usually filled with delectable cuts of meat.

Pava has a gas stove in here, and a little burner for their morning coffee. It was even too hot too eat on the patio. And, to be honest, who has an appetite in this kind of heat? But, that does not stop Pava from working and cooking and cooking and working when her Canadian son comes home. She cannot do enough for him or fill him enough with her specialties before he has to leave her once again.

Several years ago now, the first time Vanja met Elsada, Ako’s wife, she made burek for them for supper. He remembers how she came home from work, and in no time at all there was the most delicious burek he had ever eaten, Sorry, Pava! I have since been to their home twice, and this time, he asked if she could teach me how she does it. I have wanted to learn how to make the pastry for years. I asked Branka once, and she brought over the dough, and demonstrated it for me, but I didn’t learn how to make it. Today, I did! Hooray!

I am so proud of her finished product! It is beautiful, and golden, and not wet like so many seem to be.

 

OK. Here goes. I admit, I was afraid of failure. Not that, really, so much, as the possible inability to never succeed. Or, to not know how to succeed. The recipe will follow below. Salt, flour and water. That is it. I was uncomfortable working the dough in the bowl, and as soon as I got it onto the counter, I was in familiar territory.  I could see where she was going from my bread making experience, and hers was getting there faster as she is used to working the dough in a bowl.

I am so used to taking my own blog photos, but today, I had an eager helper: Ako! He was just about as excited as I was that I was learning how to do this! Hi, Ako!

 

So, we had one big ball each that needed to rest for thirty minutes. Then, we divided it into two and on a sturdy piece of flour dusted paper, we rolled the dough out with a rolling pin, turning it only once until just about “that” big and then moistened it with the smallest amount of oil so that the top would be pliable. Each dough “patty” needs to rest about fifteen minutes.

Ako had run to the butcher and had him grind one kilo of hind quarter beef and we got to work mincing the onions during the resting time. Salt, pepper and mineral water were also added.

OK, now for the hard part. Stretching the dough. I had been dreading this because I had no frame of reference for doing anything similar. Elsada picked the pliable pastry up from underneath with her hands and placed it on the “burek tablecloth” that “all Bosnian women have” says Emina.

Then she worked from the middle of the dough underneath and just stretched the edges all around the table out, out, and out….

…and the dough kept moving out, out, and out….

Once it completely covered the table, we circled it to pull it down a bit more, and then we took one quarter of the meat and place a little around the entire circumference of the table. Elsada said her father used to remind her, “Remember, we are making burek, not cevapi!” So, whenever my meat got a little thick around my edge, I would remember that.

She sliced the pastry down the middle and we each took a knife and cut off all of the edges. Then, folded the dough hanging over the table up and over the layer of meat. Once that was completely done, she took a spoon and sprinkled over a little melted butter and oil over each side. Then, she used the tablecloth to guide the roll toward the centre of the table, and finished rolling by hand.

 

We got about three portions per each “log”, or six per each one of the four batches. The one kilo of meat made 24 beautiful burek. The oven was heated to 500 F and they were sprinkled very lightly with the butter oil mixture again before they went in for about 10 to 15 minutes until brown. Then she brought them out and added just a little more mineral water over them all to keep them moist, and back into the oven for 5 more minutes and cover with a tea towel when they come out for at least 5 minutes before eating.

This is how much dough was left from cutting the edges off of all 4 batches. It will last a couple of days in the fridge and can be brought out and rested for 30 minutes again, like the original, and start over with it.

 

Aren’t they beautiful? Perfection on a plate!!!! I CAN do it! (I think!) We shall see when I get home!

Look at the flaky pastry!

And my new little friend, Emina, is first at the table with me. Actually, I was first!

And here is the family breakfast. The entire house was filled with the aroma of freshly baked burek. There is really nothing that says “I love you” more – except a two carat diamond! (he-he)

 

We each made this much pastry, so this is the amount of pastry for 500 grams of beef, or 12 burek. I might invite a friend to visit with during the process, as it really didn’t take us long once we were ready to roll them out, and 12 doesn’t go very far with a burek-loving crowd!

