Tag Archives: Food
The night Jas came home from Bosnia after burying his father Akif, he informed me that Ramadan had begun and that he was going to begin the thirty-day fast in the morning. When I asked for specifics about Ramadan, which Jas has never observed or even indicated the smallest desire to observe, he told me: “I can’t eat or drink from sunrise to sundown for thirty days. At the end, there’s a big feast.”
Now, this is a typical response following my questions about the meaning of Muslim practices, holidays and observances. I’m given a clear explanation of the type of celebration or manner of observation (“we get dressed up and visit neighbors” or “children get money”) but never the meaning or reasoning behind it. When I’ve asked for further explanation in the past from Jas or any of my in-laws I’d only get blank stares. This can be attributed to growing up and living in a formerly communist country which doesn’t leave much space for religious practice. While Tito didn’t outright ban religion in Soviet-style, he didn’t encourage it either. For many Bosnians, religion was/is part of their heritage over anything else. Ethnically, Jas is a Muslim. Religiously? Spiritually? Not interested. Even Akif who devoutly fasted on Ramadan only began doing so after the war, as did other Bosnian Muslims who had previously not been so inclined.
A little research gave me further understanding of Ramadan which is observed during the ninth month each year of the Muslim calendar. Muslims must not only abstain from food and drink but impurities of all kinds including thoughts and actions. The goal is to cleanse the body and soul and focus your attentions on your connection to and worship of Allah. In the weeks before he died, Akif expressed his sadness over not being able to fast during Ramadan. He wouldn’t be able to get through a day with no food or drink in his condition. This is where Jas has found meaning; the fast is his mourning song. “I’m going to do it for my dad,” he said. “He’d be fasting now, so I’ll do it for him.”
Less than a week away from the end of Ramadan, Jas has shown remarkable resilience . After the first two days he adjusted his daily fast duration a bit. He’d come home from work, watch me and Cookie eating our first few mouthfuls of dinner with a pitiful look on his face and then do some chores around the house or turn on the television until sundown. On day two, I (gently) suggested he join us for dinner.
“Your dad would love that you’re doing this for him. I don’t think he’d mind if you chose to eat dinner with your girls,” I said.
He ignored me. On day three, he grumbled something about me having a point and sat down to dinner with us. Weekends have been the most difficult. It’s easy to distract yourself at work but when you’re home and relaxing and food’s being cooked and consumed, it can be downright torture. Or at least that’s what Jas’s face looks like when he pokes his head in the kitchen and asks what time dinner is.
Now he is counting the days and we’ve started planning the Bajram celebration that follows Ramadan this Sunday. How will we bring this tradition to America?
“It’s a big feast” Jas says.
“Yes, but what is served at this feast?” I ask.
It seems I have a bit more research to do.
Bosnians mine their natural resources in as many ways as they can and one way in particular is through the making of juices from native berries and flowers. Our family is known for rose juice made similar to sun tea, but so much lovelier.
This recipe is old, passed down from Jas’s paternal grandmother. When the roses bloom they’re collected, stripped of their petals and added to large clear jars with water and a tiny bit of citric acid, then placed in direct sun for a few days until the petals lose their color to the water. Then it’s strained, mixed with sugar and chilled. Describing the taste is not easy–sweet, flowery, like Bosnian summer.
We make jugs as the flowers bloom and have enough to fill the summer days and share a few bottles with the neighbors. Here’s as detailed a layout of the process that I can give. The measurements are based on a two liter glass jar and about 20 rosebuds–simply adapt it to how many roses you have.
This is the rose we use and despite several attempts I am unable to determine its variety. It’s a small bud though not as small as a tea rose, and fully bloomed is about the size of a ping-pong ball. It has a rich perfume much stronger than the large buds that you’d give to your sweetie on Valentine’s Day. The scent is important–it is what gives the juice its flavor.
Snip the roses when they’ve bloomed,
pull off the petals and place them into a large clear glass jar or other clear container.
Add about one teaspoon of citric acid (or two teaspoons lemon juice), fill the jar with water, give the contents a stir and cover. Place in the sunniest spot of your garden. If it is sunny and warm, in about three days the petals will lose their color and the water will take on this shade of pink.
Strain your juice into a large bowl.
Add 1/2 cup sugar.
Stir, stir, stir until all the sugar is dissolved. Taste. (Note: if the juice tastes like air freshener, add more sugar one tablespoon at a time until you have a nice balance of rose flavor and sweetness).
Strain one more time into bottles or the serving pitcher of your choice and chill.
You’re in for a very special treat.
This donkey lives on the banks of the Semesnica Ribnjak (Se-mesh-nit-zah Rib-nyak) and trout pond with dogs, ducks, geese, chickens and roosters. Children can take a ride on his back. We settled for petting his velvet nose and naming him Bumpo. (Later we’d discover he is a she named Brena).
Brena and the rest of the menagerie are part of a cafe named after the river (really a stream), about a 15 minute ride from Donji Vakuf (Doh-nyee Vah-koof). The owners use the stream not only as a setting for meals and drinks, but also for grinding grain into flour and for catching and cultivating their own trout pond.
And what a meal you can have. We started with ustipici (oosh-tip-it-say) a fried dough dumpling very similar to the Italian zeppole though savory. You can eat them straight out of the oil or split them open and stuff them with cheese.
This particular batch of ustipici was made with buckwheat ground by a mill on the stream, and served with a soft and a semi-soft sheep’s milk cheese.
Then, the trout. If you’ve never eaten fish this fresh, then you’ve never eaten fish–so clean, so bright in the mouth with a salty pop from the crispy skin. Served with the smallest wedge of lemon, a vinegared potato salad and mound of polenta, it is heavenly.
You can have your meal at tables directly next to the stream or in small, private cabins.
And you can wander around skipping rocks, feeding geese, watching the trout jump, or petting Brena for as long as you like.