Meal 82. South African braai (barbecue): boerewors, braaibroodjies, pap en chakalaka, milliebrood and melktert

Easy to find the location of the braai by the massive South African flag

I had been discussing a typical South African meal with Riaan, initially meant to be cooked for a small group at his place, when he reported the invite for a big braai in the next week, assuring me I would be welcomed by the other Saffas (= South Africans). I had often heard the braai (basically a barbecue) was a quintessential South African social and culinary experience, and now I could join one near me in the Netherlands.

Boerewors in foreground

The location in the park is easily found after I spot a huge South African flag fluttering in the breeze and a lot of people wearing Springbok jerseys (the national rugby team). After a quick look around, I introduce myself to the organiser of the braai, Cynthia, as Riaan has messaged me that he is running a bit late. She indeed welcomes me warmly and introduces me to another attendee, Renee, who turns out to be half-Dutch herself. Her grandparents emigrated to South Africa from the Netherlands when her mother was still a child. And now, facilitated by her Dutch passport, she has made the opposite move two generations on, with her husband and her own daughter. When I ask her what motivated the relocation, she does volunteer the classic (crime), which I have heard from South African emigrés before, but also highlights 'load shedding' which is new to me as a reason to leave. Basically, it covers the long-standing energy crisis where electricity is shut down during certain hours of the day, due to insufficient capacity. Renee's parents have adapted by getting solar panels and water tanks, living almost 'off grid' now. With regards to the increase in crime, she shrugs a bit and says that to some extent you do get used to it, but end up living a 'securitized' life within walled compounds. She does smile while sharing her 'method' to avoid carjacking: just get a brand and colour car which is not popular for resale...apparently a Mitsubishi is much less desired than a Toyota! As well, she touches upon the fact that many white South Africans who have career ambitions end up leaving, as they feel limited by the current quota system. Black professionals also emigrate for career reasons, but might be less likely to end up in the Netherlands than Saffas who speak Afrikaans (similar to Dutch).

Riaan displaying one of the huge packets of marinated meat

At this point, I have figured out where Riaan and his friends are, unpacking huge slabs of marinated meat. He explains that a lot of the ingredients of a braai are just thick cuts of steak, lamb chops or pork, but also boerewors, a specific beef sausage normally sold in a super long spiral. I get to taste some from a friend. He got them from an opportunistic Dutch butcher who figured out there is a market for it here too. I have to say that my favourite culinary element of the braai is the braaibroodjies, delicious smokey grilled cheese sandwiches with tomatoes and onions which are toasted on the coals. In some parts of South Africa, a traditional braai would be only on a wood fire, which adds a specific flavour. In other parts (and almost all city environments!), charcoal is the accepted source of heat and smoke. As I munch and mingle, I hear from two different groups the joke that they like their meat 'so raw a veterinarian could bring it back to life!'

Riaan manning the grill while his friends chat and salivate in anticipation

Saturdays are the traditional day for big braais like today, but Wednesday is the standard day for a braai at home. So much so that it is referred to as 'Klein Saterdag' (little Saturday), although this term is sometimes also used by people who feel Wednesday is the 'start of the weekend' and the night of the week to go out amongst students! To be fair, in my student town, it was Thursday when the weekend started, so not far off... Klein Saterdag is also the name of a popular song in Afrikaans by Kurt Darren, whose biggest hit (Kaalvoet Sokkie), is also played at this braai. Two of Riaan's friends dance the sokkie dance (also called 'langarm'), with a bit of a nostalgic giggle. It reminds me a bit of the two step I saw danced in Oklahoma; and the music is somewhat reminiscent of country music or German Schlagers, but not quite. As a side note, Riaan mentions that if anyone needs to extract top secret information from him, playing sokkie music 24/7 could be an effective method of torture...he would prefer an early death!

Could a good veterinarian still bring this meat to life?