Thank you SO much, Elsada.

You really have no idea how much I truly appreciate learning this and I am just jumping out of my skin until I get home to see if I really CAN do it, but, for now, I BELIEVE I can, and that is a great start!

We were finally in Tuzla and I hadn’t seen Vanja’s best childhood friend Almir (aka AKO) and his family for two years. Actually, I had not seen the children for five years, and I was so excited to find that they were there. After a few minutes of hugging and kissing and about fifteen minutes of rapid chatter, we were invited to the kitchen to this feast! How did Elsada do this so fast? She had laid out individual salads with roasted meat, vegetables and potatoes with stuffed peppers and eggplants.

Isn’t it gorgeous? It was a lovely time together and my stuffed eggplant was so tasty! Ukusno! YUM! Then, we retired to the living room for some more chat, and seconds later, Elsada again entered with coffee and the most magnificent torte! She will be sending the recipe for me to put in this blog, shortly. They had picked the cherries themselves, so I understood their satisfaction, but I am not sure they understood mine! DOUBLE YUMMERS!

Vanja and I got to spend time with Elsada and Ako’s children, Emina and Mirza, three and eight when we saw them last. Each speaks three languages. Double WOW! And, Emina has such a love of learning languages that she will be taking French soon. They currently speak “Bosnian”, German, and English. Emina wants to learn to write in each language now. We, and her parents, were shocked at how excited she was to speak her English and to use it so fluently and was so able to be so rapid in her responses and her conversations! Mirza was much quieter this visit, but charmed us once again with his talented playing of his guitar.

I had so much fun! Emina and I are going to be pen pals, and Elsada taught me how to make burek! A wonderful, wonderful family and  I feel so fortunate to have them welcome me into their intimate little circle.

What does one say when two beautiful looking unknowns are placed on the prettiest of plates? One says, “Thank you!” and, if you are “A Canadian Foodie” you become very excited. These were works of art. What are they? Ormasice. Ormasice? Yes, with orah (walnuts). Pava had made ormarsice for me my first time here, and it looked nothing like this. One bite, and nirvana. Eyes rolled back in my head and I had to restrain myself from shaking violently and screaming; “YES!” This was paradise on a plate. Fortunately, I had not eaten a thing all day. One was filling, but I went for two. I can’t recall any of the conversation, just the hedonistic pleasure that shivered through me with each bite. I did look up now and then and smile appreciatively. I did not lick my plate. I thought about it. I need to learn how to make these, and hope to get the recipe soon to include here, with my “try”.

 

And the juice? It was exactly the same as “The Nectar of the Gods”, and I learned it is made by pressing raw apples through a massive press, and if the apples are good, you get about one litre of juice for 2 kilos of apples. A good tree has about 14 kilos of apples. I think this very special juice should be served in a shot glass and sipped slowly to really savour the preciousness of it.

And after a lovely visit (well, I did visit after the ormasice), VJ’s mother asked if we would like to see what brings the two of them joy now that their children are no longer home. She took us to the balcony to view a swallow’s nest. They have had them for two years now and already this year the second brood of babies is coming. What a thrill to have such a treasure on your own balcony in the middle of the city!

What a memorable portion of one afternoon with the parents of one of our dearest friends. We are so blessed to have the opportunity to spend this time with them. I also took them some of Amina’s Russian Salad and Vera returned my dish just as Amina always did, filled with something to take home.

 

What was it? More ormasice! I guess the intense focus on my treat was not as subtle as I had hoped. I was speechless. The bowl was actually part of the gift, but always in this part of the world people give back more to you than you give to them. Always.

