Many years ago, in the aptitude test, in the geography test, when asked where Romania is located, a student answered: "Our picturesque country is located north of Bulgaria". It is, perhaps, one of the nicest school "pearls", but which can also be the cradle of important debates.
Ggeographically, only 5% from Romania's territory (the Dobrogean territory below the Danube and below the Sfântul Gheorghe arm) are in the Balkans. But the very establishment of the boundaries of the Balkan Peninsula remains a controversial subject, and if the bolding of some borders on the map is a work that requires precision, the limitation of a concept such as Balkanism cannot be limited by conventional borders. Also 5% and from the territory of Turkey (the western part that includes the historical center of Istanbul or Edirne - the former Adrianople) belong to the Balkans. But are they Balkan or Oriental? 23% from the territory of Serbia, the one north of the Danube is not in the Balkans, but it is the Balkan Serbian Banat or is it? But we?
The Balkans are problematic, motley, proud, savory, splendid. They are both oriental and western, but their quelque chose is simple: they are Balkan, neither too oriental nor too western. Normally, at the extremes the generalizations fade and the belonging pulls towards other cultural-geographic frameworks. The Balkans are Mediterranean and Danubian, they are Orthodox, Catholic, Jewish and Muslim. They get fired up quickly, but you can count on them. They are hospitable and good companions. They are brownies and vices, they are dreamers and nationalists.
The Balkans, long called the powder keg of Europe, could be the old continent's cauldron of sarmals, jumars or soup. Grill with small, cevapi or kebabs from this part of the world.
Is Romanian cuisine Balkan?
Without pretending to answer a question, I think, defining for us: is Romanian cuisine Balkan / how Balkan is Romanian cuisine?, but trying to identify the food that unites and/or divides us, journalist Cristian Iohan Ștefănescu and with this year I went on an expedition of over a hundred days (broken down) through all the Balkan countries, with the idea of writing a study of comparative regional gastronomy. But until then, we've invited some really cool people to tell us about their gastronomic Balkans. Today Sori Șigaeru.
Sori (#haicusori) is a tourist guide and between the already beaten tours of Zanzibar, Jordan, Morocco or Tuscany, she goes off around the world, often even alone. Kenya is just one example, from the ones I remember, a country where there was no interlocutor that he didn't question, for me, if they even had a problem. They don't have ☹. With Sori I went to Asia and Africa and I'm sure we'll meet again on other occasions.
Until then, I'm reading his social media posts and his newsletter, which I recommend you subscribe to here: https://haicusori.com
Gobova juha z jurčki or gymnastics of the Slovenian language in the mouth.
I mean porcini mushroom soup. And for the second course, another exercise, this time cardio, Kranjska klobasa (kuhana ali na žaru) s pečenim krompirjem or their original recipe of Slovenian sausages, with salad and potatoes, dirty ever so lightly in mustard. The recipe is so original and old that they say it is unique and carries the status of a work of art protected for centuries. It could sound Romanian or German, I think. Except that I was in Slovenia and the taste of the Balkans exploded in my mouth the moment I ate. And although it may look like cream of mushroom soup, like the one we Romanians make, it wasn't. Because it had a slightly sour taste, and the mushrooms were also pieces through it, floating timidly, ready for the road to the stomach. The restaurant was a traditional, simplistic one located in Bled, Slovenia, I don't know if the boss will let me write its name. With culinary tradition since 1928, with wooden tables and chairs. And oh my goodness, a kitchen that a Swiss watch would be jealous of. I learned that they supported local production and sourced from the city, and changed the menu according to the season. I happened to be in early autumn, hence the insanely fresh taste of the mushrooms in the soup. Good, this was my first experience grading the food.
But the second meeting with the culinary Balkans was on another level, slightly emotional. Because I was on a tour of 6 Balkan countries and slept in the car every night, I looked for places where I could park safely. In one of the evenings when I was preparing to cross the border from Montenegro to Serbia, in an absolutely excruciating rain, I found a car campsite on the great internet. In the end I found the highway exit to the campsite and arrived. When I parked, a gentleman about 65 years old, white hair, shorts and very smiling, showed me where to park, how to get around and invited me inside the building. And this is where it all gets interesting. The building. I walk in, see tiles on the walls, a few tables, and when I look up, I see some metal structures on the ceiling. Hooks and rails. I like the card, but I'm not jumping to conclusions.
Our gentleman in shorts sits me down at his table, pulls out his phone and whips out google translate. I find out about him, I find out about his family, puppy piglet, pictures, all the cutlery. And I also pull out google translate and ask him what's up with that building, because it looks like a factory to me. And he tells me that there was a slaughterhouse there, his slaughterhouse to be exact. That, after 30 years of operation, he closed it because he got old and now turned everything into a hotel with parking, that his son is helping him and that it's going well. I smile, suddenly I realize that there is a whole story there, super personal and that it is worth the memories. He stands up, beckons me to follow him with his eyes and ushers me into the kitchen. I had caught him just as he was preparing dinner for the others at the campsite. I was struck by the skill with which he arranged the strips of meat in which he rolled some bacon and cheese. How he cleaned the garlic and how he prepared everything so harmoniously. I leave the kitchen and go smoke a cigarette, not before honoring his invitation to serve chicken noodle soup. I think the man realized that I was down to 0 energy, what would he say, let's give the girl something to eat. It was the best clear chicken noodle soup I've ever had in my life. So on. with google translate next to us, we lay down for about an hour with stories.
main photo credit: © Andrey Armiagov | Dreamstime.com
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