For Riaan, he felt less of a 'push' out of South Africa, and more of a 'pull' towards Europe due to his sense of adventure, and search for broader horizons and new job opportunities. He mentions some Dutch recruiters actively seek out South African professionals, for instance those working as accountants, seemingly preferring those who speak Afrikaans as well as English. At the barbecue, there is some joking reference to the 'tensions' between the English and the Afrikaners. In Cape Town the English and Afrikaner neighbourhoods are even divided by a railroad. But a few couples here proudly explain they are mixed, like Riaan's friend Jade, whose mother was English Zimbabwean and whose father was Afrikaans. She says he initially hardly spoke English and ended up speaking it with his wife's Zimbabwean accent. I tell her I can understand Afrikaans reasonably well, and find it somehow a 'cute' version of my own mother tongue...she recalls she could not contain her laughter when she heard a Dutch lady looking for her cat on the street by calling "Poes! Poes!" as this is basically a very vulgar word for the female sexual organ in Afrikaans (similar to pussy, but apparently much more crude). The polite word would be 'wijfie kat', equivalent to 'lady cat' which I again find somehow endearing. She also shares an anecdote about 'vetkoek' (a fatty fried dough ball), a popular snack which can be eaten as is, or with a meat filling. When girls in high school started wearing lipgloss, they were teasingly asked "Ah, did you just eat some vetkoek?!" as the effect of gloss mimicked the shiny lips you got after eating the oily fried bread.

The meat, braaibroodjie and in the background the pap and shakalaka

As the crowd thins out, we are offered the last bits of melktert (custard pie) and milliebrood (a sweetcorn pie) baked in large quantities by another guest, Kirsten. She and her husband seem happy to find grateful recipients and bid adieu:"Till the next one!" hoping Dutch weather will allow for another outdoor get-together before the end of the year.

I am lucky enough to get both the very first and the very last slice of melktert!

Meal 81. Moldovan Shuba or "Herring under a fur coat"

After cooking the eggs, potatoes and carrots, the scraping begins

Alexandra has warned me that tonight's night might not be exclusively traditional for Moldova, and thinks most people from former Soviet countries will recognize the festive salad, prepared and served in a way that it resembles a cake. She came to Germany at 10 years old, but still remembers a few years of the Soviet era, and when I asked her if she also has the seminal memory of 'the first time eating bananas' which many of my blog hosts can recall, she confirms this is the case for her as well. She also mentions seeing packaged yoghurt as quite a novel product.

Chopping the herring for the next layer

Her parents and grandparents learned to be creative with a relatively limited 'palette' of ingredients. The 'classics' were potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbage and beets. These all have in common that they can be stored in the cellar for a long time. Tonights dish, the 'herring in a fur blanket' contains most of these staple ingredients. However, processed in quite a novel way for me! Alexandra shares that this dish is pretty foolproof. Though it is labour intensive, you do not need any special skills. She confesses to being 'lazy' by boiling the potatoes, carrots and eggs in the same pot, and by using precooked vacuum packed beets. The remaining two components are mayonnaise and salted herring, and onion (optional). Even for people who do not really like herring, this dish is palatable, as the salty fish is well camouflaged by all the other ingredients. Basically, you do a lot of grating to create a layered 'cake' on a flat round plate: boiled potatoes, (raw onions,) finely chopped herring, carrots, mayonnaise, eggs, beets, mayonnaise and eggs. I don't think I have ever seen anybody grate a boiled egg till now. The visual effect of the top layer is what gives this dish its name. It is indeed somewhat reminiscent of a fur coat. 

Grating the beet on top of the carrot layer

The mouth feel of the dish also pretty unique. It is funny, as all of the ingredients are so familiar to me, but the final dish is still surprising! Alexandra has told me it is a good partner food for vodka, hence we down an ice cold shot before starting on our festive salad. Not Moldovan vodka though. The country is better known for its wine, and at least in the eighties, most households would make their own wine. A popular tourist attraction in the country are the big underground wine cellars of Cricova; maybe also one of the relatively few well-known tourist attractions...

The final layer, the grated egg which is the 'fur coat'

Alexandra visited the Cricova wineries when she last went back, the only time she returned to the country of her youth, twenty years after having left. It was almost a different country, so much had changed! Even the language spoken by most people, which she remembered as being Russian, had shifted towards Romanian. This is quite a loaded subject, I later find out. Moldova, now basically the poorest country in Europe, is politically quite important due to current geo-politics. The main factions are 'pro-Russian' vs 'pro-Western'. At the moment, the government is pro-Western, and the war in neighbouring Ukraine has had a strong impact with bombing of electrical plants in Ukraine meaning Moldova lost electricity in half of the country as well. I myself knew very little about Moldova before meeting Alexandra, with the breakaway region of Transnistria ringing some bells due to clickbaity videos of people visiting the 'country that does not exist'... 