And here, in Bosnia, Amina’s native land, we prepare to meet her parents and offer them our love and condolence. I decided that I would take them Russian Salad. I learned so much, and so many things from Amina, but her sharing of how she makes Russian Salad was the ultimate experience for me as hers was the best I had every tasted and I had to learn how her way. “How do you get the vegetables so perfectly cubed and so small?” Her answer, “My father makes it this way, and I just take the time to cut the vegetables as carefully as he does. I love my father’s salad. It is so simple. It just takes time.”

 

Well, I decided to “take on” this simple project one day and bought everything I thought went into the salad and boiled the carrots and the potatoes. The potatoes were quite mushy, but I got everything cut up in a kind-of haphazardly perfect way. Oh. What about onions? Are there onions in Russian Salad? She wasn’t home when I called. What should I do? Hmmm… well, almost everything she makes has onions, so this must, too. VJ loves them, so I put in onions. Tiny, perfectly cubed onions. And when she an VJ came to dinner the next day, she was every so polite. “It is very good, Valerie. You did such a good job cutting everything. Sometimes the potatoes do go mushy. (Like when they are cooked too long!) But, Valerie, it isn’t Russian Salad. It is a good salad, but it isn’t Russian Salad. It just cannot be Russian Salad with onions. I will teach you how.”

 

I was really quite surprised. It tasted really good, to me. But, Ok. I obviously needed serious help in the Russian Salad making department. And I realised just how much when I had her Russian Salad again. That’s when I learned the salad wasn’t a potato salad, either. So, she came over one year when VJ was away working before Christmas, and we made it together. Some for his homecoming, and some for my Christmas party. All ingredients were of equal portions, or very close to equal. She taught me a recipe through an experience that I will use the rest of my life, that I will never forget, and I think of her every time I make it.

But, I didn’t think I would be making it for her parents in Bosnia this summer. As I held each ingredient in my trembling hands, I tried to slice each with perfection to honour her teaching and her memory. I just could not do her justice. The entire experience was a ritual filled with love for her and the rich texture she brought into my life, accompanied by heartache for her loss. I did cook the potatoes too much again, though I was trying to be diligent. We got some more, and did them again. I could find no dilled pickles in the store. Fortunately, Pava had some for me to use. Everything came from her garden. I didn’t add enough salt. I know I didn’t. But, Amina doesn’t like too much salt.

 

My offering to her parents was so small. But, it is a symbol of how much we loved her and how she shared herself with others. What else could I offer? I hugged each parent and tried to force some positive energy into each one through my hug and my hopes.

We sat in her family kitchen, and I could imagine her coming through the door just as her mother described with her arms in the air and her happy smile lighting up the room, “What? You are having coffee already and no one has called me?” and then sitting down for a bubbly good morning chat, never even sipping from her cup. She brought such joy to us all. And, on the kitchen table, was a fresh bowl of her favourite summer melon ripened to sweet perfection, cut and waiting.

These are the wonderful parents of our dearest friend, Amina. Amina lived her life with a fullness few could match. Her sensitivity and warmth brought love and happiness to so many. She loved her husband more than I ever thought it possible to love another. She loved her family beyond words and would never have wanted them to suffer this loss. We came, as she certainly would have, to offer our strength, support and some genuine love. It is so difficult to know what will help, but we will continue to do whatever we know to do. (I am even sending more positive energy their way now, as I write.)

Her heart was even more beautiful than her face.

Pava stayed up until three in the morning one night cutting up the meat into fine little minced portions and making burek (meat pie) for the freezer so we could have it to take with us on out trip together. We left at 5:30 in the morning, but she baked a batch the night before for our breakfast. What a sweetheart.

We stopped by the side of the road on the way to Mostar to have a bite. This is what you call a stand up picnic!

Then, our first morning back from the holiday, after the morning coffee (and the sljiva!) she had it baked for us again! This time I had some. They had it with yogurt. I had it with her homemade ajvar. Bliss.

See her little pieces of meat? She didn’t make her own pastry but it was still delicious.

