An airplane or a bus ride may not stand out to you, but the scent of bread cooking inside a clay oven surely will. I can almost picture the smile of a woman – her hands tired and calloused from years of kneading bread – pass this gift to you. Indeed, food has turned into a story, a ceremony, an act of belonging that you never knew you needed before.
In this world, meals surpass nutrition; they become part of your identity. Can you recall sitting on a dirt floor and watching steam rise from a bowl filled with unexplored delicacies? If your answer is yes, then you understand why these food traditions surpass any need for an explanation from a guidebook.
Out in the quiter regions of the world where cell phones lose signals and roads convert into narrow footpaths. Food in these parts is not meant to be put on display, dressed up, or impress the eyes. Rather, they tell you stories meant to be preserved and remembered fondly.
The Meaning Behind Every Bite
Coming across a village located in the hills or the ones scattered across dry terrains will not have a list of dishes ready for you. Instead, attempt to recall a grandmother’s epicurean reminiscence which hails her first harvests. The meal needs to be savored during the blooming moon cycles, and she needs to scale hills to partake in a rarely available meal. You will soon find out that gorging is far more than a mere meal, rather, it is a treasured possession that has been passed down among generations and unscathed for centuries.
In this part of the world, an ingredient becomes precious more because of the lengths one has to go to in order to seek them out, rather than how well they are being rationed. Be it grown with patience, gathered with difficulty or nurtured, comes with immense gratitude. There are no convenience stores found around here, however, the serene forest which is a step or two away will lead you towards someone who harvests fresh herbs, grains ground on stones, and aged artifacts. Savoring such meals is nothing less than experiencing love, warm hospitality, and devotion for the land.
A Story That Begins In A Small Village
There was a time when I stayed over at a village in the mountains and the mornings were eerily calm. You could hear the sound of the goats breathing before the sun rose. It was then that an elderly woman with a silver braid in her hair offered me to help make breakfast. Although we didn’t share a common language, we managed to communicate as we started working together to pour dough into a pan. She used gestures to show how to do it, and I with utmost precision tried to do just that. After we ate, which was done at a wooden table made close to the ground, she smiled and put her hand to her chest. That meant it was indeed good.
The food served did not come from a restaurant but instead from a routine, a habit, and memories. The flour used was ground two days ago, firewood collected by her grandson as well, and when it was being prepared, all that needed to be done was cook it. You do not forget meals like this as they always stick with you through life, long after returning from your trips.
Learning Through Silence And Smoke
Cooking classes are not offered in many of these areas. Women silently glide through kitchens constructed of stone, sunlight, and clay. They do not measure or time. They listen and feel. They pay attention to the bread and the air telling them when it’s ready. The soup signals its readiness when the spoon moves freely. If you pay close attention, you can learn what it means to cook using your entire being.
I recollect being in a Balkan village watching a grandmother sing and stir cornmeal in a slow wooden stick. I stood in awe watching a farmer’s wife in the Andes uncovering potatoes from ashes (she was unprotected her hands!). Nothing about these actions are dull. They are beautifully graceful. They carry rich untold stories. Within that simplicity lies something deeper than technique—it’s the decades of enduring dedication.
When Food Marks The Seasons
In some places that are not affected by electricity or supermarkets, the seasons decide the meals. Along with summer comes harvesting of berries which is then transformed into syrups stashed away in clay jars for future use. When autumn arrives, the grains are ground and stored into bread which serves as sustenance through the winter. Spring is the season of new beginnings and serves roots, leaves and the gentle gifts from the soil. Every season has its own sacred rituals, its steps, and flavors to offer.
There is this one time I spent a spring in an Eastern European village where I witnessed every household baking a flat pie filled with herbs to welcome the return of green. Children took the initiative to gather herbs at sunrise which was just the beginning of their busy day. Women baked pies using communal ovens filling the valley with their fragrance. There was no need to figure out what day it is when the smell in the air can tell you the answer.
Traditions such as these are not mere spectacles. They are transitions in season. You can taste herbs and delightful spring, not to forget survival and joy all packed together.
The Women Who Hold The Flame
If you want to understand a place, trace the smoke to where it can be found, contending with the heats that are referred to as kitchens. There are women to be found there, with smoke curling and toying cu wrapped in shawls. They do not call themselves cooks but mothers, daughters, and sisters, who have their roles in society just as in the family and share the diverse knowledge passed on from one generation to another, raw and untouched.
In addition, on my travels, I encountered a mountain community where all three generations lived under one roof. All three generations were having their own role in one meal baking simultaneously. As a granddaughter, she was serving tea. With her movements as easy as a dancer capturing the gaze of the audience, the rest followed. Toads and grandson’s also guaranteed tawny glow of wonder.
Meanwhile, the room was imbued with fragrance of creamy and delicious food memories that for decades have existed. Instead of boasting, the women within the family simply smiled, happy faces ready to speak, and taking pride once boasting is out of vogue.
Saying Yes To What You Don’t Know
There will be times when an unfamiliar offering will present itself. This could include some flavor the likes of which you’ve never tasted before – something sour, pungent, or even bizarre. Your first instinct would be to hesitate, but if it’s possible, you should try saying yes. Because nestled in that bowl or plated beautifully is a dish with a story embedded within it, containing fragments from the past of an unknown someone.
Once, in a desert village, I had the opportunity to try fermented camel’s milk from an old man who had a smile wide enough to make me forget his missing teeth. The drink was unremarkable to say the least. The texture was dense with a sharp after taste unlike anything I had ever tried. I could feel that smile on my face and hope easily winning me over by requesting me to sip once more. It was clear to me that the satisfaction plastered on his face was the true determinant of my taste buds. The offer of a stranger’s drink no longer mattered when the unconditional trust felt became my gift.
Again, a friendly note. Prepare yourself, my friend, for an adventure in every sense. Embrace the discomfort and indulge in what most might consider an unappetizing experience.
When The Simple Feeds You Deeply
You may be astonished by how simple the items are. A small amount of grain. A small amount of salt or oil. A handful of wild greens. In any other context, these ‘meals’ wouldn’t be able to fill you the way they will. It’s not about abundance, it’s about balance and the attention given to crafting something out of almost sheer nothingness.
I once had barley soup while traveling in the Himalayas. It was made of little more than barley, water and some dried herbs from the mountains, and while not particularly rich in complexity, it kept me toasty warm. I had come to the magnificent realisation that food doesn’t have to be flashy. At the core, it needs to be real.
Tradition has a way of changing how we perceive the world, and that’s what this discussion is about. We learn that intention, time, and method of preparation – chopping, stirring, and serving adds character to flavor. And that is the type of flavor that stays forever.
Carrying The Lessons Home
Your homecoming is not just because of the destination, but the experiences that you encountered, has changed how you wish to live. Crane your neck, you are moving a little slower in your own kitchen, less measuring and more trust. You cook using intuition. You set the table not to showcase a meal, but to celebrate community.
Remember the woman who taught you how to not spill grain while grinding it? The child who happily handed her last fruit slice over? The man who made you take seconds even after you declared yourself full? These experiences are now your recipes. They are not written Polish texts, rather an instinctive understanding of what food is intended to convey.
And perhaps, just perhaps, you choose to carry on this generous knowledge.