Beautiful cake salad!

When Alexandra mentions to Germans that she is originally from Moldova, the response is normally: "Oooh! Interesting!" and then silence...as, like me, they know extremely little about this country between Romania and Ukraine. Even the capital, Chisinau, is often mispronounced by news reporters (it's kee-shee-now rather than chih-zih-now). Alexandra came to Germany with her parents, grandparents and even her great-grandfather. As the latter spoke Yiddish, they initially just spoke that language in their new home, and most Germans could understand that perfectly well. Interesting to me is that Alexandra's father has by now moved back, despite all the struggles Moldova is going through economically and politically, it is clearly still home to him. When things calm down, I would be happy to come for a visit and taste the famous wines of Cricova!

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Moldovan cuisine in general has has a lot of similarities with Romanian food, and a very popular dish in Moldova is polenta, called mamaliga, much loved by Alexandra's grandfather. Basically the same dish prepared for this blog for my Romanian meal!

Meal 80. Russian salty soup (rassolnik), cabbage pancakes (kapustniye oladyie) and oat dessert (kisil)

Nelly with all the ingredients for the salty soup and cabbage pancakes prepped

Nelly is not quite aware how significant this meal is for me, as the original idea of this project was to travel ‘Around the World in Eighty Meals’ and she is number 80! It has been 17 years since I started the trip with a Dutch meal made by my own mother. After an initial head start of 46 meals in the first two years, with some nice publicity in Dutch newspapers, it has continued with a few (long) stops and starts.

The plump pearl barley ('pitted' like with cooked rice)

Luckily, Nelly has taken her task of thinking out a ‘traditional’ meal quite seriously. I would even say, more seriously than any other host! She describes in detail the type of ingredients Russians from her region (St. Petersburg) would have had access to historically. Only very occasionally will she make exceptions for ‘modern’ components like tomato paste or paprika powder. These only arrived after these ingredients were brought over from the Americas. We laugh about how this way of thinking would mean that pizza and pasta with tomato sauce would not be truly Italian, and potato stamppot not truly Dutch!

 

The cabbage pancakes crisping up in the hot oil

 

We start with rassolnik, ‘the salty soup’, which is supposed to be excellent if you are suffering from a hangover, in combination with a coffee. We start by toasting pearl barley, ‘the food of the gods’ according to Nelly, called perlovka in Russian. It is quite popular also in more modern dishes, like a variation of risotto wittily name perlotto (actually called orzotto in Italian). The toasting releases a lovely nutty aroma and gives the grains a golden-brown hue. Afterwards, we add boiling water and keep it on low heat till the perlovka becomes plump and chewy. The other ingredients are carrot, onion, garlic, salted pickles and a bit of the brine - crucial for this salty soup! Chopped parsley is added at the very end. It is a perfect savoury winter soup, even if you did not go drinking the night before! 

 

Nelly serving the salty soup

For the side dish, cabbage pancakes, or kapustniye oladyie, Nelly cannot stop herself from snacking on the crunchy raw leaves. She closes her eyes and almost hums with pleasure, she loves it so much. However, when it is boiling, she makes sure to cover the pot, as even she admits that "nobody loves the smell of boiling cabbage!" The pancakes remind me a bit of the latkes my father used to make (as well as the Belarusian host), except using cabbage instead of potatoes, and no egg. Nelly mentions that a lot of traditional Russian foods are actually vegan, as the Orthodox Russian church involves ‘fasting’ (no animal products) almost half of the year. Surprisingly similar to Ethiopian cuisine, which has a lot of vegan dishes for the exact same reason!