 

Thank you, Pava, for yummy burek, our favourite!

Look at these eggs! I don’t even like fried eggs, and I had to have one to soak a little bread in. The yolks were like pudding. Yummy and silky dripping with lush globules of golden bliss.

Vesna and Cici were a team in the kitchen this morning making our breakfast. Their sweet and cool little summer kitchen used to be part of the barn where they fed the cows. It was remodelled to be the perfect little kitchen for the long and hot summers they get in Northern Serbia.

 

Niko, Pava’s brother, brought his little orphaned brothers and sisters with him to this village in 19 46 when he was just 16 and has lived in this house provided to him from the government  as a post war incentive ever since. He made a brick mould, and he and his son, Cici, built the entire barn hand made brick by hand made brick.  It is big enough to house 100 pigs.

 

Now they have laying hens, chickens in the spring for the winter freezer, and pigs getting fat for the fall slaughter. They have a small apricot orchard, grape vines, walnut trees, and a massive green housed garden. Niko lives on the first floor of his home remodelled from the original, and Vesna and Cici, with their two adult children, live on the second floor.

This is the outside of the little summer kitchen, above. Below it is shown again, with the door to Niko’s house directly beside it, and to the right. Then, just climb the stairs up to Cici and Vesna’s spacious home. The quaint driveway heads straight to the barn and massive garden area.

Would this be a home in the country without a pooch? NO! Hello Medo (bear)!

Vesna does her daily chores which include feeding the pigs. See the “shelf” in the summer kitchen? Isn’t this the perfect place to prepare meals to keep the main house cool through the summer?

Vesna does the eggs and sausage; Cici prepares the cheeses and the tomatoes and sliced meats. What a team!

What a feast! And, it was all gone in about 15 minutes, too!

What wonderful memories with such a wonderful family. Come to Canada! XOXOXOX

Cici and Vesna took us into Kikinda from their nearby village of Kozarci so I could see the open air market, and we could see some of the sights as well as the beautiful Austro-Hungarian architecture in this region. Above are bags of home made pasta for the famous chicken soup everyone serves before every meal here. I know Pava has made some for us to take home with us. Honestly, I cannot tell the difference in the flavour between the home made noodles of this tiny size to the ones I purchase in the Italian Centre Store at home. But, hers have a lot of loved worked into the dough, and though they are dirt cheap to buy, they are even cheaper to make on your own. And, you do have control of the ingredients.

The town was actually breathtaking. The flowers and parks and architecture very Western European in feeling. I was not prepared for the massiveness of the open air market. Only once before in Aux-en-Provence in the South of France did I see such a vast display of wares for sale. You could by anything and everything here, and cheaper than in any nearby store. The market was packed.

See all the kitchen ware and household items?

Beautiful frees range organic eggs. The ones selling for 10 dinars each would be about 20 cents each in Canadian dollars.

These tomatoes (50 dinars a kilo) would be about 95 Canadian cents per kilo.

Under ware anyone?

Now that is garlic from the farm! No one would buy it in this condition at a market at home, but it was pennies a kilo here.

These hot peppers are absolutely gorgeous. They were selling for 3 dinars each (5 cents Canadian).

Kale, , spinach: very different spinach than we eat at home. The flavour is somewhat similar.

Seed, Seeds, Seeds! Kikinda is the region for sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds. I have not seen any of these in any other open air market, yet. Above are special varieties of honey to cure specific ailments.

Again, gorgeous. I find open the fresh fruits, vegetables, and the interesting people at open air markets captivating works of art.

That is it. Massive and fun and now off to see some sites like the city Museum and the remains of a mammoth that was found in this region by…..

I thought that after 11 years with Vanja, three lengthy trips to the Balkans and many dinners with his fellow countrymen in Edmonton that I had experienced all of the traditional ethnic foods. But, no. Our first breakfast in Kozarci at Cici and Vesna’s house was kolacici. Vanja’s Auntie Zora used to make them all of the time and Vanja loves them (apparently!). Interestingly, kolac is the word for cake, and the suffix “cici” definitely indicates something small. The recipe is exactly the same as for palacinka (Balkan crepes), but with the batter is thicker.

As you can see, these are deep fried. The outside is crispy and the inside is unexpectedly moist and cakey.

Traditionally, these are served with kjimak (the scooped off top from boiled unpasteurized milk after it has settled and cooled) and jam. It was yummy. But, a deep fried dough with a rich buttery cream and sweet jam: how could that not taste good? I was tickled pink with the new and unexpected learning and experience, but this will not be a dish that I make at home. We are definitely steering away from deep fried foods.

 

I have heard of Auntie Dragica’s kolac for years. Our first trip to Serbia, Dragana served a cake and everyone exclaimed, “Oh, Dragica’s kolac!” But she modestly declined that acknowledgement and everyone agreed it was only similar, but still delicious, of course! Then, Pava or Lori would make “similar” concoctions, but I would always hear of how much superior Auntie Dragica’s was. Well, this year, I said I hoped she would make her famous cake as she would be at the little village when we were to visit. I assumed she would be coming for dinner. She wasn’t, but Pava made sure she mentioned my wish, and the second day there was a phone call and someone was summoned to go an pick up the cake she had made for us!

I was so excited, and when I saw it, so surprised. It looked nothing like any of the other cakes everyone was saying were similar to Dragica’s. The only similarity at all was that she uses a special little tea biscuit cookie as her crust, and the other similar cakes were layered with these biscuits. But, I must admit, hers was the best! She makes her own pudding that is light and lovely due to her hand beaten egg whites gently folded into it. She fills the cake and then lets it set, and covered it with cream and shaved chocolate.

I will be including her recipe soon, so everyone can enjoy this family delight. YUM! YUM! YUM!

We are at out last stop for this holiday with Vanja’s parents. We are in Northern Serbia, 3 kilometres shy of the Romanian boarder in a little village called Kozarci.  The closest known town would be Kikinda. Here is where the story of Pava’s life began as her elder brother, then eleven, Niko, took his four siblings under his wing when they were all orphaned, and raised them in this Northern village where they were placed after WWII. Niko still lives in the same location; though, he has completely rebuilt his house, brick by hand made brick with his son, Cici. Niko lives on the main floor, and Cici, his wife Vesna and their two children live on the second floor. This was a homecoming.

Table set. Brother ready in the yard, with tears, and hugs. Vesna in the kitchen with the most amazing food hot and ready immediately at our arrival. But, first coffee, sljiva, and hugs.

The familiar chicken soup. This one was so lush and toothsome! I had seconds, and I never do that.

Vesna made a spinach with sir and a sir (cheese) pita with homemade pastry! It is as thin as phyllo, but not layered with butter. I am going to get a lesson in Tuzla from Ako’s wife, so I will know more about this them. I do know it is extremely difficult to make and was absolutely the best I have ever eaten . (Sorry, Pava. XO) Can you see how light and yet rich it is all at the same time? Pitas (pies like this) are very traditional throughout the Balkans. They make both sweet, and savoury, but savoury is by far most common. Vanja’s favourite is Burek (meat pie).

Then there was stuffed peppers. I know they are traditional in this region, and I make them, but I have never eaten them from a person’s home. I was thrilled. They were pork, and so yummy.

After the table was set with the food, let’s not forget more sljiva! It is customary to welcome our guests!

Niko sits at the head, in this cool kitchen on the lower floor of the main house. Prijatno! Bon Appetite!

And, as if that was not enough, as soon as the sun went down, or as soon as it cooled down, rather, around nine, Cici borrowed the neighbour’s paella pan and set to grilling up a mess of meat and vegetables. I have never seen anything like it. Fantastic!