 

Cabbage pancakes with cream and parsley as garnish

 

Desert is an oat ‘crème’ called ovyosani kisil. It is made by soaking oats in water, blitzing them with a mixer, then straining this mixture through a sieve. Chopped hazelnuts and strawberries are added for a hint of sweetness. Nelly has even prepared fresh oat milk above the Arctic Circle, during a field trip where she taught English to biology students at a research station. She is a very entertaining host, as every ingredient has a story, and she herself has had an interesting and international life. She grew up in the Soviet Union, but because both her parents were diplomats posted abroad, she moved with them during their posts in Mongolia and Cuba as a child, and visited her parents in India. This exposed her to tropical fruits and other dishes not available in St. Petersburg (then Leningrad). Apart from exposure to new foods, Nelly even remembers standing in the burning heat for 45 minutes as a ‘young pioneer’, waiting for Fidel Castro to turn up to give a speech! 

 

Rassolnik, or salty soup

Meal 79. Croatian Škampi na Buzaru (King Prawn Buzara)

 

Jasmina mixing the ingredients for the sauce with the blender (Shock horror, not by hand!)

 As I arrive in Jasmina’s cozy kitchen/dining room, it is immediately clear she takes cooking seriously. She is a master of the ‘mise en place’, preparing everything in advance, so that when the actual cooking starts, all elements are ready to go. This apparently comes in handy at her job for an international IT company, as well as in the kitchen! For the Škampi na Buzaru, or king prawns with buzara sauce, Jasmina has prepped little dishes with the peeled carrots, celery, garlic and onion, and proudly resides over the kitchen area in her Croatian red and white checked apron. As I chat with her and her wife Jelena about the euro having been newly introduced in their country of origin, she confides that more traditional cooks might frown upon her not chopping everything by hand, and would be especially shocked by her use of some secret ingredients (two unusual spices I have sworn not to share with anyone). She also mentions she is suffering from mild ‘stage fright’, as the final guest is a friend, Domagoj, from the coastal region where this dish originates. Croatia has an extensive coastline and lots of little islands, which has been a large part of the reason the tourism industry has been able to flourish in the last twenty years. 

 

Showing off the marinated prawns

 

Jasmina mentions that the country, the people, and the cuisine have been heavily influenced by the different groups who have been in charge in past centuries, from the Ottomans, the Venetians, the Austro-Hungarian empire to the Yugoslavian government. An interesting side note is that the German occupation during the second world war crept its way into schoolground game, and Jasmina mentions “always choosing to be a Partisan when playing Germans and Partisans!” I assume this would be the local version of “Cowboys and Indians” a kind of group tag which kids might or might not still play on American playgrounds. Had never heard of this variation! During Yugoslavian times, which Jasmina still witnessed, it was a socialist country, but with "blue jeans, Coca-Cola and the ability to travel in the West"...as well, it was very normal for mothers to work full-time, with school and daycare options available with long opening hours. Jasmina gives credit to this custom for the fact that Croatian women still have the reputation for being quite independent.

 

Adding cognac to the prawns

 Due to the complex national history, the majority of Croatians have mixed roots, and it is common to find a diversity of dishes like schnitzels and strudel, goulash, risotto and pickled cabbage (a kind of fermented sauerkraut). When I ask Jasmina if she has ever pickled cabbage herself, she replies “Of course!” as if this is self-explanatory. On the other hand, she has lived in Berlin for six years and has not made it here yet, although she is considering the basement as a suitable location. She still goes back home frequently, and when not flying, tries to bring back lots of ingredients like homemade sausages, bacon and lard, produced by her relatives. However, many typical products are available in Berlin too at specialized shops, as there is a significant diaspora here.

 

The classic ingredients for the ‘red buzara’ we are having are onion, celery, garlic, carrot, tomatoes, parsley, olive oil, red white, cognac, salt, pepper and paprika. For the ‘white buzara’ alternative, the tomatoes are left out and white wine is used instead of red. The two kinds of prawns have been marinated ahead of time and once the sauce is basically ready, Jasmina fries up the prawns separately before adding them to the buzara sauce. A bit of fresh parsley is sprinkled on top, and voilà, the dish is ready to serve with bread.

 

The prawn buzara, sprinkled with parsley and ready to be served!