Pork chops, and beef burgers stuffed with herbs and cheese accompanied by potatoes, peppers, and onions. Two massive platters filled for two tables: the old, and the young! This is the first time in years that I found myself sitting at the “young” table! Loved it.

Did I forget the sljiva? Silly me! Niko toasts to his family and happiness and prosperity, always!

Vesna cooked in the third kitchen which keeps her home cool. See the lights on in it? It is attached to the house and the barn, both. The elders ate in the downstairs kitchen; we kids ate in the garden in the covered patio.

 

Pita is a traditional speciality in the Balkans, and it became clear to me that it is particularly a treat when you can find an excellent pita in a Pekara (bakery) that you don’t have to slave over the kitchen to make yourself. Pava was absolutely delighted with her discovery and we all enjoyed a very nutritious, delicious and CHEAP lunch. The entire massive tray of meat and cheese pita with the yogurt drinks came to the equivalent of seven Canadian dollars and there was half of everything left over!

This was a very  memorable little picnic before Vanja’s afternoon at the pool, my afternoon reading, and our early evening at the spa.

 

We planned this two night stay at the Vrnjacka Banja for particularly for Vanja’s parents as his dad had major heart surgery two years ago, and his mother is also not as healthy as she should be. Banjas, or Spas, are common throughout the Balkan regions as there are many wellness spring waters that come from the mountains. Spas here, however, are medical centers and attached to hospitals with doctors and specialty health care staff. Each is known for a specific physical specialty. This one is mainly for those suffering from diabetes and for those with intestinal problems. The spa treatments are designed around these kinds of illnesses. There is always a wellness centre attached that one can just get regular treatments at, too. Spa stays are often prescribed by doctors here. Petar and Pava stayed in one for three weeks after his heart surgery.

 

For some reason, Petar decided to not have a treatment at this spa. He could have seen the doctor and got some kind of recommended treatment, but was enjoying the air and the room and declined. Pava went only for a back massage, so Vanja and I did a mineral bath and a full body massage together. Then I got a pedicure. It was my first real spa experience. I had never had a massage before, or a mineral bath at one. The candle light, mystical aromas, and the ambiance was mesmerizing.

Ok. That was your brief tour. Now back to the mood of our time there.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful thing. Ahhhhhh!

Yes, the focus of this specific blog is also on food. Food, like language and art, is a product of one’s culture, and understanding the culture is the basis for understanding the food. Visiting this open air museum of the way of life in Serbia in the 19th Century turned on more than a few light bulbs inside of my head. After visiting the remains of Kupres, the stories Petar and Pava were able to retell through our time in this open air museum brought me right back to Kupres and the past into the present. I finally got it.

Petar remembered making fences exactly like this in Kupres. They used the young pliable branches to weave in and out of the posts, and as they dried, the fence was formidable. I was enthralled. I was also really taken aback by how primitive their childhood lives were. His house in Kupres was exactly like one of the ones we stood in here. He said they were all alike.

 

Most Canadian farms in the 1800’s were not as rustic as these. Most of the farmers in our country in the 1800’s were immigrants and had come from a European country with some personal belongings, and were able to make a good living for themselves in this new world. In Serbia, the land was inhabited by the Slavs, and had been for thousands of years. However, the farmers were never able to make a good living for themselves for a variety of reasons:

The frescos in the old monasteries and churches bear haunting faces with eyes searching for the truth. The Serbian monasteries hold some of the world’s most prized Byzantine frescos.

 

Religion has been the supposed cause of the last war in Bosnia with the three sides: Serbs (Orthodox), Croats (Catholics), and Bosnians (Muslim). Somehow ethnicity got confused with religion. This has happened in many regions of the world. If you are Catholic, and live in Serbia, even if you were born there, you are considered a Croat, not a Serb. This is the same in each place: if you are Orthodox, and live in Bosnia, you are a Serb, not a Bosnian. It is strange to me. What is sadder, and stranger, is that these people are all the same race. It is a primordial position that goes back further than anyone even living here understands. And what is even stranger is that most people do not even go to church or the mosque. Many do. Most do not. However, the rituals and ceremonies that bring the families together each have a basis in religion. The Serbs celebrate their patron saint day with a Slava. The Slava is a celebration of the family’s patron saint. Each family professes literal lineage from one or another saint, and the fraternal line has celebrated this day since the beginning of time. Once you understand this, it is a very powerful tie to one’s past, and to one’s culture. Each church or mosque is a symbol of a history that has been long and hard, and that many have fought and died for.

 

This museum is literally a walk through history, but not through the distant past. I walked through it with two adults who lived it.

The water source was fresh and clear and tasted like liquid air. See they man made beehives? They were woven with reeds or green branches, then covered with mud and bark. Each small community would have a bee keeper.

Of course, wheat and other grains were grown and these little A-frame houses stored it.

There was always one woman in each village that took care of all of the dairy products in the village and she would be the only one allowed into the dairy making house for sanitary reasons. The large white stone on the bench was used for pressing cheese into the round shape carved within it. What looks like a butter churn was used for making kjimak, the paddles were used to skin the milk and the other containers were used to make kisela mleka (sour mild, or what we know in Canada as yogurt), and pavlaka (sour cream).

 

Below are the water barrels that the children would hoist up onto their shoulder and take to the water source to fill each day.

Here is the main large cooking pot that would hang in the middle of the main room of the house to do the major cooking. There would be a fire built under it, and it would be usually filled with some kind of soup or stew. The table and chairs to the right and low to the floor are exactly what both Petar and Pava remember from their childhood homes. This main room had a dirt floor. There is also another fireplace in this house which Petar said was also in his, built into the wall to heat the second room (raised with a wooden floor) for sleeping. In the lower photo to the right do you see the hole in the middle of the roof is? You lift it open like the flu of a fireplace to let the smoke out by pushing on the long stick. The big black pots are still used in the country side today on open fires to make ajvar and other major outdoor preserving. And, yes, this would be the same kind of pot that Petar sprinkled the ammunition into from his pouch when he was tired of eating gruel day after day after day. (Read about that here)

These wooden bowls were all too familiar to Petar and Pava. They used them. Petar made them. They were part of their early life. Each had a very specific purpose. The huge one to the lower left was for making bread. He couldn’t recall what the  other two were for.

The paddles were for putting the bread in and out of the stone fire oven, and the little ladder on the far right was for somehow getting into the loft that some houses managed to use for storage. Petar told us how his uncle would lock his tobacco in a cabinet like the one in the middle, but Petar found a way to get into it, and stole a little regularly to give tot he Partisan soldiers as a child. His uncle never knew.

When a couple married, there would be a very tiny sleeping house made for them, but all other living would continue in the family home, and most of the day was spent working in the field, or at a specific occupation. Later, there might be a potter, as shown below, middle.

Ah, and one cannot forget the sljiva! This is such an ancient still that it was even foreign to Pava and Petar. Neither had seen one this old. But, never mind, the process is the same! It will still work and produce sljiva, and that is all that matters! The ripened plums are left to ferment on their own about three to four weeks in the huge storage containers shown on the lower right. Then, all that can fit will be put into the barrel covered with water on top of the fire on the far left of the above photo. The fire will be built  beneath it and as the plums cook, steam is created, and the alcohol is in the steam. That steam goes into the tube coming out of the plum barrel and going into the huge barrel just to the right of it. If you look on the top photo on the far right, you can see inside of that big barrel. The tube goes right through that big barrel, and the barrel is filled with ice water. The ice water makes the steam condense, and the condensation comes out of the tube into the last little barrel (a close up is in the last photo on the left, above). Ta-da! This is the sljiva.