A generous supply of napkins are provided, as you mainly eat it with your hands. During my first attempt at peeling a huge prawn, bits of red sauce splatter all over the place, including the cream table mats. Jasmina assures me this is fine, and helpfully mentions that it is customary to suck the sauce off of the prawn first before peeling it. This actually ends up being my very favourite part of the whole dish, as it turns out you really get an intense umami hit from the shellfish as you suck off the sauce.

 

The sauce, about to be mopped up with bread or sucked off the prawns!

Only after finishing my first and second serving of the buzara, I realise I have not touched the delicious Croatian wine. Probably because I was so focused on the food! Once my hands are clean, I make up for this error, and because there is still a tiny bit of room left, Jasmina serves up batons of smoked goat’s cheese. It is moist, with a mildly goaty, smoky, acid taste. I have only had smoked cow’s cheese before, and I love this new variation. To round off the meal, we have coffee with rakia, the Croatian version of distilled spirit (similar to grappa, palinka or schnapps). It can be made with plums, peaches, grapes, apples (or any fruit, basically) and honey. I pick the honey one, and the sweetness and mild flavour are delightful.

 

The homemade lard prepared by Jasmina's relatives

 

At the end of the meal, I am ushered into the pantry to choose one of a dozen homemade jars of jam with handwritten labels. I feel spoiled for choice, as well as literally spoiled, and after careful deliberation, opt for sour cherry. As if this is not enough, I am handed a generous portion of the smoked goat’s cheese to take home as well. I protest that I cannot take so much of her precious  stash, but Jasmina reassures me that I need not worry. She will be heading back to Croatia in two weeks, so will be able to restock very soon!

 

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For other meals from the same region, please see the Bosnian, Kosovar, Serbian, Slovenian and Albanian entries, or click on the 'Balkan Meals' label in the sidebar.

 

Meal 78. Uruguayan empanadas

Vir with the special leather and silver mate cup and straw

Vir (short for Virginia) is one of the relatively few Uruguayans in Berlin. It is a relatively small country, after all, with less than 4 million inhabitants. She has invited me over for empanadas, and is assisted by her charming boyfriend Ivan, as well as friends Nico and Emanuel, all from Argentina. They share a lot of cultural and culinary traditions. I cannot hide my smile when Vir tells me that her first date with Ivan involved "a walk in the park drinking mate"...! I can always spot the mate (MAH-tay) addicts in Berlin, toting around their personal calabash cup with thick metal straw. Basically, it is a heavily caffeinated tea, known to function as a pick-me-up, and drunk through a straw with a filter for the tea leaves. It dates from pre-colonial times, and is still incredibly popular in Uruguay, Paraguay, Argentina and some of the neighbouring regions. Vir was a huge fan, and shows me the gorgeous leather and silver cup she used to use. Sadly she has developed a sensitivity to the drink in recent years, meaning her stomach will not allow the regular consumption that used to be part of her daily routine. In Uruguay, it is common to walk around with a thermos of hot water to refill the cup, and the most "Uruguayan injury" is a burn on the hand...from hot water spilling from thermoses that have not been closed properly. Vir herself was burned this way as a toddler, when her aunt bent over above her and boiling water poured out of the thermos she was carrying. The Argentinians present tonight insist that they do not follow this habit and can recognize the Uruguayans abroad by the combination of mate cup and thermos. All seem a little surprised that the Germans are also in love with a local, very different, version of the drink, the sweet carbonated soda called Club-Mate.

Ivan, Vir and the Fernet

Very non-German is the fact that the dinner invite was for 19:30, and the actual meal started around 22:00. This meant lots of time for chatting, laughing, snacking and drinking a typical mix of both Uruguay and Argentina: Fernet and coke. Fernet is a digestive liqueur originally from Italy, but much more popular in South America than in its country of origin. Quite bitter, and somewhat reminiscent of cough syrup, it is an acquired taste, somewhat like Campari or Aperol. Ivan was so excited to see it on offer in the local supermarket, he immediately bought three of the special edition bottles celebrating the brand's 175th anniversary.

Vir mixing the flour with olive oil

As Vir starts preparing the empanadas, she confides that this one of the handful of times that she is actually making the dough herself from scratch. She would normally buy the dough ready made, pre-cut in circles of the right size. Or, even more common, she would just buy the empanadas from a corner shop, ready to eat. She estimates she has eaten more than 200 empanadas in her lifetime! Tonight, she is preparing two varieties. The first contains mushrooms, bacon bits and cheese; the second a filling of ground beef, boiled eggs, chopped onions and bell pepper. Paprika powder is added to the filling. Although the tin of paprika says 'spicy', I would call the end product flavourful, but not spicy like the kick you get from chili powder. Empanadas are very popular in Uruguay, not only as a snack on the way to or from school, but also at stadiums during football matches. When made at home, they are a traditional starter before a big family barbecue. They are a tad smaller than the ones I had for the Chilean meal years ago, and I manage to finish four before feeling pleasantly sated. Ivan has to withstand some teasing for finishing twelve at a recent dinner. Tonight he is able to restrain himself and sticks to a modest four as well.

Vir rolling out the dough with the classic improvised rolling pin - a bottle!

I had met a few other Uruguayans in Berlin a while back who told me that gnocchi was also a typical food, and for some reason often served on the 29th of the month. Vir confirms that this is still common, and it is often on the menu of restaurants on this date. As well, it is a tradition to place some change under the plate to bring good luck (and good fortune?) in the month to come. Apparently, gnocchi (a dish brought over by Italian immigrants, like the Fernet) was popular around the 29th as it was cheap to make - and payday was at the very end of the month! 

Vir filling the empanadas with the beef, bell pepper and boiled egg mix

Before tonight, the main thing I knew about Uruguay was that it was the home of Mario Benedetti, one of the more accessible greats of Latin American literature. Interesting is that he learned German in school and even translated Kafka into Spanish! Vir is clearly proud of her country, and deservedly so. Though, like Argentina and Chile, it suffered through a (US-backed) right-wing dictatorship in the 70s and early 80s, it has been remarkably stable, democratic and peaceful since then. It is one of the most socially progressive countries in the whole continent, having legalised sex marriage, abortion and marijuana. Vir does mention that the latter is sold legally only in pharmacies, and only if you are registered with the government. Potentially some of the more left-wing policies might be overturned now that a centre-right government is in power, for the first time in 15 years.

The end result: golden brown empanadas

In the meantime, Vir will stay in Europe, finishing her PhD in digital education, and trying to hold on to some of the traditions from back home. The look of joy on her face when she opens a big bag of maté brought over from Argentina as a gift is touching. That feeling is recognizable for all who have had unexpected access to a familiar and beloved food after a long period of going without. A similar sentiment was shared by my Danish host in Sierra Leone after being presented with real rye flour from back home; she said eating the bread was 'just like Christmas'!

Emanuel tasting the wine before we all dig in and devour the empanadas

Meal 77. Israeli brunch, Tel Aviv style (vegan burekas, labneh, chickpea omelettes)

Tal putting the finishing touches on the table groaning with all the different brunch dishes

 It's a wintery cold morning when I cycle to Tal and Yon's place for this brunch. As I enter their apartment it immediately feels warm, cosy, full of plants and colours. The burekas, savoury pastries in the oven, smell great, and it is clear Tal has outdone herself when I inspect the cornucopia of dishes laid out on the table. Yon says he has mainly been "supportive" but did prepare the "Israeli salad" or "Arabic salad" (tomato, cucumber, onion, lemon juice and parsley). He also mixed up the tahini dip. It turns out they are both hardcore tahini lovers. The last time they visited Israel, they brought over ten whole kilos of their favourite brand to Berlin. This morning, Yon mixed some of this stash with water, lemon juice, garlic and salt and pepper. It is great on the vegan bread I brought from a local baker, but also on top of the fresh salad and even on the chickpea omelettes, which Tal made with chickpea flower, coconut milk, baking powder, apple vinegar, seasoning and fried onions. They feel a bit like pancakes to me. Tal has also used her experience adapting vegan recipes to make a delicious labneh (normally strained yoghurt) and feta, with almonds as a base. The bureka (puff pastry bites from the oven) also contain a vegan cheese she made with almonds and tofu. We laugh at the commercially produced vegan cheese I tried a few days ago, which was mostly water, starch and fat. The ones Tal has prepared are both tasty and nutritious, but also a bit more labour intensive. I appreciate the effort! A lot of the dishes served today are broadly 'Middle Eastern', as are some other very popular street foods in Israel, like falafel and hummus. For non-vegans, the Iraqi-Israeli sabich sandwich is popular too; pita stuffed with fried aubergine, boiled eggs, salad and tasty sauces. Tal and Yon say that the brunch we are having today would be fairly typical for a meal you could get at any café in Israel. The vegan version would be especially easy to find in Tel Aviv, where they lived before coming to Berlin, and which is very vegan friendly. 