Basket weaving was also a necessity (above), and below is the blacksmith’s workshop. Can you see the massive bellows to the right at the top of the first photo stored on a shelf? And below that is an ancient combine, but not so ancient. It was still used a hundred years ago, and farmers everywhere in the Balkans still use scythes. They even have scythe competitions like we have out rodeos.

I was so excited to see the fruit drying house as I made one once using the exact premise. Layers of screens to dry the fruit with a false back that let the warm air through to dry each layer. Of course, the layers need to be moved regularly.  A low fire (or two) was built in the back of this one. See the close up of the huge fruit shelves from the front?

The shape of these charming little dwellings is unique to the Balkans, and the lives lived within were hard. Life is still hard throughout most of the Balkans,

 

The hand stitched and embroidered linens were hard to pass by, too!

 

So, I can see how hard these people worked to prepare a simple meal each day from the visit through this open air museum. I still see it now. When one works this hard, the food must be tasty, and it absolutely is. I have asked over and over this trip, “Why is it that so many regions of the world are famous for their food, and not the Balkans?” But, as  ask, I think I have the answer. There is seemingly little variety to a visitor. Smoked cured meat, home made cheese and tomato and pepper salads. Where ever you go, it is always the same. (Lest I forget the palacinka and the sljiva!) However, as I discovered this trip, the idea is the same; the presentation is the same, but each region has their own unique way of making their cheeses and meats and their salads and pitas. Each one is delicious, and it has been such fun and so fascinating to learn this, and to develop this sense through this trip this year. And, one must celebrate the produce. It is spectacular and plentiful everywhere in the summer. The flavours and textures in the vegetables are hard to come by at home, and here, there is only the best everywhere.

She asked if we would like coffee or juice. We declined, but she absolutely insisted and brought back this golden nectar. It is monastery-made without any sugar, and it was almost too sweet to drink, but so delicious I will remember this Nectar of the Gods, forever.

Because I am so interested in art, and history, and art history, we all visited three very special monasteries this trip. The first was Moraca in northern Montenegro. It  holds what are known to be the most precious Byzantine Serbian frescos. The one is recognized all over the world as the only Blue-eyed Jesus ever painted… But, though it was right there, I couldn’t see it because it was behind the altar at the front of the chapel on a wall, hidden from public view in a darken corner. This was a man only monastery, and still, today, only men are allowed into the niche behind the alter, and must receive the blessing of the priest first. So, a viewing was out of the question. How sad, particularly since this piece has visited the Louvre in Paris, and been viewed there by anyone who went.

 

The second was Zica, this one, and I had set my mind on a hand painted icon of Vanja’s patron saint: Saint George. Usually, they are painted by a nun, or a monk. We had passed over one at the monastery in Montenegro as Vanja really felt ours should be done in Serbia. So, after hearing about this magnificent monastery where Saint Sava crowned his brother Stefan Prvovencani as the first King of Serbia where he declared the independence of the Serbian Orthodox Church, we asked to see some hand painted icons. They are done by special order only, and the nun who paints them would be coming to speak to us momentarily with a sample of her work.

 

So, here we sit, in the eating room of the monastery with beautifully hand painted walls, drinking the sweetest apple juice and discussing art with Sister Mlslhlhh. I am not Orthodox, but I was completely mesmerised. This woman’s face was so full of love.

She let me take pictures! I was so excited as no photos are allowed in the monasteries. The environment was really special and I felt so privileged to be sitting there, sipping juice, surrounded by the saints and discussing the art she would be painting for us.

We agreed upon a size, a price, and we paid her. We exchanged information and then bid farewell. I cannot wait to receive her work. Sister M has been painting religious works for thirty years and I was deeply moved by her commitment to her work and her calling.

Now we were off to the third monastery, Studenica, about 40 kilometres away. There, many of Saint Sava’s family is entombed. I didn’t need another monastery experience, yet was motivated to complete out small pilgrimage as the first two experiences were so full.