Foreground: cheese burekas, pizza burekas. Background: dates filled with walnuts

I mention that all I know about Tel Aviv is that it is famous for its nightlife. Yon gives a bit more context, explaining that certain parts of the city are indeed very 'buzzy' with lots of venues, shops, and extremely expensive to live. It has not been cheap to live in Tel Aviv for quite some time, and Yon mentions that in 2021 it even won the dubious honour of being 'the world's most expensive city' to live in. Some parts of the city are still quite poor, with a large population of refugees (mainly from Eritrea and Sudan). I feel a bit embarassed that I never realised that Jaffa (or Yafo in Hebrew) is now actually part of Tel Aviv, which has officially been called Tel Aviv-Yafo since 1950. Especially as my last name is Jaffe, and I have some family in Tel Aviv (though obviously I have never visited!).

Vegan labneh made with almonds, decorated with olive oil, spices and pine nuts.

After sampling a bit of all of the dishes, I am struggling to fit in any more. Yon prepares a fresh pot of his favourite tea, called Almond Charm. It smells of almond, and tastes great too once some agave syrup is added. Like their favourite tahini, they bring this tea back with them to Berlin whenever they visit Israel. I can manage about one more huge date, stuffed with chopped walnuts, as Tal tells me about her surprising career change. She enjoyed working as a florist for events back home, and even insisted on doing all the flowers for her wedding party in Israel herself. However, in Germany, she decided to retrain as a tattoo artist!  She has a few tattoos herself, including a beautiful fern motif on her arm. She had always loved drawing, but still needed to start her training from scratch here. Impressively, within just a few years she has established herself as a tattoo artist in Berlin with a specialisation in delicate animal designs and yes, floral and leaf themed tattoos. It somehow makes the switch seem quite logical!

Israeli brunch, clockwise: salad, cheese bureka, chickpea omelette with tahini, omelette with labneh, pizza bureka, and in the middle the vegan feta.

Meal 76. Serbian Slavski Kolač, Sarma and Gibanica for Slava (Patron Saint's Day Feast)

The four constants of a Slava: bead, žito, wine and a candle

Though tonight is the very first time I meet Ivana in person, we have seen and talked to each other online dozens of times, as we both followed German classes during my first months in Berlin. We are both quite proud and relieved that we did manage to pass the so-called C1 German exam in our first attempt. For Ivana, it means one step closer to working as a maths teacher in a school, like she did back home in Serbia. At the moment, she mainly focuses on private tutoring. 

I am very lucky to have been invited to a truly special meal this evening. Before the invite, I had no idea about Slavas, a uniquely Serbian tradition. Every family has a patron saint. On this saint's day, a specific meal with traditionally prescribed elements is prepared, and during the Slava, family and friends can come by without invitation to partake of the copious amounts of food that have been prepared in advance. In this case, Ivana has indeed been up till very late the previous day (3am!) to get everything ready for her family's saint, the female St. Petka. After arriving and having a "Turkish coffee," Ivana shows me the elements of the Slava that are the same, whatever saint your family's patron saint might be. They are a specific bread, red wine, a candle, and žito (wheat pudding with walnuts). The 'festive bread', Slavski Kolač, is a thing of beauty. Round, with a decorative braided crust and a brioche like texture. It is made with white flour, milk, eggs, and butter. It is also served on Three Kings when the tradition is to stick a coin inside (the person who gets the piece with the coin is the lucky one!) and the top of the loaf then has specific decorations of the cross, leaves and flowers. Though each Slava has the four classic elements, the other food served is different. For instance, families celebrating St. Nicholas prepare dishes that are either vegan or contain fish ('fasting' recipes). 

Slava bread (Slavski Kolač) with beautiful braided cross decoration

Interesting to me is that for Ivana, and for many others of her generation, the tradition of the Slava is both very old (going back to the 9th century), and new, as during Communism a lot of the Christian celebrations were put on hold to some extent. You could call it an 'interrupted tradition' on a national level, though now it is protected by Unesco as Intangible Cultural Heritage.

Predrag, Ivana's husband, cutting the ceremonal cross in the bottom of the bread

 Normally the specific patron saint (determining the date the family's Slava is celebrated) is inherited from father to son. A married woman would take over her husband's saint. Ivana's case is a bit of a variation, as she did not grow up with her father celebrating his patron saint (he would normally go celebrate with his brother). She did participate when her (maternal) grandfather hosted St. Petka. As an adult, Ivana decided to celebrate her Slava again. By now she has inspired her mother to do the same. I like how she gives the old traditions her own twist. She also makes the Serbian bread regularly in Berlin, with all the typical ingredients, but using her modern bread machine to save time.

 

The Sarma, cabbage rolls filled with ground meat and rice

Though Ivana seems to have prepared enough food for a few families ahead of time, she has saved one dish to make while I am there, the 'filo pie', called gibanica. Not coincidentally, this is quite similar to the delicious potato and filo based krompiruša I had for my Bosnian meal. In this Serbian version, the filo is brushed with a mixture of cottage cheese, eggs and oil, which is repeated layer after layer. Ivana herself used store-bought filo, which I would recommend for all but the most ambitious home cook. However, both her mother and grandmother, as well as her husband Predrag's grandmother would make the filo dough themselves, which takes skill, time and a big table!

The gibanica aka 'filo pie'

The dinner consists of many different courses. First we have a platter with meats and cheeses and dips, including ajvar, made with bell pepper and eggplants. The festive bread is ceremiously cut in a cross shape and some red wine poured over the cross. Then we have sarma, stuffed cabbage rolls, which remind me of the gołabki I had with a Polish family. I am already stuffed myself by the time the main course arrives! I try to take only small portions of the roasted pork, turkey and potatoes.

Roasted turkey and pork with potatoes, and a fresh side salad

Over the hours it takes to get through the many dishes, we have discussed all kinds of topics, including how Ivana and her husband got together as students, their time in Belgrade and London, Serbian churches not having any seats, the unconvential artist called Rambo Amadeus, and the history of the country going back to Ottoman times. We do also touch on the most painful event in recent decades, and Ivana is willing to share her memories of that time. In 1992, her uncle and aunt lived in a muslim city in Bosnia. They initially did not want to leave, as they were caring for an elderly relative who was too old to move. They did send their two young daughters to safety with a neighbour, who brought them to Ivana's family apartment, which only measured 54 square meters. For about three years, this meant the four kids of the household slept in one bed. During the first years of the war her cousins had no contact with their parents at all, as the phone lines were cut. Finally, Ivana’s mother managed to contact the parents by amateur radio, and in 1995 they also came over, meaning now eight people lived in the same small apartment! 

 

 

Ivana and Predrag are keen not to hold on to sectarian divisions, and mention friendships in Berlin and London with Croatians and a Serbian Muslim family. Though they do miss their country, it would not make sense to go back from a financial perspective. As well, their teenage daughter is fluent in German by now and doing very well in school here in Berlin.

 

For dessert, Ivana apologizes that she is only serving one dish. In a full Slava catering to large amounts of guests, the hostess would normally present a platter with lots of different petits-fours. I am already very impressed that she made the filled wafers (oblatne) herself. She blended together walnuts with powdered sugar and biscuits, then stacked about six of the thin wafers on top of each other with the sweet paste spread in between the layers. They are cut into diamond shapes, which are arranged to produce pretty little stars.

I feel incredibly grateful to have been able to celebrate such a traditional festive event here in Berlin, and to have been able to get to know Ivana's warm personality so much better in person now. Before heading out, I am handed a full bag with sarma, žito, gibanica and oblatne to go home with. Basically, I have enough food for four more meals! I enjoy the savoury treats fo the next two days, though I do share the oblatne with my colleagues, to help spread the joy of Serbian food. 

The oblatne, wafers filled with a sweet walnut paste